Just so I didn’t sound sketchy, I waited an hour or so to text Adaire about getting together in the afternoon to complete the book sale after all. I spent that time planning my tours for the next few days, and while I mostly sketched out places I could go without being herded around, I did decide I’d make my way into Edinburgh Castle, even if it meant I had to dodge photos and hold my temper as people stood in the walkways.
Adaire was quite amenable to me coming to the Library that afternoon, so I told him I’d be there about two so that I could take a walk and get some lunch before heading over. It was a rare sunny day in Edinburgh, and I made my way to Holyrood Park after asking the concierge where I could pick up a little lunch.
I found myself a sunny spot in the grass, spread out the towel I’d borrowed from the hotel, and settled in to enjoy my cheese sandwich, crisps, and Pepsi, a rare treat indeed. I kept the Sea Monster Chronicles in my bag, which I kept close to my body, and enjoyed a lovely ninety minutes of people-watching and relaxing before I packed up and made my way over to the Scottish Library to meet Adaire.
The guard let me right back into the office suite when I told him who I was, and I enjoyed my second visit past all the delightful manuscripts and items that they displayed in the back halls when they weren’t out on the main floor. My mother had always said I should be a librarian, and if it had been conceivable at the time for me to get a job in a place like this, I might have just followed her advice. I could wander amongst illuminated manuscripts all day.
Somehow, I found my way back to Adaire’s office, where he was waiting for me with his phone in his hand. As soon as he saw me, he clicked the screen dark and slipped it into the front pocket of his pants, a behavior I normally wouldn’t have paid much attention to except that I was still a bit revved up and suspicious from the book incident that morning.
Still, when he leaned in and hugged me before we stepped into his office, he seemed calm and happy, so I brushed off my momentary suspicion and smiled back. “Are you excited?” I said.
He winked at me. “About the book? Or about seeing you?”
“You tell me,” I said with a bit of surprise about just how flirty I could be.
“Mostly the former but a little the latter, too. Can I see her?” He winked again.
I had to admit I didn’t mind his winks at all. “Oh, so it’s definitely a her then.”
“Well, I don’t like to define other entities’ genders for them, but I feel fairly certain she said her pronouns were she/her.” His face grew bright as I passed him the book.
Carefully, he opened the cover and turned through some of the pages. His smile slowly faded, though, as he moved further into the book. Then, he looked up at me and tried to force a smile onto his face. It came out as a grimace. “Good one, Poe. Now, where’s the real book?”
I stared at him a minute, trying to mirror his expression with my own, but when he didn’t blink and the stiff smile fell away, I said, “What do you mean the real book?”
“This isn’t the real book,” he said. “It’s a fake. A good fake, but a fake nonetheless.”
“What?” I said as I put out my hand so he could place the book in it. I didn’t know what I was looking for, obviously, but I needed to look for myself.
After studying the book for several minutes and still not seeing what made this a fake, I finally said, “Okay, how do you know it’s a fake?”
Adaire was obviously concerned, but he also couldn’t help a smile lifting one corner of his lips. “It’s the binding. Look at how the book is put together.”
I examined the book from the bottom and studied the place where the glue held all the pages together. “It’s glued like any other book.”
“No, it’s glued like any other modern book. Older books were tied.” Adaire shook his head. “This isn’t even a good fake, Poe. I’m so sorry. Someone was playing on your newness to the business.”
I groaned because as soon as he had pointed out the problem, I could also see it. Well, I had seen it all along, but I hadn’t known it was a problem. I needed to rectify my lack of knowledge here. “Can you show me a book with a sewn binding?”
Adaire nodded and stood to pull a thick, brown-leather tome from the shelf behind him. “Look down the gap between the cover and the edges of the paper here.” He tapped the long spine edge of the book before handing it to me. “See the threads there? They’re ‘sewing’ the pages together.”
