Nicky doing right now?”
“She’s in the other room, looking out the window with night vision binoculars.”
“At what?”
I glanced over top of the treadmill through the glass and down to the park below where the spinning lights from police vehicles were still visible in the distance. “Trying to see whatever she thinks she can still see of the murder scene.”
“Wonder where she gets that trait from?”
“Ummm.”
“This sounds like it could be getting dangerous.”
“Possibly.”
“What will you do if someone tries to harm her or you?”
“Harm them first.”
“You’re confident you can do that.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause on the line. “I wish I were there with you,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Maybe I should fly up there too and take in some of the sights.”
“Would that be professional—to bring my fiancé on the job with me?”
“Since when have been hung up on being so professional?”
“All right, I’ll think about it.” I was already thinking about it. The idea of Marcia and me alone in a romantic hotel room together almost caused me to drop the phone. Maybe I could find a justice of the peace to marry us in a hurry.
“You sure you’re all right?” She must have detected a note apprehension in my voice. A little scary to think she knew me so well.
“Sure, everything’s fine.”
“When you get back, I’d like to talk with you about dates for the wedding. Have you thought about any of the details yet? Are you planning to ask Jake to be your best man?”
Okay, scratch the justice of the peace idea. The reality hit me then that I was about to me married for the second time in my life. It gave me something of a warm glow all over. I guess that’s what it was, at any rate.
“Uh, yeah. I was planning on asking him when I give him the news.”
“Good,” she said. “I miss you, Frank. I’m praying for you.”
“Thank you. I miss you too.”
“You didn’t say anything to Nicky, did you, about our big plans?”
“Not yet.”
“I think it’s best.
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m looking at the ring right now on my finger,” she said. “I was afraid to wear it earlier for fear I’d have to explain it to my friends, but I did have a talk with my pastor. He said he’d be happy to perform the ceremony as soon as we’re ready, as long as we wanted to keep things informal.”
“Perfect.”
“You sure you’re ready for this, Frank?”
“I gave you the ring, didn’t I?”
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t having second thoughts.”
“I’ve never been so free of second thoughts in my life.”
“Good,” she said.
We said goodbye and hung up.
* * * * *
Although it was late, I decided to give Jackson Miller a call. It might lead to nothing, but like Nicole said, the similarities between Obadiah Robertson’s story and the mystery facing us were too much to pass up without at least checking into it further.
Miller’s gruff voice answered the phone after three or four rings.
“Who is this again?” he asked after I’d identified myself.
“Pavlicek. Frank Pavlicek.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Frank, good to hear from you. What are you calling me at this time of night for?”
“It’s about a book.”
“A book, huh. What kind of book?”
“An old one. Written before the Civil War.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
I told him the story of The Book of the Mews.
“I never heard of this book,” he said when I was finished. “But I bet I know someone up there who has. Why don’t you give me your cell phone number and I’ll see what I can find out in the next day or two. It’s a holiday weekend, you know. May not be too easy getting hold of people.”
“I appreciate it, whatever you can do,” I said, and gave him my number before ending the call.
* * * * *
The next morning Nicole decided to sleep in, according to the note she left outside the door to my room, having stayed up too late for nothing, as she put it. I got on the
“She’s in the other room, looking out the window with night vision binoculars.”
“At what?”
I glanced over top of the treadmill through the glass and down to the park below where the spinning lights from police vehicles were still visible in the distance. “Trying to see whatever she thinks she can still see of the murder scene.”
“Wonder where she gets that trait from?”
“Ummm.”
“This sounds like it could be getting dangerous.”
“Possibly.”
“What will you do if someone tries to harm her or you?”
“Harm them first.”
“You’re confident you can do that.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause on the line. “I wish I were there with you,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Maybe I should fly up there too and take in some of the sights.”
“Would that be professional—to bring my fiancé on the job with me?”
“Since when have been hung up on being so professional?”
“All right, I’ll think about it.” I was already thinking about it. The idea of Marcia and me alone in a romantic hotel room together almost caused me to drop the phone. Maybe I could find a justice of the peace to marry us in a hurry.
“You sure you’re all right?” She must have detected a note apprehension in my voice. A little scary to think she knew me so well.
“Sure, everything’s fine.”
“When you get back, I’d like to talk with you about dates for the wedding. Have you thought about any of the details yet? Are you planning to ask Jake to be your best man?”
Okay, scratch the justice of the peace idea. The reality hit me then that I was about to me married for the second time in my life. It gave me something of a warm glow all over. I guess that’s what it was, at any rate.
“Uh, yeah. I was planning on asking him when I give him the news.”
“Good,” she said. “I miss you, Frank. I’m praying for you.”
“Thank you. I miss you too.”
“You didn’t say anything to Nicky, did you, about our big plans?”
“Not yet.”
“I think it’s best.
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m looking at the ring right now on my finger,” she said. “I was afraid to wear it earlier for fear I’d have to explain it to my friends, but I did have a talk with my pastor. He said he’d be happy to perform the ceremony as soon as we’re ready, as long as we wanted to keep things informal.”
“Perfect.”
“You sure you’re ready for this, Frank?”
“I gave you the ring, didn’t I?”
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t having second thoughts.”
“I’ve never been so free of second thoughts in my life.”
“Good,” she said.
We said goodbye and hung up.
* * * * *
Although it was late, I decided to give Jackson Miller a call. It might lead to nothing, but like Nicole said, the similarities between Obadiah Robertson’s story and the mystery facing us were too much to pass up without at least checking into it further.
Miller’s gruff voice answered the phone after three or four rings.
“Who is this again?” he asked after I’d identified myself.
“Pavlicek. Frank Pavlicek.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Frank, good to hear from you. What are you calling me at this time of night for?”
“It’s about a book.”
“A book, huh. What kind of book?”
“An old one. Written before the Civil War.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
I told him the story of The Book of the Mews.
“I never heard of this book,” he said when I was finished. “But I bet I know someone up there who has. Why don’t you give me your cell phone number and I’ll see what I can find out in the next day or two. It’s a holiday weekend, you know. May not be too easy getting hold of people.”
“I appreciate it, whatever you can do,” I said, and gave him my number before ending the call.
* * * * *
The next morning Nicole decided to sleep in, according to the note she left outside the door to my room, having stayed up too late for nothing, as she put it. I got on the
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