 |  |
Sunday, September 29th
Everything inside Charlotte went cold: fear, panic and anger were suppressed as she faced the reality of her situation and her survival instinct kicked in. She made a conscious decision not to admit to finding the book, unless worst came to worst. The most important thing at the moment, though, was to get herself and Donovan out of there in one piece, to make Toley Banks think that they were no threat to him. She hoped that Donovan would play along.
These thoughts flew through her mind as she walked forward. As she approached Mitchell, she held out her hand for her bag, but he pulled it out of her reach.
“Uh, uh, uh. It’s not time for that, yet.”
Toley Banks spotted the boxes of books and nodded for Doc to go through them.
Mitchell flashed Charlotte his well-practiced smile. “You know what we’re here for, so why don’t you just hand it over and save yourself and Van, here, a lot of trouble?”
She fake-smiled back. “That’s just it, Mitchell, I know you’re here for something, but I don’t know what. You know I’m here to look for Olivia’s notebooks, but I’ve never been under the impression that those are of much concern to you. I don’t have anything to hand over, even if I wanted to.”
Mitchell moved so fast, she didn’t have time to react as he threw her bag on the floor and reached around to grab the hair at the back of her head, twisting it until she was forced down on her knees.
The pain of having her hair pulled threw sharp white flashes across everything in the room, and more pain shot through her legs and back as she landed on the concrete floor.
“Don’t mess with me,” Mitchell hissed, “or your face will look like his.” He pointed at Donovan with his other hand. “Bet your boyfriend wouldn’t like you so much then, would he?”
Charlotte’s eyes were watering from the pain, and her heart was pounding, but she said nothing. Donovan, likewise, said nothing, but she could see the veins in his temples raised from stress.
Toley Banks remained standing in the same spot, watching Mitchell and Charlotte without a trace of emotion, then looked at Doc, who had finished looking through the boxes of books. Doc shook his head.
Banks sighed, then crouched down next to Donovan.
“Mr. Targman. We have a situation.”
Donovan didn’t move or look at him. Banks was not bothered, and turned to look straight at Charlotte. “I believe you do know what we are here for, Ms. Anthony, and if you co-operate, we will not only release your lovely hair, but remove ourselves from your life, Mrs. Dalmier’s life, and even Mr. Targman’s life, little as he deserves it. We know you’ve been in contact with Aldo Madiveros—we were, too. Like Mr. Targman, here, you are in serious financial straits, and we naturally understand that you’d want to find a jackpot of your own to turn things around, keep your lovely house, and perhaps even join your daughter in Paris.” He spread his hands to emphasize the world of advantages she’d have if she had the book, the only expression she’d ever seen him display.
“Sounds lovely,” she said, her voice strained from the way Mitchell had her head tilted. If she appeared to be willing to talk, maybe Mitchell would let go of her hair.
It worked. Banks nodded to Mitchell, and he released her. She rubbed her scalp and neck, feeling sore and bruised.
Charlotte did not know at this point how long she’d been in the basement, but she hoped Helene was aware of what was going on, and sent for help. The worst thing would be if she walked in on them and endangered herself.
Time to keep Toley talking. She cherry-picked the truth. “I did talk to Mr. Madiveros. Mrs. Targman’s notebooks make many references to her Aunt Sasha, and to her days in Paris at Sasha’s bookstore. It was part of my research.”
Mitchell snorted at this. “Oh, it’s pretty clear what the old girl got up to in Paris. A little research on the ‘net showed she knew O’Dair, she was living in Paris back then.” He gestured toward Donovan with his thumb. “Spitting image of his father! Of course she’d have a first edition of O’Dair’s book—she said she had a book worth even more than the one Bos got hold of. Any other old lady, we’d just say yeah, yeah, thank you very much, have a nice day. But her—with his kid, no less—that one was likely to know exactly what she had. He owes us every penny of what it’s worth, so as far as we’re concerned, the book is ours. Now tell us where it’s at or the next time I grab your hair, you won’t be getting it all back.”
She played dumb. “Donovan is Seamus O’Dair’s son?” She looked at Donovan as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Well, there’s the hair, for sure. Wow. So is that just a guess, or did he tell you that, or what?”
“The dumb shmuck doesn’t even know. Probably never looks in the mirror. O’Dair’s face is all over the news.” Mitchell looked at Donovan with utter contempt.
To Charlotte, Donovan did not look surprised at this revelation. Did he know? Or was he just a good actor?
Toley Banks stood up again. “So you claim you have not found the book Mrs. Targman mentioned?”
Charlotte shook her head. “If I have, I am unaware of it. What book is it? What’s the title?”
Mitchell jumped in. “Least Objects, same as the other one. Only we figure it’s got O’Dair’s autograph in it or something. Maybe even love letters. It’d be worth three times as much as the other one.”
