“Not at all,” Emerson said as he showed his guests to the door.
Emerson may have been through but Angela wasn’t.
“Oh, I almost forgot, Mr. Emerson,” she said. “Have you ever heard of Jefferson’s Artichoke Society?”
Emerson stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “No,” he said. “Never. Something to do with gardening?”
“Maybe,” Angela said with a shrug of her shoulders.
“I’ll have to look that that subject up too.”
Emerson watched from the entrance as his visitors got into the Humvee and drove off. His face wore an expression of utmost concern.
He walked briskly back to his office and punched in a number on the phone.
A man’s voice answered. Dry and brittle. “Good morning, Charles. How are you today?”
“I’ve been better. The people who called yesterday and inquired about Zeb Moses just left the library. A couple from NUMA and a young woman from the Philosophical Society.”
“I take it that you used your well-developed conversational skills to put them off.”
“I thought I was doing well until the young woman asked me about the Artichoke Society.”
For several seconds there was only silence at the other end, then the cold dry voice said: “We had better call a meeting of the others.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Emerson said.
He hung up and stared into space for a moment, and then he snapped to attention and punched in the first of a list of phone numbers from memory.
As he waited for the first person to answer, an image materialized in his mind’s eye. It was a giant ball of yarn unraveling.
“FIRST IMPRESSIONS,” Paul said as they drove past Monticello.
“Smooth, but not entirely forthcoming,” Gamay said.
“He’s hiding something,” Angela agreed.
“I was watching his reaction when you mentioned the Artichoke Society,” Paul said. “Classic deer caught in the headlights.”
“I noticed that too,” Gamay said. “Angela’s question definitely got his attention. Maybe we should dig deeper into this little society. Anyone know an expert on artichokes?”
Angela said. “I know someone who’s researching a book about artichokes. I’ll give him a call.”
Stocker was at home and delighted to hear from Angela. “Are you okay? I heard about the murder at the library and tried to call you at home.”
“I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it later. I have a favor to ask. In your research, did you ever come across any mention of something called the Artichoke Society?”
“Jefferson’s secret club?”
“That’s the one. What do you know about it?”
“I found mention of it in an article on secret societies at the University of Virginia. I didn’t follow through because it didn’t seem like a big deal.”
“Do you know who wrote the article?”
“A professor at UVA. I’ll give you his name and number.”
She jotted the information down, told Stocker she would be in touch, and relayed her findings to the Trouts. Gamay wasted no time getting the professor on the phone.