Midsummer Night's Mischief (17 page)

Wes slowed the car, turned into a gravel lane, and picked up our conversation. “I can kind of relate to the connection you have with your aunt,” he said. “I feel the same way about my uncle Kirk. He was kind of the black sheep, too, and ran off to New York after high school to be a stage actor. I always looked up to him as a kid, even though he probably wasn't the best role model.” Wes chuckled to himself but didn't elaborate.

“I met him at the visitation,” I said. “He seemed really nice. And funny too.”

“Yeah, that's Kirk. Always lightening the mood, no matter what. He's had an unlucky streak this past year—laid off from his day job right after the local theater he was involved in shuttered its doors. But it hasn't seemed to bring him down, at least not that I've seen.”

I remembered what Sharon had told me about Kirk's “pride for Shakespeare” and about how he didn't want his mom to sell the Folio. And that was in spite of the fact that he probably could have really used the money.

Of course, the money split among multiple family members—not to mention all the other beneficiaries Eleanor had had in mind—would have amounted to a lot less than the full jackpot for each. Whoever had the Folio now wouldn't have to share.

Wes left the gravel lane, such as it was, and steered the car down a dusty driveway that cut through expansive fields of wheat to our left and corn to our right. We slowed to a stop where the driveway ended, in a small grove of trees next to the foundation remains of what I guessed was an old farmhouse.

“Welcome to the Mostriak homestead,” said Wes, opening his door. I got out, too, and followed him to the edge of the crumbling, weedy foundation.

“So, this was your grandpa Frank's home?” I asked.

“Yeah. He grew up out here. Him and his six brothers and sisters. He lived out here with his family pretty much until he met my grandma. After that, he got a job and a house in town, and they got married.”

“It's peaceful out here,” I remarked.

We wandered around the old yard. Wes snapped a few photos, taking advantage of the soft late afternoon light. We peeked in an old barn, which contained a tractor and other tools used by the farmer who managed the land. Then Wes showed me the place where the other barn had burned down.

“Do you know if that fire was ever investigated at the time?” I asked.

“Nah. No one was hurt, and my grandpa's family never asked for an investigation. At least I don't think so. Maybe they figured there wouldn't be any proof. I don't really know.”

“But the story was that the Folio was destroyed in the fire?”

“Yeah. I mean, there were never any details about that part of the story. Grandpa talked about owning the Folio once. And then it was lost in a fire.”

“Yet your grandpa really had it all along. Kept it hidden over the years.”

“Yeah. It would appear that he did.”

I thought about this as my eyes followed a brilliant dragonfly zipping through the air. We stood by an old three-board corral fence overlooking a meadow of native grasses and wildflowers.

“I wonder if he thought of it as some kind of grand inside joke,” I mused. “You know? Maybe that's what he meant by that line of Shakespeare he liked to say. ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be.'”

Wes looked at me curiously. “How did you know about that?”

Uh-oh.
I hadn't really thought this through. I hesitated a second. “From Rob,” I said in my most innocent-sounding voice. I hoped he would let it go. He didn't.

“Rob? When did you see Rob?
Where
did you see Rob?”

“Um, I don't know. The other day.”

Wes blinked, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in his mind. “You saw that wooden carving he has. You were at his apartment?”

“Well, yeah. I stopped by, because . . . I was in the neighborhood.”

Okay, that sounded lame. But I was afraid the truth would sound even worse. How could I tell Wes I had really been trying to track
him
down . . . because my boss was worried about the law firm's reputation and I was worried about keeping my job?

Wes looked at me for a moment, then looked away. “We better go,” he said, swatting his arm. “The mosquitoes are starting to come out.”

CHAPTER 17

It felt weird not to go to work on Monday morning. I spent much of the day moping about the house, fretting over my job situation. Was my work piling up? Would I even have any clients left when I went back?
If
I went back?

That is, I fretted over my job when I wasn't obsessing over Wes. I kept going back to our . . . interlude on the rock by the creek. It was such a perfect moment. The setting serene, the passion spontaneous and red hot. Even though we were interrupted, I felt like it could be the start of something promising.

But then I thought about how much of a bust the date had actually been. I hadn't learned a thing. I didn't know anything new about Wes—nothing about his photography, what had taken him to New York and what had brought him back, how and when he'd chosen his tattoo . . . if he had any more. If he'd been in any serious relationships.

If he knew where the Folio was.

And then there'd been that awkward moment when Wes found out I had gone over to Rob's place. I didn't know if his reaction was due to some jealous sibling rivalry over me or to the rift already between them. Either way, the ride back to town had been much like the ride before, except the music had been even louder—which had allowed for even less talk.

Around lunchtime, Farrah called me for details about my date, and I pretty much told her everything. She laughed about my momentary panic in the woods. “Really? You thought the hottie had a gun?”

“Well, I was already a little on edge,” I said defensively. “I just wish I knew for sure he didn't take the Folio. I wish he had an alibi for that night.”

“Mmm.” I could imagine Farrah frowning on the other end of the line. “Maybe you should hold off on dating any of the suspects for a little while. I don't want to see you get hurt. If you get too tight with Wes, and it turns out he was involved . . .”

