Текст книги "One Book in the Grave"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 16

“I’m going to have to buy a new dehydrator just to assuage my guilt,” I said as I absently swirled the wine in my glass.

Mom nodded. “As long as you’re buying into the guilt, you can’t go wrong with the Monarch 5000.”

As the sun fell behind the ridge, Mom and I sat outside on the terrace, tasting the latest pinot noir Dad had brought home. He’d thought Mom would appreciate its lighter, elegant cherry and mocha tones, and he was right. I liked it, too.

Now that the sun was gone, the air cooled quickly and I wrapped my jacket a little tighter around me. I was waiting for Derek to arrive before Gabriel swung by to pick us up and drive us to Max’s for our nightly meeting.

“I really don’t need a dehydrator,” I said. “But I hated pumping her for so much information. Maybe I should buy one to pay her back.”

“It’s all for a good cause, sweetie.”

“I guess so. And she really wanted to talk. But it was awful to hear her talk about Angelica. It made me remember how nasty she was to me. I feel sorry for anyone who’s ever had to deal with that woman.”

“Yes, but you need to let it go. Crystal seemed to enjoy our visit.”

Poor Crystal. I could relate to her having to put up with the mean and nasty Angelica, but it flipped me out that Crystal was so enamored of Solomon. Had the guy really changed that much in the years since I’d known him? I doubted it. He had always been a ladies’ man, and now it looked like he was buttering up Crystal to make his move on her. I didn’t believe for a minute that he was faithful to Angelica.

The thought of him hitting on Crystal made me cringe, but Crystal didn’t seem to mind. She was so innocent, she didn’t even seem to realize that he might be trying to lure her into his bed. She had no clue just how manipulative he could be.

I took another sip of the pinot and tasted the dark cherry tones Dad was talking about, along with a hint of raspberry. “So Solomon has only recently developed an interest in survivalist stuff. Coincidence? Just when the Beauty and the Beast comes onto the market? And just when we find out about Max? It’s all connected, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” Mom said. “I don’t know the man, but if he’s living in the Hollow, he’s surrounded by Ogunites. And you know how they are. Not rough, exactly.”

“No, just rugged individualists,” I said dryly, finishing her thought. “Even the sheriff used to avoid going down there.”

“Yes, but it’s been cleaned up quite a bit since then.”

“It can’t be too awful if Crystal goes there every day to sell her products.”

“She lives there, too, and she knows those people,” Mom pointed out. “And she can take care of herself.”

“I’ll say.” I chuckled. “She’s a little naive, but physically she’s tougher than most men I know.”

“Now, Brooklyn, Crystal Byers is a lovely girl,” Mom proclaimed, then added under her breath, “Big-boned, but lovely.” She tasted her wine, then smoothed a wrinkle out of the tablecloth. “You know, she and Melody come by here every few weeks to buy apples, so I keep up-to-date with them.”

“But they already grow apples out at their place,” I said, confused. “Why do they come here?”

“Their orchards only produce Gravensteins so they come here to buy my varieties.”

“Ah.” Mom liked to experiment with all sorts of apple varieties—Gala, Fuji, two different types of Delicious, Granny Smith. She didn’t sell her apples commercially or at the farmer’s market, so she wasn’t under the same constraints as the farmers whose apples were their main source of income. Apple-wise, Gravensteins were the biggest moneymakers in our area.

“Of course, I didn’t realize I was subsidizing her jewelry business when I sold her my beautiful apples,” she said, laughing.

“Maybe you can work out a deal,” I said. “Dried-fruit earrings for every occasion.”

“There are my girls,” said a cheerful male voice.

We both turned as Dad and Derek walked across the terrace. They each carried wineglasses and looked happy to see us.

Mom sighed. “Have you ever seen such a handsome sight, Brooklyn? I’ll take the cute, rangy one on the right.”

I laughed. “Fine with me. I’ve got dibs on the dark-eyed, dangerous one.”

“A fine choice.”

“I think so,” I murmured. Derek’s eyes never left me as he approached, set his glass down, then sat down next to me. I snuggled up close and was instantly warm and cozy.

Dad leaned over and kissed Mom. “What’ve you two been plotting?”

“Sit and relax, and we’ll tell you.”

“I’m more interested in what you two have been plotting,” I said. Ever since I found out that Dad had played a prominent role in Max’s disappearance, I’d been grilling him for information. He’d filled in some of the blanks on Solomon, but I hadn’t known until Crystal mentioned it that the man was a member of the Ogunite church. I had no idea what significance that held, if any. Dad didn’t know, either.

