Kepler’s Dream (18 page)

“CrxxxxZZZxxxx July seventh,” he said.

“Yeah.” I was glad my dad was keeping track of the calendar. There were a few other things he was letting slide, like worrying about his daughter, but—whatever.

“CrxxxxZxxx crZxxxxxxZ Crxxx,” he added. But then finally he came clear. “So she's probably going to the cemetery.”

“Wait, what?” I asked him, sitting up. “What about the cemetery?”

“Mother usually goes there on the anniversary of my father's death. Today. I had thought of CrxxxxZxxx, but CRxxxxrzz ZZZZcxx.”

“Oh. Right.” I thought about my grandmother saying she was
getting her hair done that day. The idea that she wanted to look her best for a visit to the cemetery gave me a shudder of sadness. It wasn't as though Edward could still see her.

Rosie touched my arm and pointed to the tree, like she was going to climb back down. I nodded, and mouthed that I'd come in a sec.

“OK, Dad,” I said, as if we had been having something like a real conversation. “So, you know, thanks for calling. Let me guess: you're not coming to visit, right?”

I don't know why I put it that way. It only made it easier for him—he hated having to admit he was bailing out on me. But it seemed stupid at this point to guess otherwise.

“Well, listen, Ella, that's one of the reasons I CrxxxxZxxx. You see, ZZxxxxCRxxxxx …”

Then I lost him. Or he lost me.

Either way, he was gone.

NINE

“H
e
LLO?”

It was a tiny, scratchy voice—like one you would hear on some old-timey recording.

“Mo—
Mom
?”

I wasn't a stutterer, but it just didn't seem as though it could be her.

“Hi, sweetie.”

It sounded as though my mom was speaking through the wrong end of a microphone, that instead of making her sound louder, shrank her right down to practically nothing.

“I won't talk long,” I said. Auntie Irene, who was there visiting, had told me it was best to keep our conversations short, because Mom was really wiped out by all the treatment, but the truth was, it also spooked me to hear her. “I just wanted to say hello. So, you know: uh, hello!”

There was a silence, and then in the same scratchy voice from far away: “Did you find your dream?” I was pretty sure she said “dream,” but it was hard to make out.

“
You mean—Grandmother's book? No, we haven't found it yet. We're still trying to figure it out—”

“That dream. That … argument. All those years …” Mom's voice seemed to drift, and I wondered if she was going into one of her chemo moments. This nice nurse Faye in Seattle had told me that it was common for patients at this stage to get confused, and that if my mom said something I didn't understand, that was probably why.

“It's OK, Mom. It's just—it's an important book for Grandmother, and it's gone missing. But I'm all right. And I'll see you soon, OK? I'll be coming to visit soon.”

I hated having to talk to her like she was a kid or from a foreign country or something. Auntie Irene got back on the line and I think she heard my voice wavering, like a kite in the wind, so she went straight into the Giants and how they were doing, to change the subject. I turned my charm bracelet around my wrist—
star, heart, bunny
—while Irene talked about the Giants' great pitchers and their cute rookie catcher.

And then I hung up. I wasn't feeling great after that. I could have gone for a quick shot of Jewel Quest, or even Boggle, but when I wandered over toward the kitchen, Abercrombie and the GM seemed to be huddled around the table having a heart-to-heart talk. Assuming they both had hearts—something I had only lately started to believe about my grandmother. The jury was still out on him.

Abercrombie was leaving at last, to go back and bother the Canadians. I'd be glad to see the back of him (another choice
insult I got from the GM). In fact, I was staring at his back right then as he had his last breakfast at the Facility. I did envy him returning to the land of pancakes and bacon, though.

“Violet, I think given what has happened these past weeks, it makes sense,” Abercrombie was saying in a hushed tone, “while you're traveling. For your peace of mind.”

I hovered in the doorway, listening.

“Perhaps you're right.” Grandmother sighed. “But it's a lot to ask of you, Christopher.”

“You're not asking.” His voice had a Splenda sweetness to it. (Those fake sweeteners: my mom hated them.) “I'm offering.”

“You would be willing to do that? And you could afford more time away from the bookstore?”

“My assistant can manage ably.”

My eyes got wider. I began to get an idea of what they were discussing.

“And you see, while I was here, I could bring the boys back—er, at least Jason—and together we could make real progress establishing the inventory. Making sure that the property—and the Library—were not unguarded in your absence.”

(Expletive deleted)! She was thinking of letting the man stay there while she was on her next trip!

“Well, that's very kind of you.”
Don't say yes!
It would be like letting the Big Bad Wolf babysit Little Red Riding Hood. Not a good plan. “But perhaps I simply shouldn't go away at all.”

