bank and eventually turned in the southerly direction they were traveling. A few minutes later they entered the official city limits of Old Town Alexandria, one of the most historic places in the country. It boasted not one, but two boyhood homes of Confederate general Robert E. Lee, as well as Christ Church, where the posterior of none other than George Washington had graced the pews. The town was chock-full of wealth, ancient but beautifully restored homes, rumpled cobblestone streets, wonderful shopping and eclectic restaurants, a vibrant outdoor life and an inviting waterfront area. It also was home to the federal bankruptcy court.
As they passed the court, Reuben said, “Damn place. Been through there twice.”
“Caleb knows people who can help you with your money. And I’m sure Chastity could provide valuable services to you too.”
“I’m certain sweet Chastity could service my needs, but then Milton would be really mad at me,” Reuben called out with a roguish wink. “And I don’t need help with the money I
He turned left, and they pulled down a side street heading toward the river until it dead-ended at Union Street. Reuben found a parking space, and Stone extricated himself from the sidecar with some difficulty.
“What the hell happened to your face?” asked Reuben, who’d obviously just noticed these injuries.
“I fell.”
“Where?”
“In the park. I was playing chess with T.J., and then I was having coffee with Adelphia. I tripped over a tree root when we were leaving.”
Reuben grabbed his friend by the shoulder. “Adelphia! Oliver, that woman is mental. You’re lucky she didn’t drop a lethal Mickey in your java. Mark my words, one night she’s going to follow you to your cottage and slit your throat.” He paused and then added in a low voice, “Or worse, try and seduce you.” Reuben shivered, apparently at the thought of Adelphia as a seductress.
They walked past Union Street Pub and then crossed the street and headed toward a shop near the corner. The sign above the door read: “Libri Quattuor Sententiarum.”
“Where the hell did that come from?” Reuben asked, pointing at this plaque. “I know I haven’t been here in a while, but didn’t this place used to be called Doug’s Books?”
“That name wasn’t attracting the desired upscale clientele, so they changed it.”
“Li-bri Quat-tuor Senten-tiarum? That’s real catchy! What does it mean?”
“It’s Latin for ‘Four Books of Sentences.’ It was a twelfth-century manuscript by Peter Lombard that was cut up and bound around the 1526 edition of St. Thomas Aquinas’ lectures on the Epistles of Paul. Some scholars consider the Aquinas work to be the world’s rarest book. An even earlier work that was bound around that one might be even more special. Hence, it’s a very appropriate name for a rare book shop.”
“I’m impressed, Oliver. I didn’t even know you spoke Latin.”
“I don’t. Caleb told me about it. In fact, it was his idea to rename the shop. As you know, I introduced him to the shop’s owner. I thought it would be productive, given Caleb’s expertise with rare books. At first he simply advised on a few things, but now Caleb has an ownership interest in the place.”
They went inside the shop accompanied by the jangle of a bell attached to the arched, solid-oak door. Inside, the walls were equal parts exposed brick and ancient stone with worm-eaten wooden beams overhead. Tasteful oil paintings hung on the walls, and ornate bookshelves and massive armoires were bulging with ancient tomes that were all carefully labeled and housed behind glass doors.
In a separate room a pretty young woman was standing behind a small coffee bar making drinks for some thirsty customers. A sign on the wall asked customers not to enter the rare book area with their beverages.
A small, balding man came out from the back dressed in a blue blazer, slacks and a white turtleneck, his arms outstretched and a smile on his tanned face. “Welcome, welcome to Libri Quattuor Sententiarum,” he announced, the words rolling adroitly off his tongue. Then he stopped and eyed Reuben and looked at Stone.
“Oliver?”
Stone put out his hand. “Hello, Douglas. You remember Reuben Rhodes.”
“Douglas,” Reuben muttered under his breath. “What happened to ‘Doug’?”
Douglas gave Stone a prolonged hug and shook Reuben’s hand. “Oliver, you look, well, you look very different. Nice but different. I like the new style. No, I love it. Muy chic.
“Thank you. Caleb says that things are going well here.”
Douglas took Stone by the elbow and led them over to a quiet corner.
“Caleb is a jewel, a treasure, a miracle.”
“And here I was thinking he was just a print geek,” Reuben said with a smirk.
Douglas continued enthusiastically. “I can’t thank you enough, Oliver, for introducing Caleb to me. Business is booming. Booming! I started out selling porno comic books out of my car trunk, and now look at me. I have a condo in Old Town, a thirty-foot sailboat, a vacation house at Dewey Beach and even a 401(k) plan.”
“All through the power of the written word,” Stone said. “Remarkable.”
“Do you still sell the porn stuff?” Reuben wanted to know.
“Uh, Douglas, I need to look at my
Douglas’ face paled and he swallowed nervously. “Oh, of course, of course. Go right ahead. And if you want anything, just ask. In fact, we have some very fine cappuccino and wonderful scones today. It’s on the house, as always.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Douglas hugged Stone again and then hurried off to help a woman who’d entered the shop dressed in a full- length fur coat despite the balmy weather.
Reuben looked around at all the books. “Most of these writers probably died penniless, and he’s buying condos and boats and 401(k)s off their sweat.”
Stone didn’t answer. He opened a small door set off to the side of the shop’s entryway and led the way down a narrow staircase that emptied into the basement area. He headed along a short corridor and through an old wooden door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” He closed the door behind them and turned left down another hall. Then Stone took an old-fashioned key from his pocket and used it to open an arched door at the end of this hall, and they entered a small room that was paneled in very old wood. He flicked on a light and went over to a large fireplace that sat against one wall. While Reuben watched, Stone knelt down, reached his hand up into the inside of the fireplace and pulled on a small piece of metal attached to a short wire hanging there. There was an audible click, and a panel of the wall next to the fireplace swung open.
“Gotta love those priest’s holes,” Reuben said as he gripped the exposed panel and swung it all the way open.
Inside was a room about eight feet deep and six feet wide and tall enough for even Reuben to easily stand up in. Stone pulled a small penlight from his pocket and stepped in. Bookshelves lined all three walls. On each of these shelves were neatly stacked journals and notebooks, a few locked metal boxes and numerous cardboard boxes taped shut.
While Stone looked through the journals and notebooks, Reuben had a sudden thought. “How come you don’t keep all this stuff at your cottage?”
“This place has an alarm system. All I have guarding my cottage are dead people.”
“Well, how can you be sure that old
Stone kept examining the journals as he talked. “I told him that I’d booby-trapped this room and that no one other than myself could open it safely without threat of instant death.”
“And you think he believed you?”
“It doesn’t really matter. He has no personal courage, so he’ll never find out for sure. Plus, at my suggestion Caleb let some hints drop to Douglas that I used to be a homicidal maniac before my release from a hospital for the criminally insane solely on a technicality. I think that’s why he hugs me every time he sees me. Either he wants to stay on my good side or he’s checking for weapons. Ah, here we are.”
Stone pulled out an old leather-bound journal and opened it. The book was filled with newspaper clippings carefully glued to the pages. He read through it as Reuben waited impatiently. Finally, Stone closed the journal and then pulled out two other large books on a shelf. Behind these books was a leather case about eighteen inches