Derek said he’d make a note to look into the group’s background; then Mom gave an abbreviated rundown of our conversation with Crystal that morning. I added comments here and there.

“I don’t know those boys, Stefan and Bennie,” Dad said.

Mom reminded him that Benjamin Styles had been in London’s high school class, and Dad nodded. “Now I remember him. He’s been in some trouble before. Arrested for attempted burglary. Road racing. Idiot stuff.”

“That goes along with what Crystal said about him, although she never mentioned he’d been arrested.”

“So Solomon has Bennie teaching him to load ammunition,” Derek mused. “Interesting choice of chums.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” I said, smiling at his use of the word chum. What a perfectly darling word. I was going to use it from now on.

I stared at my half-full wineglass and wondered if I’d had too much to drink. I didn’t think so, but, then, I didn’t often wax lyrically over a bit of British slang.

“Becky and I are friendly with several survivalist families who have moved in together down in the Hollow,” Dad said. “But those people maintain sober, vegan homes and are relatively harmless.”

“I doubt Solomon is one of that ilk,” Derek said.

“He’s far from harmless,” Mom agreed.

“Well, I guess the term harmless is relative,” Dad said. “After all, even the nicest families in the Hollow have arsenals in their basements that rival Fort Ord.”

“Is that right?” Derek said, his eyes darkening. “I’ll be sure to look into that.”

Later that evening as we took a circuitous route up the mountain to Jackson’s house, Gabriel was in a somber mood, so we avoided discussing anything too heavy. I tried to lighten things up by regaling Derek and Gabriel with a description of Mom’s roundabout tour of the countryside in her attempt to avoid being followed the other day.

They were both chuckling as we walked to the door, then sobered up as I knocked twice and used my key. They both drew their weapons as I pushed open the door and walked inside. Max stood in the living room with the rifle pointed directly at me.

“All rightie, then,” I said, and held up the shopping bag I was carrying. “I’ve brought dinner.”

“Let’s talk first,” Max said.

“Let’s eat first.” I was no fool. Men were way calmer after they had some food in their stomachs. So was I.

Fifteen minutes later, we were gathered around the dining table with plates in front of us. Mom had insisted on supplying us with her famous taco casserole, thinking we’d been ordering pizza every night. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Max was a fantastic cook and we’d been eating well almost every night. I heated up her casserole and tossed the salad she’d made with the lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers she’d picked from her garden that morning.

The men ate heartily but silently for a few minutes; then Max threw down his fork and glared at Gabriel. “So?”

Gabriel looked up, gave Max a long, steady stare as he slowly swallowed his last bite. “Emily wasn’t home, man. There were no signs of foul play, but it looked like she hadn’t been home in more than a week.”

“She could be on a trip,” I said lamely.

“Where could she have gone?” Max stood up and walked away from the table, then turned and muttered, “Forget it. I have no right to know.”

“Don’t make me hit you,” I said mildly. The sad tone of his voice caused me to worry, and I hated worrying. “You have every right to worry about Emily’s safety. Now finish your dinner.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said, but at least he was half smiling. I really did sound like my mother sometimes, which probably turned off most guys. I glanced at Derek to see his reaction and caught him grinning at me. Proving once again that he wasn’t like most guys.

Max sat and took a few more bites, then threw down his fork again. “Okay, just tell me. Is someone else living there with her?”

So that was the bug that had been crawling up Max’s butt. He’d been worried that Emily might have moved on and found a boyfriend—or, worse, a husband. I couldn’t blame him for being concerned.

“She lives alone,” Gabriel said.

Max’s jaw clenched and he nodded briefly. “Okay.” He took another bite, then frowned at Gabriel. “Just for my own information, tell me what you look for when you go through someone’s house.”

Gabriel shrugged, then sat back in his chair. “The first thing I want to determine is how long it’s been since someone was in the house. There are clues to look for. Dates on milk cartons. Postmarks on a stack of mail. Dishes left out or washed and put away. Emily’s place was neat and tidy. That indicates she didn’t leave suddenly. The mail was postmarked over a week ago, but there was no mail stacked up in her mailbox, which means she arranged for someone to collect it. There was no indication that she left in a hurry or was abducted. She planned to go away.”

Max looked impressed. I know I was. Gabriel was way too good at this sort of thing.

