Chapter 4
Back at the bookstore, the boys stacked all the boxes of books beside the front counter, while Quinn peppered them with questions about the outing.
“What do you mean there was something strange about it?” asked Quinn.
“Not the books, in particular,” said Jack, as he taped ‘Not For Sale’ signs to all the boxes, “but the circumstances. There was something about the whole thing that felt unresolved. Like the guy might walk in on us at any moment. Didn’t you think, Cable?”
Cable shook his head. “The guy whose books they were had skipped out on his rent and the realtor was getting rid of all his stuff,” he said. “Jack’s just trying to make a drama out of it.”
“Wait a minute,” protested Jack, “you agreed with me at the time. There was a big stuffed owl in the front yard and books piled all over the place inside…”
“Can we dig into the books?” asked Quinn, eyeing the boxes stacked around him.
“No, I agree with you,” said Cable, “but you always assume the most far fetched explanation first. It makes more sense to start from the premise that there’s a logical explanation.”
While Jack and Cable were talking, Quinn pulled open the top of one of the boxes and started digging through it.
“OK, Quinn, you decide,” said Jack. “This guy leaves all his—“
“This guy?” asked Quinn, holding up a photograph. It was a color snapshot of a very slight, bald, man in his fifties. He wore a leather apron over a white collarless shirt. He was shown at a worktable, bent over a fur of some sort. He held the edge of the skin with one hand as with the other he probed it with a pair of pliers. A pair of small wire rimmed glasses was pressed up against his high forehead, which made it look like he had four eyes.
Jack took the photo from Quinn and looked at it. “I didn’t see this,” he said, “where was it?”
“In this box,” said Quinn, “there’s all sorts of loose papers and things in here. And crossword puzzle books.”
Jack nodded, “that was in the living room. I was just taking everything at that point. I don’t know if that’s him. I assume so.”
Cable took the picture and looked at it. “It’s not taken in the house we were today. But I’d guess that’s him.” He turned the photo over, “Antonio Souvlakis,” he read.
“That’s him,” said Jack, “Patty said his name was Souvlaki.”
Cable looked at the photo more carefully. “This is quite a space he’s working in. There are four more work tables behind him. There aren’t any other people there, but there’s a reindeer of some sort on one of the other tables. And a whole wall of cabinets and drawers over there beneath the windows. It looks more like a college lab than a taxidermy business. And the way he’s dressed. It’s sort of old fashioned. I don’t think he was the sort of taxidermist that stuffed deer for hunters.”
He handed the photo back to Jack, who only glanced at it.
“What I was saying,” Jack said to Quinn, “was that the house was too messy. Or it was messy in all the wrong ways. Take a look at those crossword puzzle books, for example.”
Quinn stopped rummaging and opened on of them. New York Times weekend puzzles.
“All the ones I looked at were done,” said Jack, “in ink. And with times written on them. How long it took him to do them.”
Quinn nodded, as he flipped through the books. He read the handwritten notations, “10:30–10:43; 10:30–10:45; 10:30–11:08. That’s a Sunday puzzle. They all start at 10:30.”
“Right,” said Jack, “so Souvlakis does a crossword puzzle every morning at 10:30—“
“Or every night,” suggested Quinn.
“And he keeps track of it. And he keeps the books after he’s finished them. So wouldn’t you expect him to keep them neatly on the shelf?”
“Definitely,” said Quinn.
“Me too, but these were strewn on the kitchen counter.”
“Strewn is a strong word,” said Cable.
“What word would you use?” asked Jack.
“They were piled, I would say,” said Cable.
Jack shook his head. “No, that’s not right. They’re piled now,” he said pointing to the stack Quinn had made on the floor next to the box. He nudged them with his toe and knocked it over, “now they’re strewn. And the same thing was true for his desk and all that stuff in the dining room.”
“Are you saying it was ransacked?” asked Quinn. He was sitting cross legged on the floor with his arms up to his elbows in the box of papers.
Jack paused. He looked at Cable, who watched him through his long bangs, waiting for an answer. “I hadn’t really thought it all the way through to that point,” Jack said finally. “But now that you mention it, I think it might have been.”
He waited for Cable to contradict him. But Cable did not. Instead, he furrowed his brow and said, “but it was also put back together a little bit. As though someone found it after it had been ransacked and piled everything up just to get it out of the way.”
“Someone like a realtor trying to collect rent who finds the place trashed and abandoned?” asked Jack.
“Or the owner of the stuff searching for something that he can’t find?” added Quinn.
