Ghost image, p.25
Ghost Image, page 25
My brother ran toward us, panting and out of breath. “Where the hell have you two—”
I shook my head. “Not now. He wants to get back to the house to see Nonna.”
“Who—?” He gave me a puzzled look. “Are you kidding me? Nonna Gina? Oh, jeez. What’d you tell him?”
“That she probably wouldn’t be there.”
He said in my ear, “Mom’s on the warpath. She wanted to call the police when she realized he was gone. Pop thought he might have gone to the stables, so he went there.”
“Call or text them so they know he’s okay.”
“Is he?”
I met Tommy’s eyes. “I don’t think so.”
By the time we got home, the entire house was lit up like Christmas. Through the kitchen window I could see my mother, distraught, as she paced back and forth, a phone clamped to her ear. When she caught sight of us, she whirled around and flew outside across the lawn. I looked down and saw she was barefoot.
“Dad. Thank God you’re all right.” She took my place, slipping her arm around my grandfather’s shoulders. Under her breath she said to Tommy and me, “We need to get him inside before he catches his death out here.”
“He’s fine, Mom,” I said. “Nothing happened. It’s okay.”
My mother shot me a reproachful look and I could almost hear her saying, I’ll deal with you later, young lady. This is all your fault. She turned back to Chappy.
“What were you thinking? You scared the life out of us running off like that. Everyone’s been worried sick about you.” I could hear the dizzy relief in her voice even though she scolded him like a truant child. She looked over at Tommy and me and added, “What did I tell you? I can’t trust him anymore.”
She was dressed in ripped, faded jeans and one of Harry’s old flannel shirts over a white T-shirt, her long blond hair loose around her shoulders, no makeup. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her disheveled like this—my mother always looks like she’s ready for a fashion shoot even if she’s weeding the garden—and in the flat early-morning light, she looked weary and worn out.
“He went to the old stables to take pictures of the Blue Ridge at sunrise,” I said. “Like he did the last time he was here … then he got a little confused.”
“The last time he was here … oh, my God!”
We were back inside the house now, Harry bursting into the kitchen after coming through the front door with Ella on his heels, meeting my mother’s eyes before sweeping his gaze over Tommy and me. I’d just poured Chap a glass of orange juice and Tommy was sitting next to him at the old kitchen table, urging him to drink it. Ella padded over and planted herself in front of Chappy, who stroked her head.
“Caroline—?” Harry said.
“I’m taking him to the doctor this morning over at Landsdowne,” she said, her voice hard and defensive. “Hopefully they’ll admit him to the hospital and run some tests so we’ll know for sure. He has a nine o’clock appointment so I need to get him dressed and ready to leave as soon as he has breakfast.”
She was talking about Chappy as if he were invisible, or a child who either couldn’t hear her or didn’t understand what she was saying.
“I’ll take you,” Harry said. “I don’t want you doing this by yourself.”
“I’ll come, too,” I said.
My mother walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up an old copy of National Geographic. She passed it to me, her manicured index finger tapping the date and sliding down to the cover story.
“Look at that,” she said.
The magazine was from May 1983. More than thirty years ago.
Thomas Jefferson’s Beloved Virginia: The Beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. The photograph was a breathtaking view of the morning fog in whipped-cream stripes between the forest and the hazy blue mountains, the same view I’d seen at Monticello when Ryan Velis and I had been standing in Jefferson’s garden the other day. I opened the magazine to the story and found what I knew I’d find. Photographs by Charles Lord.
“That’s what he remembered,” she said. “Like it’s yesterday or a few months ago. He was looking at that magazine last night.”
I looked up. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“He doesn’t know anymore,” she said, her voice breaking, and it seemed she was trying not to cry. “I need to take him myself, Sophie. He doesn’t need any additional … distractions, anything or anyone to confuse him more than he already is.”
Meaning me.
“Right,” I said. “Sure.”
“I’ve got class at one,” Tommy said. “Soph, I can drive you back to D.C. if you want a ride. I’m going home before I head over to campus, so I can drop you off at your place.”
Harry shot me a fleeting, pleading look to do this without making a scene, and I said, “Thanks, Tommy. That’d be great.”
“I was thinking about leaving after the traffic dies down,” he said. “Around ten.”
“Dad,” my mother said, “how about if I take you upstairs and get you ready?”
Chappy stood up. “Gina, where’s Gina?”
There was a poignant silence before my mother said, “I’m afraid she’s not here.”
“Where did she go?”
My mother met Harry’s eyes. Hers were anguished.
“She’s … visiting some people,” Harry said, adding to my mother, “I’ll take him, Caroline … come on, Chap.”
After they left the room, my mother turned to me. “You should have called, Sophie. Or at least woken someone up. Instead you let me worry myself to death.”
“I forgot my phone, Mom. I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“You always have a reason—”
“He got up early to take pictures of the sunrise,” I said. “To be there for the golden hour, the first hour of light at sunrise and the last hour before sunset. He’s been doing it all his life.”