So they didn’t realize the book they were looking for was the French version. Charlotte would have loved to call them out on what happened that night when Olivia and Wesley Warren received their fatal injuries, but these guys played hard. She was afraid that if they knew that Donovan had told her the extent of their involvement, they’d both end up in the bottom of a pond like Wesley. Staying on the topic of the book was the safest bet to buy time until Helene brought help, or Simon got back from the university. “I have not come across a single copy of Least Objects.” Strictly speaking, she thought, that was true. The French version had a different title. “There are a couple of O’Dair books on the shelves in the living room, next to other Irish writers like Joyce and Beckett.” She nodded to the boxes of books near Doc. “There are some old books in there, which used to belong to Mrs. Targman’s mother. That’s about it, I’m afraid.”
There were sounds of a door opening and closing upstairs, and then footsteps. “Charlotte!”
It was Helene. Charlotte’s heart felt like it was moving up to her throat. Helene called out again, “Charlotte! I think I’ve found the book! Come and see!”
Helene sounded excited. What was she up to?
Mitchell and Toley Banks looked at one another, as if able to weigh their options without speaking a word. Mitchell went up the stairs, and this time Charlotte felt as if it were her stomach, not her heart, in her throat.
She heard Helene’s expression of surprise, then a shout, and the sounds of a struggle. Charlotte started for the stairs, but Toley Banks quickly raised an arm to stop her.
“Oh, Charlotte,” came Helene’s voice, practically crying. “Are you okay? Answer me, please! I’ve fallen!”
Toley Banks gestured for Doc to go up, and the big man moved quickly and silently, reaching inside his jacket for what Charlotte assumed was a gun. Oh Helene, be careful, be so careful.
Charlotte could hear Helene saying, “Who are you? Where’s Charlotte?” And then more sounds of struggle. Then silence. Doc did not return, nor Mitchell. All was eerily quiet. She turned to Banks, who by this time was looking up toward the top of the stairs, and said, “I’ll bet Mitchell took the book and ran.”
Toley Banks looked at her as always, without any expression, except this time the pupils of his eyes were almost red. He suddenly pulled a gun out of his jacket, which he raised as if about to cold-cock her, when Donovan leaned over, grabbed Banks’ ankles from behind and pulled hard. Banks fell face down onto the concrete with a scream that left no doubt he’d broken his nose and several teeth. The gun fell out of his hand when he landed, and skidded across the floor.
There were shouts and footsteps now. Was it Mitchell and Doc? Banks was beginning to raise himself up. Charlotte quickly grabbed the gun before he could get it back, then stepped back into the shadows around the furnace. Donovan had fallen back in pain and exhaustion. Men’s legs were rushing down the stairs.
The first pair of legs belonged to Detective Gordon Barnes, who immediately restrained Toley Banks. The second set of legs, the ones in the black jeans—
Simon called out, looking around hurriedly and peering into the shadows. “Charlotte?”
She stepped forward, gave the gun to Barnes, and fell into Simon’s warm and supporting arms.
The EMTs, who must have already been on the scene, rushed down to help Donovan immediately after uniformed officers took a handcuffed and bloody-nosed Toley Banks up the stairs. Charlotte had her arms around Simon’s chest, forcing herself to let go when they had to shuffle out of the way for the stretcher. She noticed a wet spot on the middle of his shirt, and then realized she had been crying. Simon confirmed that Helene was okay, and put his arm around her shoulders as they leaned against the laundry tub. The whole ordeal was not like a crime show in the least, she thought, where the sleuth was able to smugly wrap up the solution and take high fives from the other characters—the effects of shock and adrenaline made everything seem odd and out of sync to her, even dissociated. She watched the EMTs check Donovan over, and work as a team to lift him onto the stretcher with the least amount of discomfort.
Once they got Donovan on the stretcher, though, she came back to reality enough to want to connect with him, to walk over and take his hand.
“Thank you so much, Donovan—you know, for stopping him like that.”
He squeezed her hand, and looked up at her with the tiredest eyes she’d ever seen. He was undoubtedly seriously injured, and she felt frightened for his sake. “The least I could do,” he whispered. “This was all my fault.”
Barnes came up, asked one of the techs if it was okay to ask Donovan some questions, and was told it would be better after they got him to the hospital—he was showing signs of internal bleeding, and time was of the essence.
Everyone stood out of the way as the EMTs carried Donovan up the stairs. Charlotte could hear him gasp as the stretcher jostled. Then they got him into the kitchen, turned, and were gone.
“Charlotte?” Helene appeared at the top of the stairs, and began to carefully make her way down. “Oh, Charlotte!”
Barnes assisted Helene down the rest of the stairs, and she immediately embraced Charlotte.