“More like someone other than the owner looking for something,” said Cable.
“And finding it or not?” asked Quinn.
“Well you know the old joke,” said Cable. “why is everything always in the last place you look for it? Because as soon as you find it you stop looking.”
“Or, where was Columbus when the lights went out?” said Quinn, “In the dark. Or what’s black and white and red all over and can’t get through a revolving door? Or what’s the difference between a beagle and bagel? Or how many feminists does it take to change a light bulb?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Jack.
“Jokes,” said Quinn, “old jokes.”
With the same foot that he used to knock over the pile of crossword puzzle books, Jack kicked his youngest brother in the lower back. Quinn grinned his famous goofy toothy grin.
“But seriously,” continued Cable.
“I just flew in from the coast, and boy are my arms tired,” said Quinn, then he braced himself for another kick from Jack.
“What I’m trying to say,” said Cable, determined to have his say, “is that these books weren’t sold to us by the person who owned them. And considering the circumstances, I feel sort of weird about it. What would we say if he came looking for them? He seems like the sort of person who would miss his books.”
“And his stuffed frogs and squirrels,” added Jack. “I agree.”
“What stuffed frog?” asked Quinn.
“In one of these boxes,” said Jack. “We took some stuffed things. The realtor said we could grab whatever we wanted.”
“No way,” said Quinn. He unfolded the top of another box, looking for it. “What the heck, you guys,” he said, “it’s all just more papers and stuff. Did you get any books at all?”
“That was me again,” said Jack, “I pretty much took everything from the desk drawers.”
Cable reached over the counter and shut the lid of the box on Quinn’s hand. “I say let’s leave these alone for a while. Let’s give Souvlakis a chance to find these.”
“Maybe we should try to find him,” said Jack.
Cable shook his head and then pushed his hair behind his ears. “I don’t want to make an adventure out of this. I’d just feel better if we kept it together.”
Quinn pulled his hand out of the box holding a laminated card on a thin metal chain. He looked at it and said, “Or maybe we could call the Smithsonian and see if they know where he is. He worked there, see.” He held up the laminated card, which was an ID badge with Souvlakis name and photo on it.
Jack took it from him. “Max is working at the Smithsonian this summer. He might be able to tell us something.” He looked at the card. “Souvlakis was working in the Natural History Museum. That’s where Max is.”
“Come on guys,” pleaded Cable, “let’s not get all tangled up in something if we—“
“Shh,” said Jack, “can’t you see I’m on the phone?” He was, in fact, already dialing Max on his cell phone. “Hey Max, it’s Jackson. I’m looking at a Smithsonian ID badge for someone named Souvlakis. Ever heard of him?
“—in a box of books.”
“—Souvlakis.”
“—No, I don’t know how many people work at the Smithsonian.”
“—wow, really? As many as that.”
“—uh-huh, and so you’re saying that an intern in the library can’t be expected to know… uh-huh…”
“—Sure, Max, I understand. I just, you know, thought you might like to get in on a little something. You’re always complaining about never being involved in our adventures, so I thought… no no… don’t worry about it. I’ll just—“
“—OK, I thought so… Souvlakis. S-O-U-V-L-A-K-I-S.”
“—Um, on the back?—“ Jack took the ID badge from Quinn and turned it over. “Natural History. No, that’s it. Nothing else. Uh-huh.”
“—Alright, just call if you find anything. Bonney out.”
Jack hung up. “Max has no idea. But he says that he must have been a permanent employee, because interns and contractors have the names of their departments or jobs on the back.”
“So now what?” asked Quinn.
“Now we seal the boxes up and organize some of this stuff that Paul and Emily left for us to do,” said Cable.
“Or,” suggested Jack, “we go through all the boxes right now and see what else we can find out about this guy.”
Cable started to protest, but Jack held up his hand, “all the while, being careful to keep it neat and tidy and together,” finished Jack, “so that it’s all here for him if he wants it back.”
“Deal,” said Quinn, pulling open the top of the nearest box.
“Fine,” said Cable.
They had only opened the top layer of boxes when the cheery bell jangled on the front door of the store. Two big men stepped inside. Cable and Quinn put the lids back on the boxes they were looking at. The men did not look like their regular bookstore customers. The man on the right was so tall he had to duck to get through the door. He was as thick as he was wide, barrel chested and burly. He had a pointed bald head, wider at the jaw than at the temple, and widening straight on through his neck. He wore a plaid work shirt that had drywall dust on it, the shirttails of which hung loose over thick brown jeans, and he wore a weightlifters wide belt cinched tight around his lower back. He looked around the front room of the bookstore only briefly before letting his attention come to rest on Jack. He was such a big man that he could scarcely focus himself on anything so little as a mere book and needed more substantial things to rest his eyes on like trucks or trees or, if it were the only thing available, the biggest Bonney Boy.