“I know what the golden hour is. You don’t need to lecture me. He shouldn’t have been out there by himself after what happened the other day in Connecticut—and God knows how many other times. I can’t watch him every minute of the night and day.”
“As far as we know, it’s only two times. Today and last week. You can’t chain him to his bed. It’ll kill him.”
“Don’t you dare start—”
“Mom,” Tommy said, “calm down. Soph.”
I took a deep breath and said to my mother, “I know you’re under a lot of stress. But nothing happened this morning and he’s okay.”
“This time. What about the next time, or the time after that? And where will you be?” She glared at my brother and me. “If you two want breakfast, help yourselves. I need to get changed. We have to leave in twenty minutes if we’re going to get to Landsdowne in time.”
After she was gone, Tommy walked over to the coffeepot and filled two mugs, adding milk and sugar. He passed one to me.
“Well,” he said in a laconic voice, “just another day in paradise. You want breakfast?”
“Not really. I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
Harry found me alone in the kitchen fifteen minutes later sitting at the table with a cup of cold coffee. “We’re on our way,” he said. “Just wanted to let you know and say goodbye … make sure you’re all right.”
“You mean, after Mom and I went a couple of rounds over Chappy, did anyone draw blood?”
He grinned. “I wasn’t going to put it quite like that.”
“I’m fine. And thanks again for London.”
“Sorry we had to cut it short.”
“This is more important.”
He gave me a rueful look. “Look, you know your mother doesn’t mean half the things she says just now. She hasn’t slept in days so she’s snapping at everyone. Let her be, she’ll calm down once we get Chap checked out and figure out what to do next.”
“Sure.”
“She loves you, kitten. You know she does.” He walked over and pulled me to him, kissing my hair.
I slid my arms around his waist. “Will you call me after you get back from the doctor?”
“Of course. Wish us luck.”
Nick phoned after everyone left. I had e-mailed him from Heathrow, telling him about Chappy and that I no longer needed the services of his bodyguard friends in London.
“My other friend already had a job, but he was making some calls. Then I got your e-mail so I told him to forget it,” he said. “I guess it worked out for the best. I’m glad you’re okay and safe at home.”
Telling him about someone pretending to be Victor’s secretary and then chasing me across the Millennium Bridge fell into the category of things too disturbing to talk about over the phone and better saved for a face-to-face conversation.
“Me, too.”
“Looks like I might be able to come home at the end of next week,” he said. “I’m wrapping things up here in a couple of days, and then I’ve got one more stop.”
“Next week? That would be fantastic. Where’s your last stop?”
“Atyrau, Kazakhstan.”
One of the oil-rich cities of the world, a former Russian republic on the Caspian Sea. “Just don’t make any side trips across the border into Russia.”
“Don’t worry. I have no desire to be thrown out of the country again.”
“You probably wouldn’t be,” I said. “I’d have to come get you out of jail.”
He laughed and hung up.
Tommy and I left for Washington shortly after that. I played fetch with Ella one last time while he packed up his books and laptop, and then I fell asleep on the drive home.
I woke up when he shook my arm. “Okay, sleepyhead, home, sweet home. I’ll carry your suitcase upstairs, but I’m not carrying you, too.”
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry. You should have poked me or something.”
“I could have pushed the eject button and you wouldn’t have woken up. You were out cold.” He pulled into the alley next to my house and we both got out of the car.
In the few days since I’d been away, the bare-branched dogwood in the front yard was now covered with blossoms on the verge of opening and the air felt soft and fresh scented. I shrugged out of my coat. It had warmed up since this morning when Chappy and I had been out at sunrise.
“You don’t need to carry my suitcase,” I said to Tommy. “I can manage.”
But he was already halfway up the front walk. “What have you got in here? Bricks? It wasn’t this heavy last night.”
I had taken Olivia Upshaw’s thick manuscript out of my carry-on and put it in the suitcase. “A dead body.”
The mail was still in the mailbox, since I’d forgotten to stop it. I scooped it up, unlocked the door, and headed up the stairs with Tommy following me. Even before I stepped into the foyer I knew someone had been here.
Whoever had searched my apartment knew they had time, and had been methodical. Every drawer had been opened, every cushion overturned, the books on the bookshelf in the living room were strewn all over the floor. I stared at the mess and remembered Kevin’s books splayed out just like this on the floor of his study room at the Library of Congress.
Tommy was two steps behind me. “What the hell—?” He set down my suitcase and said in a tense voice, “You’d better check your camera equipment and Nick’s guns. That’s probably what they went after.”
I blinked. He thought it was a random burglary, plain and simple. I thought it was related to Kevin and the book.
“Everything’s locked in the closet in the second bedroom, the one we use as a study,” I said, but I ran for the stairs.
“Wait.” My brother grabbed my arm. “Maybe we’d better call the police before you go up there. And it looks like they jimmied the worthless lock on your balcony door. Which, by the way, is something I could have done if I stuck my credit card or my license between the door and the jamb and worked at it for a few minutes. I thought you were going to get that replaced.”