“So for all we know, she could be on a cruise ship somewhere,” I said.

“Possibly,” Gabriel said. “I looked for signs of that, too. Women packing for a vacation often leave clothes hanging out on a doorknob or thrown on the bed. They try on various outfits, then leave the rejects hanging there.”

I stared at him. “You know far too much about women.”

“That’s my job,” he said, grinning.

“What sort of job might that be, mate?” Derek muttered under his breath. Gabriel just smirked.

“So now what?” Max said.

I told them what I’d learned from Crystal about Solomon being taught ammo loading and other survivalist skills from Bennie and Stefan in the Hollow.

Max leaned forward. “Maybe it was one of these kids, Bennie or Stefan, who took the shot at us.”

“But it couldn’t be them,” I argued, glancing from Derek to Gabriel. “How could they possibly have eluded you two?”

Gabriel shifted his shoulders philosophically. “It happens.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I said.

“Brooklyn’s right,” Derek said flatly, and looked at Gabriel. “You and I were out there together. There’s no way those two evaded us.” Then he gave Max some background on the survivalists in the Hollow and how, according to my dad, they all kept arsenals in their basements.

“All those people stocking up for World War Three?” Gabriel said. “Not sure we’ll get inside anyone’s house.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’ve all got booby traps set up,” I said. “Bennie and Stefan sound like the type who would do that. Crystal called them immature, but they’ve also got intimate knowledge of munitions.”

“Immaturity and ammunition,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “Bad combination.”

“Yes,” Derek said, nodding slowly. “Which is undoubtedly why Solomon decided to use them. For all we know, he might’ve sent them to kill Joe.”

“And flatten my tire with Max’s knife?” The memory of seeing that knife still irritated me. “I just don’t think they’re smart enough to pull that off.”

“It’s just sticking a knife in a tire,” Max said. “How smart do you have to be?”

“But their timing had to be perfect,” I explained. “They had to know I was coming. They had to know my car. They had to plan exactly when to kill Joe and escape out the back door, then vanish into thin air. I know I’m sounding paranoid and persnickety, but I just don’t believe those two could pull off that sort of precision maneuver.”

“I believe you’re right, darling,” Derek said, typing something into his smart phone. “Tomorrow I’ll contact the feds to see if they’ve any information on this local band of survivalists. I’m also interested in that church you mentioned.”

“The True Blood of Ogun?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Seems I’ve heard of that group before.”

“You have.” I smiled. “Do you remember Mary Ellen Prescott, your new best friend at Abraham Karastovsky’s memorial service?”

He thought for a moment. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

I laughed and reminded him of how Mary Ellen had tried to convert him. It’s what happened when you let your guard down around Dharma.

He shook his head. “That’ll teach me to wander too far from you at those affairs.” He glanced around the table. “Now, where were we?”

“According to Crystal,” I said, “Angelica is still living with Solomon. But also according to Crystal, Angelica cheats on him. I’m wondering if she has her own place somewhere.”

“I’ll check it out,” Gabriel said.

“Good,” I said. “Maybe you’ll find the rifle she used.”

“If it was she who shot at us,” Derek added.

Max sat forward, his hands clutching the arms of his chair. “There has to be a way to find out where Emily’s gone. Can one of you go to her school? Or her parents’ house? I can track down their address.”

They all turned and looked at me. Well, why not?

“I’m on it,” I said.

Chapter 17

The next day, while Derek looked into the survivalists’ weapons arsenals and Gabriel went off to find out if Angelica had her own place somewhere, I drove north to Windy Bluff Elementary School on the outskirts of Santa Rosa.

I had no idea if Emily still worked there or what I was going to say to her if and when I found her. I mean, how did you just walk up to someone and announce, “Remember that guy you were engaged to, and he died? Well, not so much.” Yeah, this was going to be tough no matter how I looked at it.

Luckily for me, I arrived between classes, so the hall was packed and nobody thought to stop me. Walking past the rows of miniature lockers that lined the walls of the long, artificially lit corridor, I wove my way through gaggles of kids who were dressed much more fashionably than I had ever been able to manage.

Through the reinforced glass in the door of a classroom, I spied a room filled with desks for little people and a wall of alphabet-strewn blackboards—and shuddered.

I wasn’t one of those kids who loved school. I liked my friends and I liked spelling bees and I enjoyed a few of my teachers, but I wasn’t what you’d call a whiz kid. No, I didn’t turn into a super achiever until I reached high school and realized that if I excelled, I could actually go to a school that would allow me to obtain a degree in book arts. And then my bookbinding would be considered a real career. At that point, my desire to excel became insatiable.