I knew what she meant. Unfortunately, it was too late to follow her advice. I was already in too deep with Wes.

“How are we going to catch the thief, Farrah? I'm not really sure what to do next.”

“Well, it seems to me we need to keep watching the family, right? Especially the male members. I'll see what I can dig up on Uncle Kirk. I find it interesting, what you told me about his possible sentimental attachment to the Folio.”

“Okay,” I agreed, sighing. This was all starting to feel a little Machiavellian, the way I was getting closer to the family at the same time I was investigating them.

“And maybe you can learn more about Rob through Jeremy,” Farrah went on. “Just ask Jeremy out for a drink at the Loose. But be sure to bring up the gambling boat before y'all hit the dance floor.” Farrah laughed, but I wasn't entirely sure she was kidding.

Lord.
I still cringed whenever I thought about my poor judgment in getting drunk with Jeremy. It was especially regrettable now that I knew he had a girlfriend—and that she had turned to me for help. Stacey had called this morning to check on my progress. I had told her all about the River Queen and how Jeremy was apparently spending his evenings gambling. But Stacey hadn't been satisfied. When I'd told her I actually saw him for only a couple of minutes, she'd said it was still possible he was meeting someone there.

Talk about suspicious minds.

So, I was still on the case, though I wasn't sure what I would do next on that front, either.

As always when I needed some direction and encouragement, I turned to the craft. When I got off the phone with Farrah, I went into the kitchen to whip up a little herb magic. Standing in the center of the room, I closed my eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and set my intention: to find some inspiration as to where to look next for the answers that eluded me.

Opening my eyes, I knew just the thing. I walked over to the corner cabinet and pulled out the tools I would need for a Japanese tea ceremony: a matcha bowl, a bamboo scoop, a bamboo whisk and, of course, a container of tea—in this case bright green matcha tea. I set about boiling water, warming the bowl with the water, drying the bowl, straining the powdered tea, and carefully adding two delicate scoopfuls to the drinking bowl, all with slow Zen-like movements. Then I added boiled water and whisked the jade-green brew until it had a creamy froth. As I watched the swirling liquid, I repeated my intention, murmured a prayer to the Goddess, and took a healthy mouthful.

Mmm.
Essence of summer.

I finished the tea, licked my lips, and nodded.
Of course.
If I wanted a sign, a trail to follow, I would have to leave the house.

After cleaning up the kitchen, I changed clothes and laced up my running shoes. I had plenty of time to make the 6:30 p.m. yoga class over at the gym near my office. I hadn't actually been to the gym since the weather warmed up in the spring, but I still kept a locker there. It was convenient for after-hours workouts in the winter.

After the two-and-a-half-mile jog to the gym, I grabbed my soap, shampoo, and towel from the locker and showered before yoga class. Then I rented a mat and entered the yoga room for forty-five minutes of strenuous asanas, followed by ten minutes of deep, relaxing shavasana, the corpse pose. I came out feeling tranquil, slack, and a little floaty. After turning in my mat at the front desk, I walked over to the water fountain for a cool sip, wondering how long it would take me to amble home in this state.

As I straightened up, the door to the men's locker room opened and out came Jeremy, freshly showered, gym bag in hand.
Ask and ye shall receive
, I thought, with a mental bow to the Goddess.

His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey, boss!”

Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me into a close hug, and I inhaled the fresh masculine scent of his body wash and shampoo. I gently pulled back.

“Hi, Jeremy. How are you? How's the office?”

“Same old, same old. We miss you, of course. When are you coming back?”

“Soon, I hope. What has Beverly said?” I tried to sound casual. This whole situation was mortifying enough as it was.

“Not much. She basically said she won't have any gossip around the office. But then she doesn't give us any information to combat speculation. I gather your absence has to do with your client who died, right?”

“Right. I'm actually trying to help the family recover the missing Shakespeare Folio.” It was a true statement, even if it might lead one to infer the family had hired me for that purpose. Not my fault how Jeremy interpreted my response.

He raised his eyebrows. “Any luck?”

“Well, I am making progress, as a matter of fact. I've been talking to people, learning a few things. I think I'm getting closer.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows again, looking impressed. “That's awesome. So . . . what are you doing here?”

I laughed. “I needed a break from all that sleuthing. I just finished a yoga class.” Rolling my neck, I stifled a yawn. “But I'm so relaxed right now, I'm not sure I'm quite ready for the trek home. I came here by foot.”

“Oh, let me give you a ride, then.” He put his hand on the small of my back and turned me toward the door. “You crazy girl, walking all over town,” he said in a teasing voice.

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling too weak to protest. Just then I became aware of another guy who must have just exited the locker room. He wore a red sweat suit and carried a matching red duffel bag. He blinked owlishly when I looked his way.

“Crenshaw,” I said by way of greeting.

Jeremy turned to him, still with his hand on my back. “Good workout, buddy. I'll see you tomorrow.” Then he turned back to me. “My car's right out here in the lot. Hey, do you want to go get something to eat first?”