I stared carefully down the spine of the book Adaire had given me, then looked down the spine of the Chronicles cover I had just tried to sell him. “Oh, I see the book you have has ridges—those are the threads?”
Adaire nodded.
“And my book is glossy like something is reflecting light in there.” I set both books back on his desk. “I suppose that’s the glue.”
“Exactly.” He pointed to his brown book again. “Now open the pages and flip through a few until you get to a sort of gap between some of the pages.”
I did as he said, and after I made my way through the pages, I noticed that some of the sheets of paper fell open more easily than others. When I studied the seams of those pages, I could see small stitches. “Oh, right. I’ve seen this before in some books.”
“Exactly. A lot of books are bound into groups called signatures. Then, the bookmaker uses a larger thread to hold the book together. Sometimes the pages were then lightly glued for added security, but historically, the glue was light and not really the crux of the binding.” Adaire looked up and met my eyes. “Sorry, I get a little too into this stuff.”
I smiled weakly back at him. “No, thank you. I should have known this. It seems so simple now that you explain it, and obviously, now I can see the difference.”
“Everything is obvious once you know it, Poe. Now, you can’t be fooled this way again.” He tapped the fake book. “Forgers will have to be far savvier to fool you, and eventually, it will be almost impossible to do so.”
I sighed. “I feel so embarrassed. Some book buyer I am.”
Adaire came around the table and sat in the chair beside me before taking my hand. “Everyone has to learn, Poe. I’m just sorry that someone is trying to fool you.” He squeezed my hand a little tighter. “I suppose, though, that this means the original has been taken?”
His tone was so gentle, but I still winced at his words before nodding. “Stolen from my room’s safe.”
Adaire exhaled loudly. “Okay, that’s good.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “What’s good about this situation?”
He leaned back just a bit. “Oh, sorry. I just meant that you had done all the things right to secure the book, and someone has deliberately taken it.”
I raised myself to my full height and raised one finger. “As opposed to if I was a negligent fool who just left a book worth tens of thousands of dollars sitting around by the pool.” Our hotel didn’t have a pool, probably because there weren’t enough days warm enough for swimming in Edinburg, but that was beside the point. “Yes, I put it immediately in the safe, which Beattie double-checked before we went to sleep last night.”
“So the book was stolen while you were sleeping? Wow, that’s gutsy,” Adaire said.
A flush ran up my neck. “Well, no, not exactly. Beattie didn’t check to be sure the book was in the safe when she confirmed it was locked tight.”
Adaire tilted his head. “Why did you tell me, then, that Beattie—”
“Never mind that,” I said as embarrassment flushed through me again. “We think the book was stolen while we were at the theater last evening.” Never in my life had I used the phrase last evening before, but the accent and my nerves were getting to me. “It would have been almost impossible for someone to get into the room, open the safe with the beeping code, and get out without waking Beattie or me. The room isn’t that big.”
Adaire nodded slowly. “Right. Good thinking there.” He drummed his fingers against his desk and then looked out the window in front of us. “What did Inspector Scott say?”
I almost blushed again, but then I forced myself to trust myself. “I didn’t contact him,” I said firmly.
“Why not?” Adaire asked with only a little lift in his volume level.
“Because I’m not sure he’s not the one who took it.” It was the first time I had really let myself acknowledge that possibility out loud, but putting it into words confirmed that I was truly suspicious of the officer.
“Oh,” Adaire said and sank back into his chair. “Well, then, it makes sense why you wouldn’t tell him.”
“It does?” I said, all my self-affirmations forgotten in light of someone else’s vote of confidence. “Do you want to know why?”
“I suppose it’s probably because he seemed so fixated on the book as the reason for Davis MacDonald’s death and because, as a police officer, he wouldn’t have any trouble getting access to your room and the safe.” Adaire appeared to be speaking off the cuff, and I thought about suggesting that perhaps he should join the police force, but before I had a chance to speak, he continued.