“Nonsense, Violet!” chided Our Honored Pest. “You love to travel. Besides, the South American trip sounds so … exotic.”

“
It does,” she agreed. “But you see, Christopher, perhaps someone—that
same person
—is just waiting for me to leave, in order to ransack the place for other items.”

There was a silence. Three busy brains were probably imagining who that person might be.

“It's so distressing,” Abercrombie murmured. “But it's often the way: those people closest to home … in whom one has entrusted so much …”

“Yes. Close to home … ,” my grandmother said, but I had the idea her thoughts were following their own direction, not Abercrombie's evil hint. I knew he was referring to Miguel, just like he had the other day when we were in the Librerery. The idea infuriated me. Miguel wasn't the creep around here. Look in the mirror, Abercrombie. There's the guy!

“Ahem!” I said from the kitchen doorway, so they wouldn't think I had been eavesdropping. I sounded alarmingly like Violet Von Stern.

“Ah, Ella,” said the GM loudly. If I ever had to write up this House of Mud adventure—you know how at the beginning of the year in grade school, they make you write What I Did During My Summer Vacation—that's what mine could be called.
Ah, Ella.

Abercrombie nodded primly. He'd be glad to see the back of me, too, I was pretty sure. “Can we help you?” he said, his forked tongue slipping out of his mouth for a moment.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could help
you
.” I made my face all perky. “I thought I could help you with your bags. I guess you
must be pretty beat after all your hours in the Library.” Because it's such very
hard work
to pick up a book and shelve it.

“Well—surely—” Abercrombie was caught off guard. “That is, won't Miguel—”

“Miguel,” I said pointedly, “is out running an errand for Grandmother.”
Helping her out. Like he always does.

“That's thoughtful of you, Ella,” the GM weighed in. “I like seeing a willingness to be of help.”

“Fine!” I said cheerfully, and trotted off to the Haitian Room before anyone could stop me.

The idea was to try to get a quick rummage around in there before Our Honored Pest chased after me. Rosie and I had decided it was our last, best option. I knew Abercrombie would be right behind me, but also that it wouldn't look good if he immediately got up from the table. I figured I had about a minute before he came in.

By now I was sure that Abercrombie had the Killer Dolphin and planned to whisk it back with him to Vancouver. He had found it that day when Rosie was on the roof and had been hiding it ever since. I could never forget the drooling expression on his face when we first talked about the Kepler book the day he arrived: my theory was that the minute he sold it to my grandmother, he wished he could get it back.

This was my chance to prove it.

Abercrombie's bags were on his bed. The carry-on—black leather, like a spy's briefcase—was open, so I slipped my hand in. All I could feel were pills, magazines and a laptop,
but nothing the size of the Killer Dolphin. The KD was not a tiny book. You'd have to work to hide it, maybe conceal it inside something else. (I'm sure James Bond could come up with something.) If Abercrombie was taking the Dolphin with him, it must be in his suitcase.

I was wondering whether to risk unlocking that one when in he came, looking flustered.

“Ella, it's really not necessary—”

“No, no, that's all right!” I said in a loud, bossy voice. I felt more like my grandmother every minute. It was kind of fun.

Then I had a moment of inspiration. Abercrombie thought I
galumphed,
did he? Thought I was clumsy? Well, then it wouldn't surprise him if—

“Let me just carry this out for you,” I offered, awkwardly hauling the suitcase down off the bed. As I did it, I managed to unfasten the lock so it fell open, and the case vomited its contents all over the floor.

“(Expletive deleted)!” shouted Abercrombie.

“Oh my gosh, I am
so
sorry!” I said, with about as much sincerity as someone who has just stopped you from scoring a goal by fouling you. “Here, let me—”

Pretending to help him, I started to put stuff back in his suitcase, while really of course I was looking around for the hollowed-out encyclopedia, or Kepler's
Dream
wrapped up in a purple bathrobe.

But nothing was that size and weight. I saw souvenirs placed around his clothes—a string of chili pepper lights, a bottle of
hot sauce, a Navajo blanket. There was even one ratty old teddy bear, which made me think Our Guest had found the House of Mud spooky at night, too, but that didn't embarrass him. The one thing that seemed to bother the guy was a small, slightly worn book with a gray cover. My eye caught the name WAUGH, my old pal. (Not to be confused with WAR …) This reminded me of that miserable day Grandmother had told me I was like that no-good Phyllis Stine, whoever she was. The book didn't look like anything much, but it was causing Abercrombie to turn lobster red. He grabbed the book away from my sight line and nestled it inside the Navajo blanket. “
Really,
Ella … If you wouldn't mind …These are my
personal
effects.”