Crenshaw stood immobile, watching us as we left. He was so weird. I noticed he was growing his beard again, the orange stubble making his face appear dirty.

As we walked to the parking lot across the street from the gym, I wrestled with whether it was really a good idea to go anyplace with Jeremy. But I did want to get some information from him about Rob—and about his own secret outings. Besides, I was sure it was no coincidence that I had bumped into him shortly after asking the Goddess for a divine clue.

“Maybe something light,” I agreed. “How about the juice bar around the corner?”

“Sounds good to me. Let's still take the car, though. We already had our workouts.”

Jeremy winked at me and unlocked his car. I got in, tossing some papers from the front passenger seat to the back, which appeared to be an annex to Jeremy's office. The backseat was covered with case files, legal pads, and assorted books, including a couple of fat phone directories from Chicago and St. Louis, as well as several days' worth of newspapers. I also noted a number of used lottery tickets littering the floor. Surprisingly, the scent in the car was a not unpleasant combination of caramel corn, faded cologne, and male sweat. I cracked the window as soon as he started the engine.

As we drove along in a comfortable silence, I glanced sidelong at Jeremy, trying to figure out how in the world I could bring up the casino without letting on that I was actually there. Spying on him. I couldn't think of any way.

At the juice bar, we ordered our drinks and took them out to the small patio in front of the shop. We sat at one of the round, umbrella-shaded tables with a view of the square. I took a seat on the attached bench that circled the table, and Jeremy sat down right next to me, within knee-touching distance. I scooted the other way, making an excuse about the sun being in my face, and eyed him warily.

“So, how's Stacey?” I asked.

“She's good. Always studying. By the end of the summer, she'll have earned her master's.”

Nothing fazes him.
Not a trace of guilt or even surprise when I brought up his girlfriend. Maybe I was imagining him putting the moves on me.

I brushed off my worries, made an appropriate comment about Stacey's hard work, and sipped my juice. The sky was turning pink and violet, reminding me that this day was about over. I needed to stop wasting time.

“So, Jeremy, do you know if Darlene Callahan has had any more communication with Beverly or the firm?”

He looked at me blankly. “Who?”

“Darlene Callahan. Eleanor Mostriak's daughter. She's the one who came to the office and made a big scene last week.”
Prompting you to buy me flowers
, I thought but didn't say.

He shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

“The rest of her family is actually pretty nice. I've been talking to some of them, including her sons, Wes and Rob Callahan.”

No reaction. Just a polite listening face.

“Rob Callahan actually plays baseball in the local men's league. He's probably about your age. You ever play baseball?”

“Not since I was a kid. Maybe I'll look into it sometime. Are you still running a lot?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “About every day, if I can manage it.” This was getting me nowhere. Either Jeremy had a marvelous poker face or he really didn't know the name of the guy who was sitting next to him at the card table the other night.

Jeremy finished off his juice and squinted at the sky. “This was good, but it only whetted my appetite. How about we stop off at the Loose Rock for a burger and fries?”

The Loose. That was the last place I wanted to go with Jeremy, undercover or not. I had to draw the line somewhere.

* * *

Two days later I began to regret not pressing Jeremy more about Rob and the riverboat. I should have just come out and said I was there with a friend, and I thought I saw him. Blah, blah, blah. At least then I could have asked him about the thug with the scarface.

As they said, hindsight was a crystal clear looking glass.

Now I was stuck again.

Worse, it was my birthday.

Here I was, thirty years old. Jobless, loveless, and darn near hopeless.
Terrific.
Who was I to think I could play detective and make everything right? I was starting to despair of ever recovering Eleanor's Shakespeare book. And lately I hadn't even had anyone to commiserate with. Farrah had been busy with work, and I was too embarrassed about my situation to call any other friends.

To shake my dark mood, I went outside to my garden right after breakfast. I pulled weeds, checked the moisture level, gathered vegetables. The spinach and lettuce were flourishing, as were the green onions and sweet peas. I was already planning the big salad I would have later. Amid the soil and plants, I felt exponentially better. Everything would be okay.

“Good morning, Keli! Still on vacation?”

I looked up to see my neighbor, Mrs. St. John, picking her way down the grassy path from her garden to mine, her floppy sun hat bobbing up and down with each step.

“Hello, Mrs. St. John. How are you today?”

“My arthritis is acting up, and my back is sore. And Mr. St. John is driving me batty. Other than that, I'm all right.”

I smiled and stood up, then brushed the dirt off my knees. “Well, it's a lovely day, anyway.”

“Yes, I suppose. Listen, the reason I came over here is to let you know there was someone hanging around your house earlier this morning.”

“What?” I stiffened, my senses on alert.

“I was coming home from the store, pushing my cart up the sidewalk, when I saw him. He was standing on your stoop, kind of hesitating. At first I thought he had knocked on your door and was waiting for you to answer. Then he leaned over and appeared to be messing with your window.”

I frowned and glanced over at my back door.

“I called out, ‘Young man, what are you doing?' Then he took off running down the sidewalk and around the corner.”