But this long walk down the hall brought back some less-than-pleasant memories from the early years. And why was it, I wondered, that grammar schools all seemed to smell the same? Chalk dust, fruity-flavored gum—in my day it was Fruit Stripe Gum—and a hint of gym socks. Back in my time, the scent of the mimeograph machine permeated the air, but those days were gone.

I brushed those thoughts away as I finally came to the door of the administration office. Walking inside, I watched while three women behind a counter busily carried out the duties of running a school while teachers and students came and went. I didn’t see any reason to interrupt them, since I still wasn’t sure what I would ask them.

After a few minutes, the door to an inner office opened and an attractive, well-dressed woman walked out. She looked at least ten years older than me, but maybe it was the outfit that added a few extra years. She wore a plain black suit with chunky black heels, a crisp white blouse, and a gray-and-black-striped ribbon tie at the collar. The only word to describe it was matronly.

“Are you waiting to see me?” she asked.

“You’re the school principal?”

She nodded. “I’m Mrs. Plumley.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, smiling. “I’m looking for Emily Branigan.”

She frowned slightly, and I knew right away this was a tough principal. I felt sorry for any kid who was sent to this office. Mrs. Plumley, despite her sweet name, was a no-nonsense kind of woman.

“Is there a problem?” she wondered.

“Oh no. I’m an old friend of hers.” That much was true, anyway, but I didn’t have a clue what to say next. I would have to make it up as I went along, and even I knew what a bad liar I was. “We were, um, supposed to meet for lunch yesterday, but she never showed up. I just thought I’d take a chance and come by the school to see if she was ill, or if something happened to her, or if—”

I stopped talking abruptly. All that sounded reasonable, but I had a tendency to blather incessantly when I lied, so the less said, the better.

Mrs. Plumley smiled gently. “I’m so sorry she missed your lunch, but no, she’s not ill. Unfortunately, she’s not working, either. She recently took a short leave of absence. Perhaps you could write down your name and number in case she calls in.”

“That’s a good idea.” I pulled out a business card and wrote a quick note on the back. Emily, call me. Important.

I handed her the card and watched Mrs. Plumley slip it into one of the many message slots that covered one wall.

“There,” she said. “She’ll get the message when she calls in.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your help. Can you tell me how long she’ll be gone?”

She pulled on her lower lip for a moment, then said, “I’m not comfortable giving out that information. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” And I did. I stood there for a few seconds, hoping inspiration would strike and I would think of another brilliant question to ask the helpful Mrs. Plumley. Something along the lines of, Is Emily still in love with Max Adams? Does she ever talk about him? Or has she finally moved on? Is she happy?

But Mrs. Plumley probably wouldn’t be comfortable giving out that information, either. No other questions came to my mind, and it was probably just as well. I needed to skedaddle, as my mother would say, before I said something stupid and blew my cover.

“Well, you all have a good day,” I said cheerfully, and walked out.

*    *    *

The GPS in Mom’s car directed me to a street a few blocks off the main square in Sonoma. I came to a stop in front of a pretty house perched behind a vine-strewn fence. I didn’t know why, but Emily’s parents’ house was exactly as I imagined it would be. Touches of fairy-tale allure blended nicely with rustic, wine-country charm. A pretty porch circled the house with a Victorian-style spindle railing, painted white. There were no cars in the driveway and I wondered if anyone was home.

“Might as well go find out,” I mumbled as I unfastened my seat belt and climbed out of the car. I walked over to the gate that was closed across the driveway and checked the latch. There was a lock on it. Damn. I looked around, wondering if there was some other way to get close to the house. Even if her parents weren’t home, I could snoop around, look inside a window or two. What would Gabriel do in this situation?

“They’re not home,” someone shouted from behind me.

I turned around and saw a young woman standing on the front porch across the street. She was dressed in pajamas and held a tiny baby on her shoulder. It looked like she was trying to burp him.

“Have they been gone all day?” I asked.

“All week’s more like it,” she said. “Maybe longer. I guess they’re on vacation, although I couldn’t say for sure. I haven’t been around much.” She patted the baby’s back. “I’ve been in the hospital on bed rest for the past month, but I came home with this little one, so it was worth it.”

