“The point within the circle?”
Dalton explained, “It’s a small item, but it always raises a red flag.”
“But what is it?”
Dalton illustrated it on a piece of paper. It was literally a circle with a dot in the middle.
“And that’s the big deal that got you to travel all the way here?” I asked, laughing. “It’s nothing.”
“It is rudimentary,” Dalton agreed with a smile. “Yet it’s one of the primary symbols used by members of the Illuminati back in the eighteenth century. They used it in their correspondence and in any secret documents that were passed around. They identified each other by that symbol, among others.”
“What’s the Illuminati?”
“A super-secret cult of prominent men who may or may not have been trying to overthrow the governments of every important nation in the world.”
I blinked. “For real?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re yanking my chain.”
“I can’t seem to help myself,” he said, grinning. “But yes, the members of the Illuminati were real, even though they’ve long since died. However, there are crackpots all over the world who refuse to let them fade away. To this day, whenever a juicy conspiracy theory erupts somewhere on the planet, the Illuminati are dragged out and accused of everything from devil worship to anarchy.”
“And you think one of the members of this secret society wrote these symbols in Obedience Green’s cookbook?”
“We’ll see,” Dalton said obliquely.
I frowned. “Well, I hope you find something of interest to make your trip worthwhile.”
“Oh, it’s already worthwhile,” he said. “I was curious to come and see why my brother left London and relocated halfway around the world. And here you are.”
“Me?”
Dalton grinned. “You must realize I’m expected to return home with a full report on you.”
I glanced from Derek to Dalton. “You’re going to report everything about me to your family?”
Dalton grinned. “Every last detail.”
“That should make for a fascinating visit.”
“Immensely.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I think you only came to see the book.”
“If that were the case, I would’ve had Derek fax me the rest of the pages.” He leaned back casually. “No, I wanted to come in person to make sure you’re good enough for my big brother. Turns out you are. Now the question is, is he good enough for you?”
“Of course he is,” I said immediately.
“Of course I am,” Derek said with a smirk.
Dalton tilted his head to study me as if I were some visitor from another planet. “I like you.”
Smiling, I said, “I like you, too.”
“But I don’t want you hanging over me while I work.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll try to resist.”
“Good.” He scowled. “Nothing worse than a cipher groupie.”
I looked at Derek. “He’s kidding, right?”
“He’s an idiot,” Derek said mildly.
I turned back to Dalton. “What has Derek told you about the murder investigation?”
“Murder?” Dalton frowned.
Derek swirled the liquid in his wineglass. “I’ve told you more than once.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Jet lag’s a bitch.” Dalton took a quick sip of his wine. “You said the cookbook was stolen at the same time Baxter Cromwell was killed. And that’s why we’re going to the restaurant tomorrow night. To hunt down the cookbook.”
“That’s right,” I said. “But here’s the deal. My sister is a prime suspect in Baxter’s murder and I want to clear her name. If there’s anything in the cookbook that might provide a motive or a clue or something, I’d like to know as soon as possible.”
“You can’t be serious,” Dalton said. “You expect a cookbook written back in the days of King George to provide the motive for a contemporary murder?” He paused to consider. “Unless the book is worth a lot of money. That’s often motive enough.”
“It’s extremely valuable,” I assured him. “It’s also historically significant, obviously, and should be in a museum. But I was thinking more in terms of something important that actually might be written in the book. Specifically, the code that you’re here to decipher.”
Dalton thought for a moment, then said, “That’s a ridiculous theory.”
“Then prove it wrong,” I said, laughing.
He frowned at Derek. “Remind me again why I thought I liked her.”
“Cheeseburgers, mate,” he said.
“Ah.” Dalton smiled. “Cheeseburgers.”
Chapter Thirteen
The French are best at curing the bite of a mad dog.
—The Cookbook of Obedience Green
On Friday night, we fought our way through the throng of photographers to the entrance of Baxter’s restaurant. Derek pushed the door open and the three of us rushed inside. The door closed behind us, shutting out the noise and clamor.