“Hello, I’m a friend of Madame Petrovsky,” I said. “I’m Professor Palma from Braxton University in Illinois.” Not inspired but not really stupid either.
“Yes, I know the school. As a matter of fact, I visited there only a few weeks ago.” She sounded cheerful. “I was visiting Madame Petrovsky and we saw the school and town as part of my visit there.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you. Did I call at a bad time?” I said.
“No, not at all. How can I help you Professor?” There was a smile in her voice.
“If you could help me with a couple of questions,” I said. “Just the other night, I had dinner with several acquaintances, Madame Petrovsky being one of them, and the discussion of seers came up. Not too strange since that is her business. Well anyway, mention was made that many vintners have a spiritualist perform a blessing on their fields at the start of the season. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s true. And, as a matter of fact, we have that done here at the beginning of the growing season and at harvest. We believe that it helps the grapes. Sort of keeps them out of harm’s way, wards off things like blights and bad weather.”
“Does it work?”
“This is our second year of doing it and both years we’ve had good yields. It could just be that Mother Nature has been extra nice to us or…?
“We’re going to continue doing it because it has given us good results and it’s fun. And, what can it hurt?”
“How is this done? I mean, what does the person do?”
“Well, we invite all our workers and some friends and neighbors, anyone who would like to attend. On a night when the moon is full, we meet in one of the vineyards before dark but after the moon has risen. Tammy puts some soil and special stones into a magic bowl and then adds some grape seeds. Then she lights a candle and puts that in the bowl with some herbs or spices or some magic potion. She sprinkles some powder onto the candle, which makes the flame jump up, and then she raises the bowl up to the moon and says something in a foreign language. Then she turns to us with the bowl still raised and we all cheer. Then we all go to the house and have a big buffet. It’s a lot of fun and everyone enjoys themselves. It’s more like a party than a religious ceremony—a good excuse for getting together with friends.”
“So this is like an informal event?”
“Well, we dress up a little, you know, new jeans and a fancy blouse. Tammy, Tamina Bevin, our practitioner, wears a big black cape with a dark red lining. When she moves, it spins around and looks very…”
“Spooky?” I asked.
“Not spooky, sexy. She doesn’t have anything on underneath. She’s not trying to be flashy, but she’s attractive and that’s the uniform that she’s supposed to wear.”
“You said that she used a bowl in her ceremony. What did it look like?”
“It’s the size of a bowl that you would use for breakfast cereal and was very shiny,” she said.
“Did it have any decoration on it?”
“I don’t know. It might have,” she said. “Why are you interested in all of this?” she asked with a little concern in her voice.
I tried to match her pleasantness. “We’ve had a bowl taken from our library’s collection and I’ve been asked to trace it. I’m trying to contact anyone who has information that can further our investigation, anyone who knows anything about antique bowls.”
“Perhaps you should contact Tammy. She might be able to help. And maybe I can help. We always take pictures at the ceremonies. Would you like me to send them to you?”
“That would be very helpful, Paula.” She gave me Tamina Bevin’s number, we said our good byes and I hung up.
True to her word, Paula emailed me the pictures an hour later. She must have used a good scanner because the pictures had great detail. Even though the light was dim, I could see the faces of the people. But, more importantly, I could see the bowl.
The first two pictures showed the vines with almost no leaves on them. Ms. Bevin was in the center of the picture and was holding the bowl. She was short with short blonde hair. The picture was taken from behind so the bowl was pretty much covered by her hands. All I could see of her was her floor length cape and her blonde hair. The other picture showed her standing in the middle of a group of well heeled folks, I guess that Paula and her husband were somewhere in the picture. Tamina had the bowl in one hand and was smiling. The bowl was pale yellow with a black rim. It did not look like our bowl.
The next picture that I pulled up on the computer screen was taken at the harvest. I could see bunches of grapes on the vines with yellow and red leaves. Tamina was dressed the same way, all encompassing black cape tied at the neck and black boots. She was smiling in the middle of a group of field workers. The light was a little better in this one. She had her bowl cradled in her hands in her lap. I couldn’t see any part of the bowl.
The fourth picture showed all. First, it was taken from the front. There were about twenty people, mostly men, a few feet behind her looking solemn. Next, she had her hand over her heart which held her cape partially closed. A small wind had flipped it open so one lovely leg could be seen almost in its entirety. She was a looker, cute little round face, big smile—a real Hollywood starlet type, only not as young. I understand why there were so many men there. Her other arm was raised, and in her hand, in her fingertips, she held the bowl. It was not the same bowl as in the spring pictures.
I went to my View menu and pressed “resize.” The picture jumped onto the screen at more than twice the size it was. It was now bigger than the screen. The center of the picture was Tammy’s lovely leg. Nice as that was, I still scrolled up and to the left until I had the bowl centered on my screen. Her fingertips touched only the bottom. There was a candle but it was not lit. The wind that opened her cape also must have gotten to the flame.
