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“So, you’re the appointment Miss Jane referred to me?” he said, flashing some very respectable dentures at me.
Having long since tired of subterfuge, I introduced myself as Mr. Wainwright’s granddaughter. Mr. Mayhew’s white eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He sat back heavily in his club chair while I gave him a brief summary of the events that had brought me to his door. A parade of conflicting emotions crossed his handsome face as I told my story, ending with shocked resignation as I concluded with, “So, we were hoping, Mr. Mayhew, that you might still have that bell he gave you all those years ago and, if so, that you would be willing to part with it.”
“He really had a daughter?” he asked.
I nodded. “You can ask Dick Cheney,” I said. “He’ll vouch for my story.”
“Why would Jane’s shifty friend know anything about it?”
I offered him an easy smile. “Never mind.”
“Well, you do favor him. And if Miss Jane believes you, that’s enough for me . . . Gilbert having descendants would have drastically changed his will, you know,” he said, frowning. “Are you here to challenge it? Because he was very fond of Miss Jane, and I wouldn’t be comfortable—”
“Oh, no,” I assured him. “I think the shop is in very good hands. I was just curious about the bell.”
Mr. Mayhew blew out a long breath. “I haven’t got it.”
My heart dropped somewhere near the location of my feet. Jed gave my hand a squeeze, but at the moment, I couldn’t find it in me to look up at him.
“Gilbert did give me a bell, about twenty years ago,” Mr. Mayhew said. “He asked me to put it in my safe, something about not feeling right about keeping them all together. And then, five years ago, right before Miss Jane started working there, he took it back. Said it was time and that he was going to hide it in plain sight.”
“He didn’t tell you where that might be?” Jed asked.
Mr. Mayhew shook his head.
“And what about your friend Bob Puckett? He was one of your card circle. Would Mr. Wainwright have given it to him?”
“Bobby Puckett died ten years ago,” Mr. Mayhew said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Miss, but if Gilbert said he was going to hide it in plain sight, then you should look in the most obvious place first.”
“We kind of covered those,” Jed told him.
“I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” Mr. Mayhew said, shaking his head.
I stood, my knees shaking, and took his hand.
“After all this time,” Mr. Mayhew said. “Gilbert has a grandkid. He would have gotten such a kick out of you, young lady.”
“Thank you.”
“You know, I have something for you,” he said, crossing to his bookshelf. “We started playing poker together about fifty years ago. And one night a few years back, your grandpa ran out of cash. He had a lot of confidence in his hand, so he threw this into the pot.” He took an old linen-bound edition from the shelf and handed it to me. “It was one of his prized possessions.”
I ran my fingers over the cover, stamped in gold: A Guide to Traversing the Supernatural Realm. Mr. Mayhew grinned sheepishly. “It’s a first edition. He read that book I don’t know how many times when we were kids. An uncle gave it to him when he was home sick once with a cold, and it sparked his interest in the paranormal. From that moment on, all he could talk about was traveling the world to look for werewolves and vampires. I didn’t really want to take it. He had four of a kind, but I had a straight flush. He never could spot a tell.”
“Family failing, apparently,” I muttered, turning the book carefully in my hands.
“I held on to it,” he said, guilt tingeing his voice. “To teach him a lesson about bringing enough cash to the games. I always meant to give it back . . . I’m sorry. I think he would want you to have it.”
I smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Mayhew.”
* * *
I leaned my head back against the car’s seat, clutching Mr. Wainwright’s book to my chest.
“Hey, hey.” Jed slid across the seat and tried to put his arm around me. Instinctively, I pressed my hand against his chest to push him away, but my arm went limp. I let him wrap an arm around my shoulders and pull me close. “It’s OK. We knew it was a long shot.”
“I don’t know what to do now,” I said. “I don’t know where to look. And I looked closer at those locator spells. You’re right. That is definitely some Dark Lord, point-of-no-return sort of stuff.”
“You tried one of them, didn’t you?”