“Oh, Charlotte, I was so frightened for you! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just shook up. And what about you? What happened up there?”
Barnes folded his arms across his ample abdomen and smiled. “Mrs. Dalmier here deserves an Academy Award for that performance. She was in the garage when she spotted Banks and his crew going in the front door with Donovan, who appeared to be injured. She contacted me immediately, and I lined up the uniforms and the ambulance, making sure everything stayed quiet. We were afraid of a hostage situation, especially with you possibly being trapped in the basement, which, as it turned out, you were. Mrs. Dalmier then remembered that Mr. Norwich was expected at any moment, so she contacted him to make sure he didn’t come in here. Instead, he managed to get close enough to the dining room window to hear what was going on inside. That is how we knew Donovan had been thrown into the basement. Then Mitchell Bennett found your purse, so we knew you were down there, too. It also made it probable that you did not have your phone on you.”
“We had to come up with a way to lure them out of the basement,” said Simon. “Helene is the one who thought of pretending to have found the book they were looking for.”
Helene looked quietly proud, and Charlotte smiled. “So that’s what was going on! When I heard you calling me, saying you found the book, when I knew you hadn’t—.” She stopped, then remembered there was more to it. “Then Mitchell went up. I heard a scuffle, and then you calling out that you had fallen. What happened?”
“I was in the front room, so he had to walk out there, and once he got past the door way, Simon and the detective ambushed him!”
Charlotte looked up at Simon, who was nodding. “Did the same thing to Doc,” he added.
“Then they told me it would worry Toley Banks more if there was no response,” said Helene.
Barnes shook his head at the memory. “Neither one of us would have been able to sound like either Mitchell Bennett or Doc, so our only option was silence. Of course, that increased the chance that Banks would use you for a hostage, but we had something in place for that, too. As it was, it looks like you were able to take matters into your own hands.”
Charlotte nodded. “It was all Donovan, believe me.” She described the way Donovan pulled Toley Banks off his feet. “We were just trying to buy time until help got here. I was so worried about you, Helene.”
“Well, fortunately, it looks like we are all okay. I only hope Donnie’s injuries aren’t too serious,” Helene looked at the bedding still on the floor, and at the small puddle of blood from Toley Banks’ nose. Then she suddenly looked at Charlotte. “The book! Do you still have it?”
Charlotte smiled, walked over to the ladder, and began to carry it back to the coal chute. Simon came forward to help her set it up. She pointed at it, and said to the others, “This, obviously, is a ladder.” Then she climbed the ladder, and pointed at the duct with the green board. “And this is the remains of a coal chute.” She pulled off the green board, took out the book, and handed it down to Simon. “Here’s the book, Une Mort non Perçus, An Uncollected Death, a first edition of the original French version of Least Objects.”
Simon’s look of amazement was worth the price of admission. “You found it!”
Helene shared her excitement. “We found it right before Donnie and Mitchell and those other men got here. It was right there on the bookshelves in the living room this entire time.”
Barnes chuckled. “So this is what they were looking for? This book?”
“Yes, detective,” Helene affirmed. “This very rare and costly book.” Then she looked up at Charlotte. “So it was Chutes and Ladders, after all? Was the notebook in there?”
“I think so.” She started to feel around the inside of the chute. “It was Donovan who told me what this was. When he was thrown down here, they locked the door. Donovan said there was a possible way out, but it’s too small.” She explained how Donovan was punished as a child by being locked in the basement. “Olivia would have had to use the ladder to hide the notebook in it. I think she wrote Snakes and Ladders as the clue because that was what she had always called the game.” Her hand finally felt paper and pages, and she pulled out the notebooks. “There’s two of them.” She brought them down.
The larger one was, indeed, the first notebook Olivia had written, and was dated 1968—and there was no clue on the inside of the front cover. It was, at long last, the first volume of the series.
“You were right, Charlotte,” said Helene, looking at the first page. “She started writing again after O’Dair won the Nobel. But what is the other notebook?”
The smaller notebook was a student’s composition book, and the handwriting was a young person’s, as well. On the first page, the title read, “A Story,” and underneath was written, “by Donovan Targman.”
“How sweet!” said Helene. “How like a mother to have kept something like that, something she had in common with her child.”
Barnes made motions to leave. “Well, everyone, I need to get to the hospital to check on Mr. Targman,” he said. “It looks like you have found everything you wanted, and then some. And I don’t think you will be bothered by Toley Banks, Mitchell Bennett, or the mysterious Doc anymore. They will have the book thrown at them—as it were—for every felony they committed today alone.”
“What a relief!” said Helene. “I want to get out of this basement and go see Donnie, too, if someone will lend me an arm?”
“Allow me, Mrs. Dalmier,” said Barnes, who was downright courtly in his assistance.