The entire side of the bowl was visible. It was black with a delicate white rim. There was a white figure holding an amphora and another holding a small bowl up to the sky.
I swiveled on my chair and went into my top left file drawer in my desk and unlocked it. In front were the files labeled “Missing Bowl,” The first was labeled “Missing Bowl-Interview Notes,” The next was “Missing Bowl-Evidence & Evidence Notes,” The next was labeled “Missing Bowl-Leads & Suspects ”—presently empty. The next was “Missing Bowl-Notes,” And, the next was “Missing Bowl-Misc,” which held anything that didn’t logically fit into the others. After those folders were ones with the names of all of my investigators. I pulled out the “Missing Bowl-Misc” and laid the folder open on my desk.
In the front was a copy of the same page that we emailed to Madame Petrovsky last Monday night, the full page description of our bowl from Clay’s Registry of Aegean Antiquities. There were several small pictures along with a written description and history of the bowl. One picture showed the left side of the bowl, another showed the front of the bowl, another, the bottom, and one looking into the bowl from the top. There was a larger one that showed it at an angle, looking down so you could see some of the inside and some of the outside.
I held up the page of pictures next to my computer screen. The bowls looked the same size and the figures looked identical, same faces, same amphora. I’d say we have a match here.
Talk about your smoking gun.
Chapter 20
Hacking
Why am I doing this you may ask? Why am I setting myself up for another reprimand from the Professor? I don’t know. Well, I do know. I want to break this case and if my hacking into Madame Petrovsky’s computer will help then I’m all for it. I am sitting at my desk, cup of delicious Nescafe in hand. On the desk I have my computers: a laptop which is for everyday work and school, the one I bring with me all over, and my Big Mama. That’s my pride and joy.
My dad said when he was a kid he, and all the guys, were car nuts and they souped up their cars. They modified the engines
and changed the way the cars looked. He showed me pictures of the cars he had in high school. They were really cool, low and fast looking. He changed the engines on all of them so they were more powerful. That was when gas was thirty-two cents a gallon. Today, what curious guys do is mess with computers. We overclock. Now my Big Mama has two processors (which I just upgraded this summer) that are water cooled. That might not mean anything to you if you don’t mess with computers but what all this means is that I run the processors faster than they are supposed to—overclock. I can do everything faster than anybody. So what, you say. Well, because I can process so fast, I can crack codes and get into systems before their system knows that they are under attack—and, it’s great for gaming. So now I am aiming all of my computing power and personal genius toward Madame Petrovsky’s files.
OK, I don’t need much skill here, since it’s an AOL account that she has and Veronica saw the password that Charles used on Monday night when they received the email picture of the bowl from the library. So I entered “I_am_Elvira” at the AOL portal, and I’m in.
Two new messages. I won’t open those because then she’ll know that someone was here. They’ll be marked read and she’ll know that she didn’t read them. The emails that interest me are those before September 21, the date for the Cornfest. I remember that she or the Professor mentioned Paula Barden. I found one dated September 10, from
[email protected]. It said:
“Looking forward to seeing you on twenty-first. Got tickets. Pick me at OHare, on 19th. I’ll call with more info.”
This doesn’t seem worth the effort for what I am learning here. I looked for other senders that may be suspicious. There were a lot of different people who have written her.
I looked for people that sent more than one email in my time frame which is September 1 to September 21. There were three from
[email protected]. I like that name. It said:
“I will see you on the 17th. I am so looking forward to being reunited with my Fred. I have been so lonely without him. Thank you for all of your work.
Sincerely,
Mary Fergus”
That didn’t help. I tried
[email protected].
“Dear Madame Petrovsky, I’m looking forward to our evening together. They are always so informative and comforting.
Sincerely,
Sally DeLeo”
I continued, looking at the subject line of the email before opening it, all the way down to mid-August. I found one with the subject of “IT,” And another on the 17th. I opened it.
“Bill can’t come, only me. See you on 19.
Subject: I FOUND IT.”
No name. It was from
[email protected] and was sent on the 13th of August.
Does it mean something about our case or is this where she found her lost keys?
I looked back in her saved emails for another one from tazel and I found it in July. It said:
“NEED MORE INFORMATION” and was dated July 18th. It might be something, but then again, it might not.
I continued looking for others from tazel—there weren’t any. No other emails looked interesting so I logged out. Should I tell Professor P about this. I don’t think that I have enough here to warrant a lecture on ethics again.
So let’s just keep this our little secret, you and me, OK?
Chapter 21
Potential Perp Prints
I had a pleasant Sunday, just sat around, read, listened to Ravel, corrected some papers. Didn’t think a thing about the investigation.
Late afternoon on Monday, I had finished my classes, got the Jag washed and oil changed. It was just getting dark—and cold—when I opened the door to our office suite into my office, past the work crazed Fay, typing away like mad—scratch that—keyboarding away like mad.
On my beautiful, clean, oak desk was a solitary phone message. It said, “Call Ms. March.” Off came my coat, down went my body on my faux leather swivel chair, and I dialed Myrna.
