“Yes. Uh. No.” He always left me tongue-tied. What did you say to someone who’s supposed to be a highly evolved conscious being? I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but I knew he was incredibly intelligent and perceptive. He could talk anyone into doing anything. I’d grown up trying to stay under the Guru radar and I’d been fairly successful for years. Then, when I was fourteen, Abraham showed him a beautiful family Bible I’d restored. That gained his interest.
It had been Guru Bob’s suggestion that I go for the multiple degrees in library science and fine art, even though Abraham had thought it irrelevant. I’d always insisted to my parents that neither of their opinions mattered, but Guru Bob’s encouragement had helped move my parents to fully finance my college and postgrad schooling, so I was grateful for that.
“I saw you speaking with the police, dear,” he said.
Good to know someone had been aware of my situation out in the parking lot. The fact that it was Guru Bob caused my throat to go dry as sand. I reached for a water bottle from the nearby table, popped it open and took a long sip.
“You are distressed,” he said kindly.
“No, I am fine,” I said. “I am just very thirsty.”
Guru Bob never used contractions and I tended to imitate him whenever I spoke with him. Weird.
“Water is life-giving,” he said quietly as I drank.
He was a tall man with broad shoulders, but when he spoke with you, he would hunch over to appear less intimidating and more humble. He also spoke softly, believing his words would be better received than if he spoke louder. It worked. I definitely paid attention to him.
“The police upset you?” he asked.
“No, no,” I said. “They were just asking me about Abraham and some statements one of my, er, colleagues made.” Calling Minka a colleague left a bitter taste, but I didn’t want to have to explain the whole thing to Guru Bob.
“There is no need to explain,” he said, doing that creepy mind-reading thing he did sometimes.
I felt an urgent need to explain anyway. “It’s just that this woman lied to the police and I had to tell them the true story. She’s not really a colleague, Robson, she’s really a…” I sighed. I couldn’t say anything too negative to Guru Bob.
He touched my shoulder and I felt a tingle of energy.
“You are under a great deal of strain, gracious.”
Guru Bob called most people “gracious.” Mom said he liked to make them aware that they actually were full of grace. He was definitely a glass-half-full kind of guy.
“I will be fine,” I insisted.
“Of course you will.” He absently kneaded my shoulder blade and I felt a rush of something like electricity zing across my shoulders and down my spine. How did he do that?
“Take more potassium this week,” he advised. “It will improve your ability to sleep and awake refreshed.”
“Yes, okay.”
“And eat oatmeal,” he said. “It will boost your sex drive.”
I choked on the water and he patted my back.
“Gotcha,” he said, his eyes sparkling.
“Good one,” I whispered between coughs.
“Anything that helps us remember the moment is a good one indeed,” he murmured, then straightened to his full height, signaling that our conversation was over. Then he snapped his fingers, something I’d never seen him do.
He smiled and spread his hands. “You see, gracious, had I truly been in the moment, I would have remembered what I wished to tell you in the first place.”
My eyes widened at his revelation, but I had no comeback and he didn’t expect one.
“Gavin will be reading Abraham’s last will and testament at four this afternoon in the tearoom. Your presence is required, of course.”
Before I could protest, he brought his palms together as though he were going to pray, then bowed his head briefly. “Namasté,” he said, and walked away.
I needed a minute and took another gulp of water. Guru Bob always left me feeling completely charged but also kind of spacey.
“Sweetie.” Mom stopped me right inside the kitchen door and pulled me over to a deserted corner.
“Mom, whoa. Watch the sweater. What’s up?”
“Is that cashmere?” she asked, rubbing it between her fingers. “Nice.”
I pried my sleeve away from her nervous hands. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Why were the police here?”
“They just had a few questions.”
“So they drove all the way to Sonoma? On a Saturday? That’s very strange.” She paced a few feet, then whirled around. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“I think it’s good that they’re working the case.” And why was she so nervous? Had the police spooked her?
“What did you tell them? Are you in trouble?”
“Mom, it’s nothing. A misunderstanding, that’s all. Don’t worry.”
“I’m your mother. I get paid to worry.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest and shook her head.
I smiled and rubbed her arms. “Mom, everything’s fine. They just needed to clarify something and now they’re gone. Everything’s groovy.”
“Groovy.” She exhaled heavily. “Right. Good.”
“Jeez, Mom, you’d think they were going to arrest me or something.”
“Don’t say that!” She grabbed a wooden spoon from the utility shelf and held it out. “Knock on wood.”
“Mom, this is crazy.”
“Just do it.”
I rapped the spoon with my knuckles and she tossed the spoon back on the shelf. Then she reached out and rubbed my forehead with her thumb to stimulate my third eye. This was supposed to open my clogged channels and allow me to tune into the right universal vibration in order to see the world from a higher place.
Or something like that. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I love you, Mom.”
I thought she would burst into tears. She grabbed me in her arms and held on tight. “I love you, too, sweetie. I’d just die if something happened to you.”
I hugged her, but had to wonder why she was so nervous about the police being around. Was it because she was hiding her own reasons for sneaking into the Covington that night? Her behavior was making all my suspicious little nerve channels vibrate more than ever.
It was after two before I was able to sneak out the kitchen door and run down to Abraham’s studio without being followed. I figured I had just enough time to search the place and be back for the reading of the will at four o’clock.
The studio was unchanged from the last time I’d seen it. Drawers were still opened with papers jammed in every which way or crumpled and thrown around. The stack of birch book covers was a jumble and there were shells and rocks scattered across the worktable and the floor. I started to pick them up, then realized I didn’t have time to straighten things. I would try to get up here sometime during the week to take care of it, but right now, I needed to search for the missing journals.
It took almost an hour of meticulously searching through every drawer and cupboard and shelf, but I finally found the two journals that covered the work Abraham had done on the Winslow books. Why he’d kept them in plain sight on his desk, I’d never know. It was the last place I thought to look. There was no time to read them right now, so I shoved them into my bag.
I hadn’t found anything that might be the missing item from the Faust. “GW1941.” I’d done a quick check, but there was nothing tucked inside the journals, no slip of paper or directions or anything. I held out hope that Abraham had written down the details of what he’d found and where he’d put it. I’d know more tonight after I read the journals. Right now I had to get out of here and back to the ranch before someone came snooping around.
“Who the hell are you?”
I bolted, knocking my elbow against the solid brass book press. I whipped around, furious and in pain. “If one more person sneaks up on me, I swear I’ll-”
“I saw you steal something.”