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Thank you. He’s a darling thing.” She turned her head and buried her nose in his little blue blanket. “Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”

From across the street, I heard a long, loud baby belch, and laughed. “He sounds healthy.”

“He sure is,” she said, grinning, then patted his little baby butt. “Yes, he is. Oh yes, he is.”

Oh, dear God. She sounded like she was talking to the family dog. I guess it worked for babies, too.

“Thanks for your help,” I said, waving. Then I got back in the car and headed for Dharma.

“My day was a bust,” I griped, and slumped in my chair at the kitchen table.

“Good thing there’s wine,” Dad said, and grinned as he handed me a glass. “Try this. It’s a new Fumé Blanc from Chateau St. Jean. Crisp and smooth with a hint of melon.”

“Sounds yummy,” Mom said, and took a petite sip. “Mm, it is.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, accepting the small glass of wine from him. I took a sip and checked the wall clock for the tenth time. Derek hadn’t yet called to say he was on his way, and I was feeling edgy. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I’d been driving around playing private eye all day. I got up from the table and moved around the kitchen, checking the refrigerator, checking the soup on the stove, glancing out the window.

I went into the living room and tried Emily’s phone number again. Even though her principal had verified that she was on a leave of absence, she would still be checking her messages. Wouldn’t she? So maybe my first message got lost in the telephone-answering void.

Listening to the sound of her voice on voice mail again brought back memories. The first time I called, I wasn’t absolutely certain it was her, but now I knew for sure. I left another message with my home and work numbers. I told her I lived in the city and could drive out to meet her anytime she wanted. I just really needed to talk to her, I said, then realized I was starting to sound desperate, so I hung up the phone.

I was agitated about more than just Emily not contacting me and Derek being late. I was homesick for my apartment, for my work, for the city. I’d been away from home too long. I imagined my mail piling up and deadlines being missed, even though my neighbors were collecting my mail and my clients had all been alerted that their books would be ready in the next two weeks. I loved my parents, loved my hometown, but I still ached to get back to the city.

I came into the kitchen and idly tore a piece of paper from Mom’s notepad. I began folding it, first forward, then back, turning and twisting and making tiny folds. This was what I did when I was nervous. Within two minutes, I’d made an origami stork.

“For you.” I held it out to Dad.

He chuckled as he took it from me. It wasn’t much bigger than his thumb, but he held it carefully in the palm of his hand and shook his head in amazement. “You’re a genius.”

“Hardly.” It was my turn to laugh. “I do make an awesome paper bird, though.”

“A work of art,” Mom said lovingly.

The phone rang and Dad picked it up, listened, then handed it to me. “It’s Derek.”

I grabbed the phone. “Hi.”

“Darling, I can’t make it out there tonight. There’s simply too much going on.”

“You sound tired.

“Just aggravated.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I am, too. I want you to be extra careful. I don’t like to leave you alone at night.”

“I don’t like it, either.”

I asked him if he’d unearthed any information on the Ogunite church or the survivalists, but he confessed that he had been too busy to deal with any of that. We spoke for a few more minutes; then I hung up and called Gabriel to give him the news. He assured me he would stay at Jackson’s tonight and we would all talk tomorrow.

I hung up the phone and immediately felt lonely. And that was ridiculous. I couldn’t go one night without seeing Derek? What was wrong with me? I had a rich, full life and was perfectly capable of entertaining myself. I enjoyed my time alone. Besides, I wasn’t actually alone. My parents were both watching me carefully.

“Derek can’t make it tonight,” I said. “He’s still at work and it sounds like he’ll be there for a while.”

“In that case, we’ll just have to play three-handed Bananagrams,” Mom said.

The next day, I decided it was time to make a bold move. I asked Mom for the keys to her car, but when she found out where I intended to go, she refused to be left behind.

“All right,” I said, “but this isn’t a carefree stroll in the park. We’ll take one quick walk around the campus, gather whatever empirical data we can glean, and then we’re out of there.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” she said, saluting smartly.

“And don’t wear anything too colorful,” I warned. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll dress just like you,” Mom said.

I looked down at my dark jeans and slim, black leather jacket, then back at her. “Ouch, Mom.”

She waved me off. “Oh, you know what I mean. You always look beautiful.” Then she ran down the hall to change clothes.

I wasn’t so sure she meant that, but ten minutes later, she came out in blue jeans, a thin red sweater, and a cropped navy jacket.

“Mom, you look very chic.”

“Just like you,” she said, making me laugh.

