Free B.B. Cantwell - Portland Bookmobile 02 - Corpse of Discovery by B.B. Cantwell Page B

father, an avid angler, talked about Buoy 10 as if
it was a religious shrine.
    Hester’s head
swam. Taking a deep breath, she again picked up the magnifying glass she had
appropriated from Mr. Purdy with the promise of returning it next time the
bookmobile came by his stop at Toshmore Court. Actually, even with that
promise, he wouldn’t give it up until she made a “citizen’s arrest,” as if that
was something a librarian could do, Hester recalled with a tiny grin.
    She held the
glass up with one hand. With the other she grasped a glossy black-and-white
photograph she’d pulled from the file. It was a photo of Vincent van Dyke’s
Lewis and Clark Flying Canoe first-day cover. The photo was taken the day it
was accepted into the collection of the Portland City Library.
     In the photo,
the stamp showed two explorers in a canoe.
    Shifting the
magnifying glass to the envelope she had brought downstairs from the rotunda,
she again counted three men in the canoe.
    Leaning closer
so that her nose almost smudged the magnifier’s glass lens, she scrutinized the
new figure in the center of the canoe. He seemed to be attired in the buckskin
clothing of a fur trapper, regalia familiar to anyone who has studied the
period.
    But what was
that on his head? Some kind of animal skin? Cocking the magnifier at a new
angle, she realized it was a raccoon. You could see the stripes. But not just a
skin. A whole raccoon.
    A little bell
rang in the back of Hester’s mind.
    “Hoo boy, it’s
been a long day,” she groaned, leaving the magnifying glass to rest atop the
first-day cover for a moment while she rubbed her weary eyes.
    Shaking her head
to clear it, she looked back down and something at the edge of the magnifier
caught her attention.
    She quickly
picked up the glass and moved it over the engraved picture on the side of the
envelope.
    “I’ll be dilly
damned,” Hester breathed, unconsciously repeating an oath she’d heard her mother
use from the time Hester was still in rompers.
    It wasn’t plain
to the naked eye, but under the magnifier it was almost hard to miss.
Interwoven with the reeds and cattails among which the explorers waded were
thin, angled letters. In places an “h” looked like a stalk. A “C” formed the
edge of a leaf.
    Together the
tiny letters, like an artist’s signature, spelled “POMP CHARBONNEAU.”

 
    Chapter 13
     
     
    Hester was more
than ready to decompress at day’s end.
    Happily, she had
plans after work to meet her old friend, Karen White, for a beer at one of
Portland’s coziest new southside watering holes.
    The Blue Heron brewpub
was named for the city’s beautiful official bird. From the quiet Sellwood
neighborhood bluff where the craft brewery nestled among the district’s
renowned antique shops, herons could often be spied soaring over the nearby
Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, at the edge of the Willamette River. The birds’ distinctive,
gargled “gronk, gronk” call always sounded like someone being garroted, Hester
thought. Perfect for Portland, she believed: elegance with an odd twist.
    Hester hadn’t
seen Karen for more than a couple quick coffee breaks in the four months since her
old school friend had revealed that she had been leading a secret life under
the pen name of Teri June, author of a best-selling series of “tell it like it
is” novels for preteen girls. The books had been at the core of a book-banning
controversy that involved Sara Duffy, the murdered librarian. The attendant
publicity had given a huge boost to Teri June’s flagging sales.
    “Well, look at
you! Things must be going better!” Hester exclaimed as she spotted Karen at a
corner table beneath raw oak beams, slowly whirling ceiling fans, and
low-hanging light fixtures fashioned from … were those pony kegs?
    Karen was
wearing a flamboyant linen sheath dress festooned with giant sunflowers that
shouted “Provence.” The tight, shapeless garments were the kind of thing often
seen on wealthy,