Chapter 2
I recoiled at the sight of the deep empty eye sockets and the eternal grin where his teeth clamped together. “Ugh.”
“Well, well. Who might you be?” asked the professor. He gingerly set the skull on his desk.
Frodo yelped and galloped down the stairs.
Cyril chuckled, “That was quite a reaction. I thought dogs liked bones.”
Undeterred, the professor pawed through the remaining shreds of newspaper. “Aha. A note and, what’s this?” He blew at the bits of paper. They flew aside to reveal a dark mirror. He flapped open a small sheet of paper and read aloud.
My dearest Maxwell,
I find myself in a dire situation, and I don’t know if I shall manage to wangle my way out of this one. If I could, I would wrap myself up and crawl into this box to be posted along with Harry’s skull. I apologize for burdening you with Harry, but you were the only person I could think of who would treasure him the way I would. I plan to collect him in the near future, should I survive this nightmare, and at that time we shall share a drink to life and return Harry to his rightful place. If news of my demise should reach you, then have that drink for me and follow your heart. I hope Harry won’t be too much trouble.
Ellis Willoughby IV
To be honest, I was glad I didn’t have friends who would send me a human skull. I frowned at it.
The professor, on the other hand, beamed. He smiled broadly. “I do hope Ellis makes it. He’s a delightful fellow but inclined to take too many risks.” He picked up the packaging. “Looks like it was posted right here in town.”
Cyril frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that. Ellis had better be careful. Maybe I should give him a call to see if he needs our assistance.”
The professor picked up Harry, the skull, and held it in the air. “What do you suppose Harry’s surname is? And just what makes him so special?”
I didn’t want to be rude, but, after all, that skull had been someone! Presumably someone named Harry. “Um, is it even legal to have a human skull? Shouldn’t it, er, he be buried?”
“The last time I checked, only three states had laws regarding the possession of human skulls. I imagine Ellis intends to bury or inter Harry’s skull. After all, he mentions something about returning him to his rightful place. Or perhaps he was stolen from a museum,” he mused.
“Why would anyone steal a skull?”
The professor looked at me in surprise. “Many famous people have been buried in unmarked spots so people won’t dig them up. It depends on who Harry was. He may have had political enemies. Or he might have been a famous actor or musician.” He eyed the skull.
In a teasing tone, Cyril added, “Or he could have been infamous, a murderer, possibly.”
I shivered. “I hope not! Poor Harry. I wonder what happened to him. Can you tell the age of a skull? Is it ancient or”—I sought a nice way to say it—“of recent vintage?”
“You can’t say by looking at them, but archeologists have been radiocarbon dating them for some time. However, if Ellis knew Harry, then one could assume he is a contemporary of ours.”
Now I was thoroughly grossed out. I shuddered. I couldn’t imagine having to retrieve the skull of a friend. Ick! I left the professor and Cyril to their musings. I was far too timid to join the professor on one of his adventures, let alone procure a skull and ship it to someone. As I headed downstairs, Professor Goldblum, a short man with a shiny balding head and a winning grin, passed me. “You’re in for a surprise,” I said to him.
His small eyes widened with excitement and he picked up his pace.
I continued down the stairs but paused on the landing, where Frodo had taken refuge. As I reassured him, Cyril’s son-in-law, Finley Brimble, caught my eye.
A dedicated bibliophile who made a living dealing in rare books, Finley haunted bookstores. We had a room on the second floor devoted to used books, and we also kept a section of rare books in the historical and philosophical book room.
Finley was exceedingly cordial and had made friends with our employees. True, his wife had a connection to Color Me Read, which might account for his friendliness, but I’d heard other people rave about his genial character as well.
His wife, Roxie Oldfield Brimble, came down the stairs behind me. She bent to stroke Frodo, and said sotto voce, “Florrie, don’t ever marry anyone who is drop-dead hand-some.”
She watched as a young woman moved through the store with her eyes glued to Finley. You would have thought he was a rock star from the way she shadowed him.
“Did you know your dad is upstairs with the professor?” I asked.
She nodded. “We had breakfast with him and walked over here after.”
Roxie was what my mother called pleasingly plump. She had a curvy figure and always seemed to be going on a new diet. While she worried about her weight, I didn’t think anyone else did. Roxie was always smiling. She was one of those lovely people who could be counted on to pitch in and lend a hand. Without doubt, she was one of the most fun people I knew. It seemed as though a laugh perched on her lips, ready to bubble out at any time. Except for now. I could feel her annoyance with the woman.
If Finley noticed that he was being watched, he didn’t show it in any way. In fact, he didn’t even turn to look at the woman.
Finley was handsome in a glamorous way that reminded me of movie stars in the 1950s. He dressed impeccably, even when he was being casual, like today. He wore lush trousers the color of burnt caramel. His cable-knit sweater was a shade lighter but in the same family. He wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. A tan-and-chocolate-brown–plaid scarf with a fine line of cranberry mixed in hung around his neck, adding a smart twist. He could have walked straight out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement. The color of his hair reminded me of pecans. He wore it short and parted on the right. And when he smiled, as he did at that very moment, long dimples appeared.
The woman smiled, too, at the mere sight of them. She had a slight frame and a long face. If I had to guess, I would have said she was a bottle blonde.
“Honestly!” Roxie whispered. “She’s an adult. You’d think she would know better than to follow a man around. A married man at that! And the nerve of fawning over him in front of me!”
“She seems fixated on him. Maybe she doesn’t know that he’s married.”