His companion wore a denim shirt with a company name embroidered on the pocket. He had an ID badge around his neck, with the card tucked into the chest pocket. He wore khaki pants, suede work boots, and carried a green messenger bag over his shoulder. His hair was dark brown, flecked with grey, and he had a goatee.
“Hi,” said Quinn cheerily,” can we help you with anything?”
“Hey yo,” said the man with the goatee, “yeah. This is Riverby Books?”
“Sure is,” said Quinn. The larger man stood with his hands awkwardly at his sides, looking around like a person accustomed to bumping into and occasionally breaking fragile things.
“Yeah,” said the goatee man, “I got your name from this lady.” He reached into his front pocket. Not finding anything there, he felt his back pockets then reached into his chest pocket. He pulled out his ID card and another business card. “Patty Thomas,” he read from the card.
“Never heard of her,” said Quinn.
“No,” said Jack, “no, I’ve met her, sure. She rents property around town.”
“Yeah,” said the goatee man, “well anyway, she used to rent to a friend of ours called Souvlakis, Tony Souvlakis, but she told us today that he doesn’t rent from her anymore. She gave us your name. Said she gave all his stuff to you.”
The goatee man spoke with an agreeable New York accent. His words came out thickly, in a way that didn’t seem to allow for guile or subtext.
“We went and looked at his books this morning,” said Jack, “but we never met him.”
The man shook his head, “what’s that uh… you were at his place?”
Jack nodded. “He’s a friend of yours, did you say?”
“He is,” said the man, pleased that Jack had provided the words for him. “But you didn’t see him?”
Jack shook his head. “As I understood it from Patty, he hadn’t paid rent this month, or for a couple of months, and when she went by his place, it was abandoned.”
The goatee man exchanged a concerned look with his companion.
“Did she say when this was?” asked the goatee man.
“Not long ago,” said Jack, “she’s trying to re-rent the place now, I guess. And so she’s clearing out his stuff.”
“So she just sells it to people?” asked the man, “It’s not hers to sell, is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Jack, “she showed it to us, but we didn’t buy anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And she didn’t know where he was?” asked the man.
“No,” said Jack.
“She didn’t say anything about him going to Berkeley or anything.”
“Nothing at all. What’s in Berkeley?” asked Jack.
“He always used to talk about Berkeley is all,” said the goatee man. “I never asked. He was always muttering and jabbering and talking to himself. You just learned after a while not to pay attention cause it only made sense to him.”
“He’s disappeared?” asked Cable.
The bald man nodded. “He didn’t show up for poker last week or this week. He’s never missed twice in a row without calling someone.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. If we find out anything, we’ll be happy to call you.”
“Yeah,” said the goatee man. He looked around the store for the first time. “This your bookstore?”
“Our uncle and aunt’s” said Jack.
“It’s nice,” he said, “I like the way the shelves are all crooked. That’s a good idea. I never seen that before.”
“Thanks,” said Jack.”
“Yeah so anyway, thanks,” said the man. “sorry to bother you.”
“I wish we could tell you more,” said Jack.
“He’ll turn up,” said the man. “Or we’ll track him down.”
“Does he owe you money from poker?” asked Jack.
“Something like that,” said the man, “but no worries. Take it easy.”
The two men turned to leave. The bigger man held the door for the other. He stooped to step through the door. When they left, a peculiar sort of silence hung in the store.
The boys looked after them as they crossed the street in front of the store. By the time they got into a pickup truck parked on the other side, the man with the goatee was already on the cell phone. When the pickup pulled into the street and drove off, the boys still didn’t speak for a moment or two.
“Strictly speaking, we didn’t buy anything from Patty,” said Jack.
Cable shook his head with resignation.
“What?” asked Quinn.
Still shaking his head, Cable said, “that’s it. It’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” asked Quinn.
“Too late for this to be just a quiet, ordinary week,” said Cable.
Jack took out a marker and a large sheet of blank paper. He wrote across the middle of the page with bold block letters, then he taped the sign to the front door and locked the deadbolt.
“BOOKSTORE CLOSED -- GONE ON AN ADVENTURE.”
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