"I will, Mr. DeLoach." She gently removed the book from his hands, her curiosity to learn the contents almost irresistible. "I promise to be careful with it."
Ashley drove all the way home thinking of nothing but the contents of the book. At last she would discover why the dead man was clasping the book. The thought of learning its secrets was delicious and she already savored it with anticipation. She parked her car in the driveway and grabbed the book from the seat next to her. She held it to her nose and took a deep breath. She expected the musty smell of leather and old pages, but all she smelled were the organic chemicals DeLoach used to restore it. She delicately pushed the leather binder into her purse, got out of the car, and walked toward her front door.
Ashley Regan and Christa Barnett had grown up together in Charleston. Friends of their parents called them Frick and Frack. They did everything together. Went to school together. Studied together. Partied together. Got in trouble with the law together. But during college they drifted apart and lost contact with each other. Regan went to accounting school at the University of Georgia. Christa, graphic design at University of Florida. Christa was short in stature, barely reaching five feet. Her feisty personality matched her long dyed black hair. Christa was the only person Regan knew, and trusted, who could speak German. Who better to decipher the book?
Regan hated lying to Sam again but she needed an excuse to get away. Christa was her ticket to translating the book and Sam could never know of its existence. Sam knew Christa was Ashley's best friend so during their 'wine and dine' date, Regan told Sam that Christa was going through a rough breakup and she was going to stay with her for a few days.
At first Connors protested, but Regan resorted to the oldest trick in the book, sex. When they got home from their date, Ashley seduced Sam in an interlude that made their morning adventure pale in comparison. It was almost stereotypical. For Sam Connors, sex was the ultimate show of love. And after that romp, Regan knew, Sam would be content for a long time to come.
It took Christa a day and a half to translate all the entries in the mysterious book while Ashley Regan impatiently watched her work. Like a small child on Christmas morning waiting to run out and see what Santa brought, the anticipation was unbearable and intensified with each "oh my God" and "this is too weird" comment that Christa made.
Finally Christa held up the book. "Sister, this is un-freaking-believable."
"Don't keep me in suspense. What is it?" Regan nearly shouted.
"Here." Christa handed Regan the translated copy. "Read and be amazed."
She studied the translation and realized her work had just begun and, that to truly understand the significance of what she read, extensive research would be required.
Christa was the first to break the silence. "We can do this," she said. "It'll be like the old days."
"You know what this means, right? You'll have to take time off work."
"So what. I'll get someone to cover for me."
"We'll be breaking the law," Regan said. "If we get caught we lose our jobs for sure. And maybe even go to jail."
"Ashley. We can do this. Sure, it'll be risky, but that's part of the fun. Right?" Christa smiled. "And you know what the best part is?"
"What?"
"We get rich while we're having fun."
It did sound like fun, Regan thought. And Christa was right. They could get rich. Very rich. And what was the real danger after all? Getting caught and being arrested? They had been arrested before — misdemeanors in high school — but arrested nonetheless. It wasn't like anyone would get hurt. No one's life would be in jeopardy. It wasn't dangerous, just illegal.
"Well, Ashley? What do you say?" Christa egged her on. "You up for another adventure of a lifetime?"
"We need to do some research." Regan closed the book. She was already envisioning her forthcoming adventures with Christa, although somewhat remorseful that they wouldn't include Sam Connors.
"Something else."
"What's that?" Regan's thoughts were clouded by her good fortune in the ice tunnel in Germany.
"Buy a map." Christa smiled.
9
Scott Katzer opened the doors to the Katzer Funeral Home at precisely 8:00 a.m. so the McClaine family could start making funeral arrangements for Mr. McClaine's 86-year old father who passed during the night after a prolonged battle with prostate cancer. Katzer gave McClaine an orientation package and tour of the facility including a breakdown of the fees associated with each portion of the post-mortem care for his departed father.
Katzer excelled at developing the calm, reassuring demeanor and sympathetic voice that was crucial for a funeral director. Clients who entered the door were usually grieving and vulnerable which, as his mother had reinforced repeatedly over the years, made them spend more to ensure their departed loved one rested in comfort for eternity.
Maybe it was a result of the years of his mother's sardonic influence, but the whole idea seemed ludicrous to begin with, Katzer thought, that families would spend several thousands of dollars to bury the dead. In reality, the money wasn't spent on their dead loved one — it was spent to make them feel better. If they could think logically about death, they would realize it didn't make any difference to the dead whether they were laid to rest in a solid mahogany casket with velvet lined interior or a simple wooden box or, for that matter, cremated. Grief, and perhaps guilt, overshadowed their judgment, which his mother claimed was good for business.
Katzer systematically maneuvered McClaine into the casket room, the money room in the funeral home business according to his mother, where the price markup on a casket could be as high as 250 %. In some cases, the profit margin alone on particular high-end models could amount to a few thousand dollars. His mother trained him to always give the illusion he cared and to try to comfort and console the grieving family while convincing them that their dead loved one was worth the price they were spending. But at the end of the day when he locked the doors, she said it was all about the money. And the Katzers had made plenty with their lucrative business.
McClaine's father had been a respected businessman in Nashville for several decades and the wealth of the family was well known — including their lavish lifestyle. Katzer guided McClaine to the newest model casket in the showroom, the Mercedes. The casket was a 32-ounce solid bronze sealer with brushed natural bronze rails, a beige velvet interior, and full glass inner seal. Basically, a casket within a casket. Double protection. Katzer noticed McClaine's instant attraction to the gleam from the casket. Lighting around the casket had been meticulously placed to enhance its luster and shine — his mother's idea. A cheap trick but it worked. With a price tag of just under $12,000, the Mercedes was a moneymaker. A splendid choice for a man who would want a grand display for hundreds of the area's upper echelon guaranteed to be in attendance at his ceremony.
As Katzer explained the merits of the double seal protection, an associate director interrupted.
"Excuse me, Mr. Katzer?"
"What?" Katzer heard the annoyance in his own voice too late. He was on the verge of making the sale and the interruption could give the wealthy McClaine son time to reconsider his choice.
"I'm sorry." She looked at McClaine then back to Katzer. "Mrs. Katzer requests you come to the office immediately."
"Tell her I'll be there in a few minutes."
"I'm sorry, sir, but she was quite insistent that I take over so you can go to the office at once."
"Very well." Katzer looked at McClaine and smiled. "I am very sorry for the interruption, Mr. McClaine, but it seems I must attend to an urgent matter. This is Heather Anderson. She is one of our Associate Directors. She's been with us for five years so you're in good hands." He turned to Heather. "I was just explaining the advantages of the double seal protection on the Mercedes to Mr. McClaine."