“He’s wearing a wedding band, for heaven’s sake.” Roxie trotted down the stairs, marched directly toward the woman, and dropped a pen at her feet.
The woman bent to pick it up and handed it to Roxie with a smile. I suspected that meant the woman didn’t know Finley was married. Or at least she didn’t realize that Roxie was his wife. It would have taken some real grit to smile at Roxie if she knew.
I reached the main floor, picked up a box of new books, and got to work arranging a table display of books about ghosts.
Finley thumbed through one of my Halloween coloring books. He looked up and gazed at the bookstore ceiling. In an oh-so-romantic English accent, he asked, “Did you just see something, Florrie?”
I hadn’t noticed anything unusual.
“There was a disturbance in the air, as though something flew through overhead,” he said, still looking up.
Bob was right. It was the season of ghosts, vampires, and pranks. I thought Finley might be joking. I didn’t know him very well. Finley ran with an elite and moneyed crowd. If he hadn’t been married to Roxie or wasn’t a bibliophile who lingered in the store, our paths probably wouldn’t have crossed.
“I’ll take this one, please,” he said, clutching my coloring book.
As an adult coloring book artist, I always found it a thrill when someone selected one of my books. Even though I managed the Color Me Read bookstore by day, I made a concerted effort not to steer people to mycoloring books. It would be entirely too self-serving. There was also the fact that I was unquestionably introverted. Promoting myself and my coloring books was as unappealing to me as jumping off a cliff attached to a bungee cord. I was a “curl up by the fire with a good mystery” kind of person.
“Do you also sell pencils for coloring?” he asked.
“We do.” I led him to the coloring book section of the store. “Let me know if you need any help.”
I returned to my task arranging books. Moments later, out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Bob rang up Finley’s sale. They laughed together about something. As far as I could tell, Finley remained oblivious to the woman who was following him.
She did an excellent job of darting behind him so that he wouldn’t notice her. She quickly made a pretense of examining an audio book display, thus neatly hiding from his line of vision while still watching him.
Finley took his purchase and smiled sweetly at Roxie. “Ready to go?” he asked.
Roxie threw me a can-you-believe-her glance, and the two of them walked out together.
The woman watched them leave.
“May I help you?” I asked her.
She blushed as though she’d been caught ogling Finley. “No, thank you. I’m enjoying browsing.”
There was no obligation to make a purchase, of course. We had plenty of browsers. How else would people find things they wanted or didn’t know they needed? I nodded at her. “Let us know if we can be of assistance.”
Bob ambled over to me and sighed. “I wish I had Finley’s style. Maybe I should buy some new clothes. Would that make me more dashing?”
His drab stone-gray T-shirt bore the words Book Nerdacross an ample pizza belly. His dark brown hair was adequately cut but did nothing to enhance his looks. It lay flat and limp on his round head, making me think of Charlie Brown. “You’re wonderful just the way you are,” I assured him. I was being honest. Bob was genuinely nice and he looked it.
“Good grief, Florrie. You sound like my mother.” He mimicked her in a high pitch: “Some nice girl will come along and appreciate you one day.” His mouth twisted in a dissatisfied grimace. “I’d rather not wait until I’m Professor Maxwell’s age.”
In exceedingly poor timing, Professor Maxwell happened to be walking down the stairs. “Wait for what?” he asked.
Poor Bob’s eyes widened in panic.
I tried to rescue him. “To meet a girl.”
The professor gazed at him. “I quite agree, Bob. I was married and divorced by the time I was your age.”
The professor had been kind enough to let me live in the carriage house behind the Maxwell mansion. Due to the unfortunate and untimely death of his only nephew, I had learned a good bit about the professor and his family.
He had been married quite young to a woman of whom his parents did not approve. They divorced after a year. He subsequently married Jacquie Liebhaber, a well-known romance novelist. They had one child, Caroline, who was kidnapped from a birthday party and never seen again. The stress and horror of the kidnapping had devastated them and led to their divorce. Caroline had never been found. The professor married a third time, but rumor had it that his wife considered herself European royalty and had departed in short order.
In the strange way that the world works, Jacquie found herself in a personal crisis and sought out the professor, whom she knew she could trust. Their relationship blossomed again. Or, perhaps, as some suggested, it had never really died.
In any event, the professor had a good deal of personal knowledge about women and marriage.
“Finley Brimble was just here,” I explained to the professor.
“Ah. Now I understand. He’s rather dapper.” The professor eyed Bob. “Jacquie enjoys matchmaking. Perhaps you should speak with her. I believe she’ll be here this afternoon.”
Scowling, he picked up a copy of a book about ghosts. “Such nonsense,” he said. “Do you expect to sell a lot of these?”
“Of course. People love ghost stories. Besides, it’s the season!”
The professor shot me a sideways look. “Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?”
To be honest, I had never given them much thought. “I can’t say that I’ve ever met a ghost. But I do enjoy reading about them.”
“Mmm,” the professor murmured. “People enjoy the momentary fright because they know all will turn out well in the end”—he smiled at me—“because we all know ghosts are not real. Florrie, I have placed Harry on a shelf in my office and closed the door. I trust no one will even realize that he’s here.”
He left the store without inquiring about the reading scheduled later that day. It amused me that Professor Maxwell loved books and took pride in owning a bookstore but was completely oblivious to the business of running one. He used the room on the third floor as his office, but usually spent his time perusing old maps and going through obscure ancient documents in his quest to find relics of historic importance, ...
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
