The Book Waitress Series Volume One (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Camille looked forward to the lunch meeting with Victor Langdon. After the past few harrowing days transitioning to a new life that now seemed riddled with evil tidings, this kind gesture on his part gave her hope that all may not be lost here.

He lived on the other side of the island, a good fifteen minute drive away from the heart of the tiny town. As if the island itself wasn’t isolated enough, there were some people who went to great lengths to secure their privacy. Victor seemed to be one of them. A long, winding unnamed road twisted its way up and away from the main road. Flanked on either side by high cement walls cloaked in pine and oak trees, it said to people in no uncertain terms to stay out if you don’t belong.

Approaching his home rivaled Cinderella’s arrival at the castle. As the gates swung open, she gawked at the sweeping mansion, with its multitude of chimneys rising in splendor atop a slight hill. Victor Langdon came home from wherever to see this view every day. Utterly astounding. The chauffeur stopped at the front entrance with its marble steps leading up to the intricately designed front doors. He got out and opened her door.

“Here we are, Ms. Dutton. If you’ll please follow me.”

“Thank you.” She slid from her seat and grabbed her backpack. It wasn’t a matching purse to her outfit, a flowing floral skirt and coral colored tank sweater, but she didn’t live that way, nor could she imagine living like Victor Langdon. Nice place to visit, wouldn’t want to clean it.

The chauffeur ushered her into the foyer that reminded her of a rotunda in an art museum, and left her to the care of a woman whose heels click-clacked her arrival a good ten seconds before she ever made her appearance. A cloying perfume preceded her, as well. Not surprising, she dressed in a conservative gray suit and wore a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The stiletto heels added enough height to make Camille feel like the small, insignificant child of her youth.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Dutton. Mr. Langdon is waiting for you on the terrace. Please follow me, won’t you?” Her soft as cashmere voice belied her severe appearance.

“Are you sure we don’t need a golf cart to get there?”

“Suit Lady” plastered a smile on her face but said nothing. Instead, she continued to guide her through a formal living space accented with crystal chandeliers and objects d’art, a monstrous state of the art kitchen, which teased her nose with wonderful Italian aromas, and finally, to the back terrace overlooking the lake.

“Here we are. Now, I just want to warn you,” she said in a hushed tone. “Mr. Langdon has some appreciable scars on his face from a camping accident recently. Please don’t be alarmed.”

“Okay, thanks for the heads up.” She didn’t recall seeing photos of him with scars in the Forbes magazine, nor could she picture the page where he might have talked about it. Were they that bad as to have needed a warning? She took a deep breath and sighed. She hadn’t been anxious before, but now? Now her clammy hands testified to her nerves getting the better of her.

“Mr. Langdon?” The tycoon, impressive in stature, with thick silver hair, turned when beckoned, a question on his disfigured face. “Ms. Dutton is here, sir.”

“Ah, Ms. Dutton.” When he smiled, it looked more like a grimace. “What a pleasure it is to have you here. Please, please. Come and sit down. Maritha has set us a fabulous array of delights to aid our discussion of library matters.”

“Thank you, Mr. Langdon. It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t need to do an internet search to know who you were. I read an expose on you a ways back in Forbes magazine. I think it’s wonderful that you’re the president of the Library Board here considering you’re multi-billionaire with real estate holdings on every continent on this planet. And you certainly didn’t have to go to this extent just for me.”

“Yes, well, we all choose our civic duties. I love libraries, and I like to entertain, so do me the honor of enjoying every last morsel Maritha has prepared. Besides, you only live once.”

He ushered her to their table, and just like a gentleman, sat her down. She was amazed at the lengths he’d gone to for her.

“Shall I pour you a Mimosa? I know it’s not brunch, but it’s our first meal together, so I thought it might be enjoyable. It only has a splash of champagne, so you needn’t worry about completing your tasks at home.”

“I’ve never had one before but I think I’d like to try it today.”

“Wonderful!” He picked up the sunny orange colored crystal pitcher and poured her a glass, throwing in a wedge of pineapple. “Here you are. Wait to take a sip. I’d like to make a toast.”

“Okay.” She laughed as she took the drink. He picked up a different pitcher with a rose color to it and started pouring another glass. “What are you pouring yourself?”

“I’m allergic to oranges, so I had Maritha make a cranberry mimosa for me.”

“I’d love to try that kind, too, I think. I’ve never had one of those before either.”

“Of course, you may. It’s not as delicious, I imagine, as yours, but you’ll have to tell me what you think. And now, for our toast. Please raise your glass.”

“All right.” He raised his and stood by his seat. She wished he’d sit down again, a little uncomfortable with the fuss made over her, a nobody. He loomed over their table as he began his speech.

“Thank you, Ms. Dutton, for coming to the rescue and gracing our humble library. I cannot begin to tell you what your presence here means to all of us. May your days here be so enjoyable they fly by, but may you be here long enough for us to miss you when you leave.”

She could feel the blush attacking her cheeks, but she didn’t care. His words were the loveliest she’d heard from anyone in a long time. Even her boss didn’t say anything special to her on her last day. He raised his glass and touched it to hers. He took a long draw and then nodded at her. She lifted her glass, touched the rim to her lips, and took a sip. The tang of the orange and the dryness of the champagne played off each other in perfect harmony.

“Mmm. Delicious.”

“As I thought and as it should be. Now, tell me, how has your experience been here so far?”

“I think my house is adorable. Just the right size for me here.”

“I mean at the library, my dear. How are things at the library?” His stare pierced right to the heart of her.
Did he already know what’s been going on? Is he testing me in some way? How do I answer? Tread carefully, Cammy.