“Would you please come over? I have something to tell you,” she said.
“Can’t we discuss it on the phone?” I whined.
“I would feel more comfortable if we could discuss this face to face. Could you come over, now? Please?”
“Mano a mano eh? I suppose I could sneak away for a few minutes.” I dephoned and headed toward the library.
Weekdays, just after dark, the campus is overrun with students headed off on missions of mirth or nutrition and sometimes even education. Looking overworked with big backpacks, walking bent over, their faces aimed toward the ground. A few looked up and smiled, with red cheeks, when they heard me approach. Some responded with a “Hello, Professor” as I passed.
Each building is guarded by two evergreens lit by a small light suspended above the entrance. In the winter, the trees give me the impression that Mother Nature hasn’t forgotten us, she’s still around and she’ll be back in full force in a few months.
The size of the welcoming pines shows the age of the building and the amenities that can be expected inside. Large trees mean an old building that translates to hot water heating, drafty windows and brand new networked computers throughout. The smaller trees—newer buildings—means air conditioning and a higher level of comfort within and several year old computers. We can’t have everything now, can we?
As I climbed the entrance steps, I wondered what Myrna found. Did Charles contact her with some hot scoop? Did the Ramaidens conjure up a new bowl for us? What could she have found?
“Thank you so much for coming. I really appreciate it,” Myrna said as I walked into her office. She was at her desk working on her computer.
“This might not be anything, but this afternoon, about an hour ago, I was coming back from Johnson Hall. You know, they have all those vending machines in the basement? Well, I walked through the non- fiction section. And, as I usually do, when I see books left on the tables, I bring them to the reshelving cart. I like to look at the titles, see what people are reading as I walk to the cart.
The first group of books was travel books to California and a CD of the Magic Flute. I thought, “How cute, magic.” But then I picked up another batch of books left on the table and they were travel books to Illinois and a CD of Ravel’s L’Enfant et les Sortileges, which is about witches. I thought maybe this was a coincidence so I looked at other books left on the tables and, yes, some were just books left by students, but I found three more sets of books that were travel books to either California or Illinois mixed with magic books or CDs with a magic theme.
“I thought I should call you and let you know about this. No one has done anything wrong but this is so strange, don’t you think?” She gave me a perplexed look and raised her hands, palms up.
“Where were the travel books for?” I asked.
“California and Illinois. No wait, there was one for New Orleans also.”
“Do you still have those books?”
“Yes, they are still in the reshelving cart.”
“Let’s take a look at them,” I said. We walked out of her office. At the end of the nearest aisle was a book cart. All the books had clear plastic book covers taped onto them.
“These are the ones.” She pointed to a dozen books on the second shelf.
“Could I take them? Maybe we can get some fingerprints from them. See if someone we know has touched these books.”
“My prints will be on them, as will other library workers.”
“We expect to see that, but possibly there’ll be more. I know it’s a long shot, but we’ll see what we can learn.”
“How long will it take?”
“It’ll probably about a week or so.” We went back to her office and got a paper bag and some first-aid gloves. I carefully placed the books in the bag after she got their bar code numbers.
“How are you and Charles getting along?” I asked.
“He asked me to dinner.”
She smiled and walked toward her office with a spring in her step.
“Best of luck. I hope you have fun,” I said. I told Myrna that I would return the books tomorrow. She turned and smiled again and waved. I left for my office.
Does this mean that she’ll be our spy in the Petrovsky camp?
Chapter 22
Monica
It was four o’clock Monday and I was correcting late papers when Monica appeared in my doorway. She silently walked in and gently lowered herself onto my sofa and then slid back, straightening her skirt with her hands. She smiled at me weakly. “Hello, Professor.”
“Hello, Monica, how are you?” I asked.
“Fine, thank you.
“Professor, there is something that I have to tell you.” She looked like she was about to confess that she stole the bowl. “I’m sorry but I can’t continue to work on the investigation.” She looked at her hands in her lap.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“It’s just taking too much time. My grades are going down and I just don’t know what to do. I mean, I study but I’m still not doing well.”
“Are all of your grades going down?”
“Well, it’s mainly my chemistry. It’s killing me. I try but I just can’t understand it. It really scares me. Nothing like this ever happened to me before. I don’t know what to do.”
“I think you are doing a very mature thing. Leaving the investigation will free up a lot of your time that you can use for study.”
“I think so, too. You know,” she smiled at me, “I was pledging Veronica’s sorority, Beta Omicron Delta, but I went inactive so I’ll have more study time. I’ll try to get in next semester. I’m staying on the Bugle though because my minor is English. I’ve been writing for the paper since I got here.”
“We’re all going to miss you. At least stop by and see us, OK?”
“OK, Professor. And thanks. I enjoyed working for you. I’m going to miss all of this.”
She got up and gave me an almost imperceptible smile as she offered her hand for me to shake.
“What about a tutor? Have you thought of using Jason? I hear he’s good at that.”