Page 62 of The Furies

“It was too conspicuous. He’ll find another. Are we done, Mr. Parker? I have a business to save.”

“I’d still advise Ambar and you to move out of your homes until I can find a way to bring this to a conclusion.”

Dolors Strange reached out her right hand and placed it on mine. I moved it away, and not only because of those blisters. She didn’t take offense. She was long past such sensitivities.

“But Mr. Parker,” she said, “don’t you see? None of this may be real. Egon Towle’s sister told you a story and you believed it. A collection is supposed to be missing, but I’ve seen only two coins, one of which was gold—valuable, but not uncommon—while the other gave me a rash. The only coins that matter to me are in my register, and there aren’t enough of them for my liking.”

“Are you rehearsing a narrative for the police, Ms. Strange?” I asked, because this represented a change of tune from the new believer she had earlier professed to be.

“Let them come. I have nothing to hide.”

“And Kepler?”

“Let him come, too.”

There it was again: that certainty.

“What did Raum do with that double eagle he showed you?” I asked.

“Why, he took it with him, of course.”

Her eyes challenged me to call her a liar.

“You and Egon Towle’s sister may have something in common, Ms. Strange.”

“Really?” she said. “What would that be?”

“You’re both gambling on a game, the rules of which you don’t understand.”

“And do you understand them, Mr. Parker?”

I stood, and she stood with me.

“No,” I said, “but then, I don’t have anything at stake.”

CHAPTER LXVIII

If Raum Buker had gone to ground in Aroostook, finding him wouldn’t be easy, which was undoubtedly the point. Even Mainers struggled to negotiate the County, and for Downeasters—those of us who lived along the coast—it resembled alien territory, a remote and socially conservative region set apart from the rest of the state. Huge tracts remained uninhabited, and in the St. John Valley it wasn’t uncommon to hear French dialects spoken, given the area’s cultural, historical, and geographical ties to Canada and the Acadian people.

If it would be hard for me to locate Raum, then Kepler, who was an outsider to both Aroostook and Maine, would have no hope at all. That was good news for Raum but bad news, I feared, for the Sisters Strange. I was now convinced that Kepler was quite capable of progressing beyond runes and disemboweled squirrels to more direct action, although it still wasn’t clear to me why he might have killed the dealer Hapgood. The only reasons I could offer were vengeance—punishment for Hapgood’s involvement in the theft and attempted sale of Kepler’s stolen collection; caution—whatever Hapgood knew about Kepler, it was enough to justify silencing him; or the acquisition of information—in this case, the names of the thieves.

But Raum’s pentacle tattoo symbolized that this wasn’t only about money for him, but also reflected a deeper interest in the esoteric. Eleanor Towle had indicated that Raum and Egon were proselytes, Raum more than Egon. There was, in addition, the testimony of Tessell Forde to consider. His story might have sounded peculiar in isolation, but I could view it through the prism of my own experiences with Raum, including our encounter outside the Braycott Arms. This was not the Raum Buker of old with whom we were dealing, but a transformed man: “sick” was the word Tessell had used to describe him, and I wasn’t about to disagree. As for the parasite Tessell claimed to have glimpsed in Raum’s eye, who could say?

While I wasn’t yet prepared to accept Eleanor’s tale of the coin as anything more than a legend, Raum Buker, Egon Towle, and possibly the enigmatic Kepler all believed it might be true. Of these, two were currently unreachable, but the third, Kepler, wasn’t afraid to make himself visible, as evinced by his appearance at the Great Lost Bear. But if he’d shown himself, and asked after me, why had he not yet tried to make contact?

I called Moxie Castin and asked if his secretary could begin phoning hotels and lodgings in Portland and South Portland to see if they had any guests matching Kepler’s name or description. I advised beginning with the chains and progressing to more upscale accommodations, because it was easier to be anonymous at conglomerate lodgings. Some might decline to provide such information, but it was worth a shot.

“I hope you’re going to reimburse me for her time,” said Moxie.

“You’re such a kidder,” I said, and hung up before he could ask for my credit card details.

In case Moxie’s secretary didn’t have any luck, I returned to the Braycott Arms. Bobby Wadlin was watching an episode of The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp, which didn’t look or sound as though it had improved with age.

“You owe me for what you did to that peephole,” said Wadlin.

“You can add it to the rest of the damage,” I said.

Wadlin tore his eyes from the screen.

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