We drove four miles to the Art Institute and found a parking place in a local shopping area a block from the school. As we strolled briskly along the wide, tree-lined walkway of the campus, I noticed colorful banners on every light pole touting the latest artist retrospective being held at the institute’s well-respected art gallery. The banner’s image was blurry and I paid little attention to it, figuring it was some local artist I’d never heard of.

“It’s a pretty campus,” Mom said. “Did you enjoy your time teaching here?”

“I did, most of the time.” As I gazed around at the students hurrying to classes, I felt a rush of nostalgia for my college days. We passed the student union, and I considered walking inside to indulge in a little vicarious taste of student life, when someone shoved a flyer into my hand. I was ready to toss it in the trash, but happened to notice the large headline: GENIUS ON PAPER.

I stared at the stippled face of the honoree, then glanced up at one of the banners flapping on the light pole. I could finally make out that blurred image. Gazing back at the flyer, I read all about the upcoming retrospective featuring the most important works of that late, great papermaker, Max Adams.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, and scanned the flyer as Mom read over my shoulder. The opening-night cocktail party for the monthlong Max Adams Retrospective was scheduled for two Saturdays from now. The party was to feature several prominent artists, a live jazz band, a cash bar, hors d’oeuvres, and one very special guest.

“Look who the show’s curator is,” Mom said, pointing to the name at the bottom of the flyer.

I read the name, then did a double take. “Angelica Johansen. You have got to be kidding.”

What in the world is Angelica up to?

“Didn’t you suspect she knew Max was alive?”

“Yes, and now I’m sure of it.” I shook the piece of paper. “This could be why she set the whole thing in motion, starting with selling the book to Joe.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course,” I said. “She expects Max Adams to be her special guest.”

Mom and I stepped inside the dark lecture hall and found ourselves on the top tier of an arena-style auditorium. In the front of the class, standing at a podium next to a large slide screen that showed a photograph of the Greek Acropolis, was Solomon.

With a slide-change clicker in one hand and a laser pointer in the other, Solomon was delivering a stirring account of his last visit to the famous ancient ruin.

He glanced up at the top row and I shivered involuntarily. The lights were dimmed and he was busy lecturing, but I felt as though he could see right through me from twenty rows away. He seemed taller, older, better-looking, and more solidly built than I remembered him.

“Do we have latecomers?” he asked acerbically, his deep, smooth voice resonating through the room.

“Sorry, wrong classroom,” I said loudly, and pushed Mom toward the door.

Once in the hall, I had to take a few deep breaths to calm my stuttering heart. I hadn’t seen Solomon in almost ten years, but all it took was a few short seconds in the same room to leave me certain that the man could be a cold-blooded killer.

“I had no idea he was so forceful,” Mom said, breathless herself.

“I’d forgotten,” I muttered, wondering if I’d simply been too young and naive to recognize Solomon’s potent sexual energy, or if his unpredictable, domineering ways back then had blinded me to his magnetism.

“No wonder Crystal is so in love with him.”

“I know. He’s got some lethal pheromones at work.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Which helps mask the fact that he’s a psychopath.”

I looked at her in amazement. “Well put, Mom.”

“I have my moments.”

Laughing, I grabbed her arm and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

We made one quick stop at the gallery store. I wanted to find a poster of the retrospective to show Max. Wouldn’t he be surprised?

The store had all different retrospective items available, from postcards to wall posters. I chose a medium-sized poster on good-quality card stock. Mom wanted one and so did I, so I ended up buying three.

“Oh, Max Adams,” the salesgirl said with excitement. “I love his work. Don’t you?”

“I do,” I said as I handed her my money.

“If you’re a student, you can get discount tickets to the retrospective.”

I frowned. “I’m not a student.”

“Me, neither,” Mom said.

“Oh,” the girl said, looking disappointed. But she perked up again. “Well, you should buy them, anyway, because it’s going to sell out. The buzz has been incredible.”

“Really? What are you hearing about it?”

“It’s all his most important work, plus a lot of photographs of him during his lectures and appearances. He was so hot, you know? And rumor has it that somebody really important will make an appearance. I hear he worked with celebrities a lot.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Oh yeah. Everyone on campus is crazy about Max Adams. It was an absolute tragedy that he died so young, so we’re all determined to keep his spirit alive.”

“That’s so beautiful,” I said.

“Yeah. Max rocks.” She turned to the cash register. “You can buy the retrospective tickets here if you want.”