The club has a core component who come to most meetings and decide which books to read, but anyone’s welcome to attend. The full club rarely meets in the summer months, as people have other things on their mind in the long, warm, lazy evenings, so I was surprised at the number of people who made their way down the long driveway between the tall red pines tonight.
As I usually did, I stood at the front door, greeting people as they arrived and directing them to the meeting room on the third floor. Josie was one of the first to get here, and she brought, as she usually did, bakery boxes full of delicious treats to get the meeting started. Earlier, I’d arranged jugs of tea and lemonade and glasses and napkins on the table in the meeting room. Josie went up to lay out her offerings and then joined me downstairs.
“I don’t think I’ve brought enough,” Josie said as we watched cars jostle for position in the parking lot.
“I wonder what’s brought all these people out tonight? I would have thought a stroll on the beach or dinner on the patio at Jake’s would be a better option.”
“Word’s gotten around that Jeff Applewhite’s name has been linked to the death of Helena Sanchez,” Josie said. “I overheard several groups talking about it in the bakery today. Nothing like a long-ago mystery to get everyone interested in it again. And as Jeff’s name was also linked to the disappearance of the Blackstone necklace, and—”
“The Moonstone is about the theft of a rare jewel.” I sighed. “I bet most of these people haven’t even read the book.”
Butch Greenblatt and Stephanie Stanton, my uncle Amos’s law partner, walked up the path, hand in hand. We exchanged hugs and kisses. “Did you read the book?” I asked.
“Loved it,” Steph said.
Butch studied the ground at his feet. Butch meant well, but I suspect he rarely managed to get through the club selection. Butch came for the food. And, I hoped, the company. He was a good friend.
“If you want a pecan square,” Josie said, “you’d better get up there fast. I brought nowhere near enough.”
Butch practically dragged Steph to the stairs. That wasn’t hard. At six feet five inches of solid muscle, Butch loomed over tiny Steph, who was even shorter than my five foot three and probably didn’t tip the scales much past a hundred pounds. The differences didn’t stop there either. Butch was a cop, and Steph a defense attorney. They’d hated each other at first sight.
The enmity hadn’t lasted long, and I was delighted that my two friends had found each other.
“Bertie doesn’t usually come, does she?” Josie pointed to the newest arrivals walking down the path.
“She never has before,” I said.
My boss was with two of her college friends, Mary-Sue and Lucinda.
I greeted them and introduced Josie.
“You two go on upstairs and find seats,” Bertie said. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Once she was sure the women were out of earshot, Bertie turned to me with a shrug. “Hope you don’t mind my coming, Lucy—”
“Of course not.”
“We were supposed to be meeting for dinner, but Mary-Sue heard about the meeting tonight and wanted to come, although she’s never been to your book club before. She told Lucinda, who’s staying with her, much to Mary-Sue’s displeasure. And Lucinda decided to tag along, so they called me and roped me into it too.”
“They’re not the only ones of your friends joining us,” I said as Louise Jane’s van came to a shuddering halt and three women stepped out. “Looks like Louise Jane’s brought Sheila and Ruth.”
“I left them messages earlier about dinner plans but never heard back.”
“Look who I just happened to run into,” Louise Jane said when they reached us. I doubted any such happenstance had been involved.
“Louise Jane told us you’re discussing The Moonstone tonight. I love that book,” Ruth said.
“I jumped at the chance to have another look at your library.” Sheila shifted her big canvas tote bag from one shoulder to the other. “I didn’t get upstairs the last time I was here. Is it possible to go all the way to the top?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll unlock the gates for you,” Louise Jane said. “No clouds are out tonight, so you’ll get a great view of the sunset. Come on. Uh, Lucy, where did you last put the keys?”
I glanced at Bertie.
“In the second drawer of the circulation desk, Louise Jane.”
“I have the run of the place, you know,” Louise Jane said as they went inside. “That’s the least they can do for me, considering all the help I give them with research and …”
Bertie gave me a “what can you do?” shrug and went inside.
A few more people arrived, including several I didn’t know. I welcomed them all warmly.
“Should be an interesting discussion.” Theodore Kowalski had come tonight in his Harris tweed jacket, paisley cravat, plain-glass spectacles, and full-on upper-crust English accent.
“I hope so,” I said.
He stepped closer to me, and I caught a whiff of tobacco. I know Teddy doesn’t smoke. He must spray the stuff on like other men do aftershave. He lowered his voice. “I was planning to come early, to catch a private moment with you, but I was delayed.”
“What about?”
He glanced at Josie.
“My lips are sealed,” she said.
“Very well. You asked me to look into the providence of that old copy of The Celestine Prophecy.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Right. Did you learn anything?”
“I learned nothing, which is itself momentous. The copy you have here, the one I saw on Thursday afternoon, was mass-produced as part of a regular print run. The book is still in print. Your copy is not only not signed, nor distinctive in any other way, but it’s water damaged. It is, in fact, of no more value than to assist one in lighting a fire on a frosty winter’s night.”
I suppressed a shudder. “Please don’t ever say that to a librarian, Theodore. We have nightmares about burning books.”
“Just making
