Page 83 of No Escape

“That’s okay,” I said. “Maybe all three have to go on the shelf before anything happens.”

The priest replaced the last book, and we waited. Nothing occurred—no sign. Father Armando started climbing down the ladder when he spotted something on the bookshelf adjacent to the book he had just replaced.

“Gio, you told me to let you know if I saw something odd. I don’t thinkThe Godfatherby Mario Puzo belongs in the ‘Italian Masters’ section.”

“Au contraire,” Stefan called out. “I consider that book a masterpiece of fiction.”

“But does it really belong here?”

The priest reached over and pulled the book off the shelf, and a loud chime filled the room.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Gio

“Whoa.” I said, startled. “What did you do, Father?”

Father Armando held the book in his hand. “I pulledThe Godfatheroff the shelf and that chime sounded.”

“Put it back and do it again,” I instructed.

Father Armando carefully replaced the book and waited a minute. He then pulled the book off the shelf. The chime sounded again.

“Why is it doing that?” Alessa asked.

“I don’t know,” I said mystified. “Anyone got any theories?”

“I do,” Clarissa said. “Father Armando is right. That book doesn’t belong there. Mario Puzo isn’t Italian. He’s American.”

“Italian American—maybe that’s it,” Alessa mused. “Perhaps we have to find the non-Italian authors in that section and take them off the shelf.”

“Why worry about looking for non-Italian authors?” Vittoria said. “Let’s just takeallthe books off that shelf in that section.”

“That would take too much time,” Alessa said. “Especially since they are on the second level and we don’t know how many other puzzles we’ll have to solve.”

“Alessa’s right,” I said. “We don’t have time. Father Armando, can you look over the entire section up there, and instead of pulling out every book, pull only those you think aren’t true Italian masters?”

“I could, but I’m afraid I’m not the best person for that job. My knowledge of contemporary literature and poetry is quite limited.”

“I can do it,” Vittoria said confidently. “Come down, Father. I was a literature major at the university.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You willnotstand on a ladder in your condition, Vittoria.”

“Gio, darling, I’m perfectly capable,” she said, smiling sweetly at me.

Sometimes that smile worked on me, but this time it wouldn’t. “Oh, I have no doubt you’re capable.” I blocked her way to the ladder. “However, you’re still not going to climb that ladder.”

“Perhaps I can assist?” Winston offered. “I’m fairly well-read in contemporary fiction, and Vittoria can assist me on the ones I’m uncertain about while safely planted on the ground. Fair enough compromise?”

I lifted an eyebrow and Vittoria finally acquiesced, understanding I was not going to budge. “Fine,” she said. “I can do that.”

Father Armando descended, after which Winston climbed up. Vittoria stood below ready to help. They began discussing titles and which authors were true masters and which ones weren’t.

While Father Armando spotted the ladder, I drifted over to the display of famous World War II aircraft models Winston had been looking at earlier. As a military man, I appreciated the attention to the smallest details on the planes. The aircraft were arrayed on shelves starting at knee level and extending well above our heads. Each aircraft had a little card identifying it. I saw a P-51 Mustang, a Russian Airacobra, a US Navy Hellcat, a British Spitfire, a Japanese Zero, a Corsair, a German Stuka, a Japanese Kite, and Italian aircraft with numerical designations. All had been artfully presented on the shelves. I saw no obvious pattern among the aircraft or countries. I wasn’t sure as to their point in the library other than as a cool display.

I heard a chime from the bookshelf and looked up as Winston called out, “I just removed a book by Plato.”

“Good job,” I called out. “Keep it going.”

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