“The building certainly has an interesting history. The floor plan makes sense, and the collection of books is wonderful. I’m seeing volumes my home library doesn’t have.”

“And how are you settling in there with Nancy and Susan?”

“Just fine. Women are fascinating creatures. It takes a bit for us to warm up to each other. I imagine after this week things will calm down.” She picked up her champagne flute and took a sip.

“Hmm, yes, I don’t pretend to know your gender whatsoever. They’re a couple of high quality women, but they’ve been friends forever and can be a bit exclusionary on occasion. They just started living together. Susan’s husband recently passed away and Nancy was looking for a roommate to reduce costs. Did you know? They’re like Laverne and Shirley these days. But that TV reference may be long before your time.”

“I’ve seen that show on TVLand, so I know what you mean. Such good friends, but so different from each other. I didn’t know that they were that close. It explains a lot.”

“You look very young, Ms. Dutton. If I may be so bold as to ask your age?”

“I’m twenty-four, sir. But I’ve been working in a library since my college days and have my degree in Library Science. I also have a Masters in Psychology.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply you were too young or inexperienced to work in our library. I merely wanted to know out of personal curiosity. And let me guess…you’re a Gemini, aren’t you?”

He leaned forward in his seat, as if eager to know if he was correct.

“You’re right! I am.” She nodded and took another sip of her Mimosa. She wondered when they’d start eating. A headache was starting to rear its ugly head right between her eyes.

He leaned back and preened. “Ah, I have a knack for identifying astrological signs. You wear your personality on your sleeve, Camille. Based on what you say and how you say it, based on your body language and facial expressions, I can make an educated guess.”

“And based on my employee file, probably sitting on your desk, I’m sure it was easy to figure out my sign.”

He belched out a hearty laugh that ended with a string of coughs. “Oh, my dear, you are delightful! So tell me something about yourself that the file doesn’t say. Like, do you have a boyfriend? Are you close with your parents? I am, alas, alone. No wife. No family left alive.”

He freshened her drink.

“Well, I have no boyfriend at the moment and my parents died recently. They were older when they had me and each had their own unique set of health problems. Within six months of each other, they passed away. It’s been about three years now.”

“I am so very sorry for your loss. That must have been very difficult, being at such a tender age, and just starting to find out who you are as an adult and what you want to do with your life. Any other family to rely on?”

“No. I’m an only child of parents who were only children. We had each other and that’s all we needed.” Her eye welled with tears, but she fought them back. This was not the time or place to bring the mood down.
Why did he ever have to ask such personal questions?

“I can see I’ve upset you. Let’s move on to brighter conversation. We can talk favorite genres while we eat. Shall we get up and fill our plates? The buffet is right over by the bar counter.” He stood and grabbed a plate from the table.

“Sounds like a great idea. Lead the way.” She rubbed just above the bridge of her nose. “I must be hungry. A headache is trying to get the best of me.” She downed the entire second cup he’d poured her, thinking the orange juice should help a bit, and pushed her chair back.

When she stood, the earth tilted off its axis, spinning her brain about as though in a tumble dryer. She teetered for a moment and careened into the table before plummeting to the ground and into unconsciousness.

***

Victor picked up the chime from the table and rang it once. Maritha and Bart came soon thereafter. “Maritha, fix me a plate for lunch, would you?”

“Certainly, sir.” She took the dish from his hand and scurried over to the buffet.

“Bart, take Ms. Dutton and put her in the basement guest room, please. Be gentle. She is to be the highlight of our second ceremony on Sunday.”

“Right away, sir.” He skirted around the table and hoisted the unconscious woman over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Maritha returned with a heaping plate of food, perfect for a man his size. “Thank you. That will be all.”

She nodded and left him to his lunch and his thoughts.

“Bart.” The behemoth of a man turned and grunted. “I said easy with her. She’s not to be bruised. She needs to be in pristine condition.”

Another grumble of acquiescence and he trudged off.

Victor refilled his glass and raised it high in the air. “To you, dear brother, who left the responsibility of The Mission and its very survival in my hands. Joseph, I honor your sacrifice so many years ago to protect all of us, to protect Satan. And to you, Lord and Master! All is in readiness for your ascension.”

Exquisite pain coursed through the pentagram on his chest, searing his flesh anew. He dropped the flute, but stood strong. Refusing to show fear before Satan, he instead would show his strength and fortitude to withstand whatever the Dark Lord had in store for him. Only this would prove his worthiness. As the acute torture subsided, he staggered over to the bar and poured himself a double shot of whiskey, downing it in one gulp. He figured a few more just like it would do the trick. He had no more engagements the rest of the day, so grabbed the bottle’s neck and brought it with him to his master suite. Being rich definitely had its advantages.

***

After searching through nearly every newspaper the library had on hand, Derek finally came across an obscure classified ad that mentioned a meeting every sixth of the month at six o’clock in the evening for those disenfranchised disbelievers. A phone number was listed, so he wrote it down. It disconcerted him that the library could so easily remove information at its discretion. How could they so effectively keep newspapers with news of a cult being disbanded and the leader prosecuted out of the public eye? Did the Library Board approve of this? It must have. So here lay another example of the cult’s stranglehold on the island.

Moving on to search the internet, he first looked up current and past members of the Library Board. He wrote down the names of all thirteen members from the year the library was founded. Then, as he skimmed over the years that followed, he checked off each name that appeared repeatedly. As expected, names had changed, probably due to attrition, death, or some such reason. But beginning thirty years ago, there had been no changes save for one. Joseph Singletary, the Library Board President for sixteen straight years beginning in 1960, disappeared from the list. It had been the same core people since then. Warning bells and sirens blared in his ears.
What the hell?
He knew what. He’d bet anything they were the prime members of The Mission.