Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [19]
"Yes, there's always been rumors that he knows more about the book than the rest of us, but he won't talk about it. Maybe you can get him to open up." Peasley drummed his fingers on the counter.
"All I want to know is what the book is."
"Ah, so disappointing. We were doing well, and there you go lying to me again." Arnold shook his head. "No, no, no, you want to know far more. And if you knew what the book really was, you'd want to know far more than you're imagining right now. You'd want to know it all."
Cameron gritted his teeth. Yes, he wanted to know everything about the book. If he confessed that, would Peasley stop talking like Mr. Cryptic?
Arnold opened his refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher filled with something light brown. "Can I interest your taste buds in something cool and refreshing?"
"Sure." Cameron nodded and swallowed. He'd better choke down at least a little of what looked like well-aged iced tea, or Arnold might stop talking altogether.
Peasley poured two tall glasses and handed one to Cameron. The other he left on the counter. "I grew up around here. I never left."
Cameron took a sip of the tea. Not bad.
"I played guard on the high school basketball team in '68 and '69 you know. You're staring at the Three Peaker who took the assist record to new heights those years."
"Who scored the points?"
"Taylor Stone did, of course, but if I hadn't seen the lanes with my eagle eyes, he wouldn't have gotten the ball. Taylor always mentioned that about me when he was talking to the paper about his record-breaking performances. Always. Good man, Taylor was. We had the most consecutive wins in the history of the town. The '82 team came close to breaking it but didn't quite make it. They missed the record by two games."
Arnold Peasley undoubtedly knew his history. Basketball at least.
"I have pictures of the team from both seasons I played, both seasons—did you know that? And the photographer those years? Whew. Good photos. Action photos."
"Will you tell me anything about the book my dad told me about?"
For the first time since their conversation began, Arnold stopped fidgeting. He turned and stared straight into Cameron's eyes, basketball clasped between his palms. "Maybe later. But I'd start with him, and if you get anything interesting from him, we'd love to hear about it."
"Who is 'him,' Arnold?"
"Taylor Stone, of course." Peasley shook his head. "I was giving you clues the whole time and you didn't pick up on them. Are you going to go see Taylor?"
"I'll think about it. Thanks."
"I probably wouldn't waste my time trying. He most likely won't talk to you. Certainly not about the book."
"You just said I should talk to him."
"I said you should, I didn't say you could. In fact, it's pointless to try and if I were you, I'd head back to Seattle as soon as you can." Arnold bounced his ball once. "Did you play basketball growing up? You're going to love these pictures. C'mon, I'll show them to you. Come along."
Arnold Peasley grabbed his iced tea and clipped back into his living room.
Cameron grabbed his notepad and started writing. Why was Arnold driving him to talk to this Taylor Stone? He didn't think it was Peasley's altruism. And why hadn't Kirk Gillum mentioned the guy?
Ann Banister poked her trip counter on her dashboard on Tuesday evening at five thirty, cranked the volume up on her Maroon 5 CD, and pulled onto I-5 heading south. She should be in Three Peaks in three hours.
Cameron flashed into her mind and she sighed.
Three days wouldn't be enough time to figure out what she would say to him when she saw him. Why did he have to ask her to come? Wasn't it enough to talk on the phone?
"Why am I doing this, God?" She smacked her steering wheel. "I could have said no. I should have said no."
But it was about more than Cameron. Why should she be burdened with only one unpleasant task when she could be weighed down by her mysterious past as well?
Ann glanced at the photo on her passenger seat. "Did you love me, Mom, in the short time we