“I meant to talk to India about it, and whoever did this is long gone,” I said. “India’s visiting her daughter in Chicago, I was in England, and Max isn’t here that much anymore. Someone had all the time in the world to go through the place.”
The lock on the bedroom closet door had been cut and so had the locks on the cases where I kept my camera equipment. They hadn’t managed to figure out the combination to the gun safe, thank God. I knelt down and opened my equipment cases.
Everything was there.
I sat back on my heels. The only other item of value in this apartment was the receipt Asquith’s had given me when I turned over Kevin’s book to Bram. I had left Max’s plum-colored file in the top drawer of the desk. I spun around and opened the drawer.
Gone.
Also gone was the photocopy of the Fairbairn letter and the photos of the hand-colored botanical prints we’d found in Adam in Eden that I had downloaded off my camera and printed out. I had another copy of the letter, the one I’d brought to London, and the photos were on an Internet server, so I still had copies of everything.
But now so did someone else.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Soph,” Tommy said.
“The paperwork for a rare and quite valuable book that belonged to Kevin Boyle is gone. The book itself is at Asquith’s Auction House in Georgetown.”
“At least they didn’t get the book,” he said. “And you ought to call the police.”
“First I need to call Bram Asquith.” But he wasn’t in, so I left a message that it was urgent he return my call as soon as possible.
Tommy left when the MPD officer arrived since there was nothing more he could do and he had class. He told me he’d call later to find out how I was doing, and I made him swear he wouldn’t tell Mom or Harry what happened.
The officer, a middle-aged Hispanic man, took my statement, including everything I’d learned in London about the value of the copy of Adam in Eden, the death of Alastair Innes, which I felt certain was related to Kevin’s death, and being chased yesterday afternoon across the Millennium Bridge. He wrote it all down and said he’d be in touch with Officer Carroll, whom I’d never managed to call from London. He also said someone would be stopping by Asquith’s.
Finally, he said, “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know, but I can tell you this. Edward Jaine told me yesterday when I met him in London that I’d regret it if I didn’t give him those papers, the ones that were stolen. I left town on Saturday evening, so whoever did this was here between Saturday night and this morning. I don’t think Mr. Jaine has figured out how to be in two places at once, but he does have a lot of people who work for him in a big office building downtown on Farragut Square.”
“Edward Jaine the rich guy? Computers, Internet stuff? That guy?”
I nodded, and he scratched the back of his head with his pen. “Well, this ought to be interesting. I think we’re done for now, but I might have more questions for you.”
After he left and while I was waiting for a usurious locksmith from Adams Morgan who agreed to make an emergency house call, I called Jack. He, too, was out, and I left a message.
I was reshelving books and cleaning up the mess the intruder had made when Jack phoned.
“Am I calling England?” he asked. “Are you still in London?”
“Not since last night.” I told him about Chappy and returning to my apartment to discover the burglary.
“Thank God you weren’t home when it happened,” he said. “Especially since you’re there all by yourself.”
“If I had been here, they wouldn’t have gotten those papers, I’ll tell you that,” I said with feeling. “I know the combination to Nick’s gun safe.”
“Whoa, there, Calamity Jane. Let’s not even go down that road.”
“I think whoever broke in was looking for Kevin’s book. They didn’t find it so they took the paperwork from Asquith’s instead. I’ll bet Edward Jaine had something to do with it.”
“Your favorite person.”
“I had coffee, or watched him drink coffee, yesterday in London. He threatened me if I didn’t turn the book over to him,” I said, and told Jack what I’d learned about its value. When I was done, I said, “I think it’s time I talk to Father Xavier about this. He needs to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll call Xavier,” he said. “I’d like to go with you when you tell him. And, by the way, both guest rooms at the house are free. Might be a good idea for you to spend the night somewhere else since you seem to be attracting unsavory company lately. I’ll even cook you dinner.”
“The house” was Gloria House, the Jesuit house of formation on Capitol Hill where Jack lived with several priests who taught at Georgetown Law School and about a dozen seminarians. I’d stayed there briefly after I moved back from London last summer.
“Thank you,” I said, “I accept.”
“Great. I’ll phone Xavier and call you right back.”
But when my phone rang five minutes later, it wasn’t Jack. It was Bram Asquith and he sounded distraught.
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said, “but a woman came in here this morning with the original paperwork we prepared for you when we picked up the book from Max’s gallery. Somehow she managed to convince one of our employees that you wanted your book returned and, of course, I hadn’t said a word to a living soul here about how I came into possession of it. I’m so sorry, Sophie. The police are on their way and we have security cameras. We’ll find who did this, and I promise you, we’ll prosecute to the maximum extent possible.”
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. “The book is gone? Someone just walked out with it?”
“I’m afraid so. My God, this sort of thing just doesn’t happen to us. It was a complete, utter cock-up. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. We’ll get it back.”
I felt numb. Part of this was my fault. I should have put the papers in a secure location instead of leaving them in my desk. Maybe given them to Max to keep in his vault before I left for London.