“And obviously, the notes and the photograph shed some suspicion on him as a suspect.” He stared out the window as he continued to speak. “It was also a little odd how brusque he was about Ms. MacDonald, Davis’s great-niece. Do we have any corroboration that what he said about her was true?”
“No, we don’t,” a voice I knew all too well said from the door.
“What are you doing here?” I said to my best friend as she came in and made herself comfortable in Adaire’s chair on the other side of the desk.
“I came to celebrate with you and to see if you’d celebrate with me since I acquired three books in one meeting this morning.” She looked from me to Adaire and then back to me. “But somehow, I don’t think we’re celebrating, are we?”
Now that my best friend was here, I let myself feel the full weight of this situation, and when I did, a gush of tears sprung from my eyes.
Beattie jumped up immediately and came to kneel beside me. “What’s happening, Poe?”
I took a shuddering breath. “The book that the maid turned in was a forgery.” I handed her the book and then asked Adaire to explain while I composed myself.
Of course, all Adaire had to say was that the original had a sewn binding, and Beattie, the seasoned book expert, immediately saw the problem. “Oh no,” she said. “This is a good visual forgery, though.” She squeezed my hand that rested beneath hers on my knee. “Only an expert would know to look at the binding.”
I forced myself to smile at her attempt to comfort me and said, “Thanks. But I am supposed to be an expert.”
Beattie and Adaire both shook their heads. “Not yet, you’re not,” my friend said. “You know a lot about literature, and that’s a huge asset. But you’re just learning about book collecting. Cut yourself some slack. The only person responsible here is the person who stole the book and left this forgery for you to find.”
“Exactly,” Adaire added, “so let’s put our heads together and see what we can figure out.” He had already stood and moved to the other side of his desk, where he pulled out four small notebooks and four matching pens. He handed us each a notebook and a pen and said, “For your thoughts. Then we can compare.” He then set a fourth notebook and pen on the desk and tapped it. “For when Aaran arrives.”
Beattie stood up. “Aaran’s coming?”
Adaire tapped out a quick message on his phone, looked up at Beattie, and then back down to the phone when it chimed. “He’s just up the street. Be here in ten minutes.”
“He came to Edinburgh with you?” I asked as suspicion rose at the back of my mind. I might not be able to detect a book forgery, but I could spot a burgeoning romance a mile away.
“He thought it would be nice to get away for a few days,” Adaire said casually, and then as Beattie turned her back to grab her purse and take a seat next to me, he threw me a deep wink. Clearly, Aaran had ulterior motives, and I was this man’s fan in a big way.
Beattie was either a much better actor than I gave her credit for or she was oblivious. Either way, she was all business and had already opened her notebook and begun to jot things down. “Let’s start with our list of suspects.”
“Great plan,” Adaire said and poised his pen as well.
Meanwhile, I was still trying to catch up with what was happening, and I hadn’t even clicked open my pen. Clearly, I was behind, and I really didn’t know how to catch up except to nod, open my notebook, and put my pen tip on the paper. Hopefully, no one would notice I had nothing to write.
“Inspector Scott is our most obvious possibility,” Adaire said as he wrote frantically. “Then Ms. MacDonald, agreed?”
Beattie nodded vociferously, so I followed suit. Beattie said, “And we can’t forget Stovall himself.”
I quickly looked over at my friend. “You think he sold me the book and then stole it back?”
“He’d be the one most easily able to make a good copy,” Adaire said as he slid his pen behind his ear. “He had the book for long enough, and he definitely knew you had it.”
I nodded and wrote Stovall below Scott and MacDonald on my list. “Who else?”
The three of us sat in silence for a few moments while we tried to think of other possibilities. Adaire assumed what I now knew to be his thinking pose as he gazed out the window, and Beattie thumped her pen repeatedly on her notebook. I bit my nails, even though I had nothing really left to chew down after my anxious morning.
When it became clear none of us was going to have another solid idea, I said, “Three suspects are plenty.”
Adaire turned back to face us. “We need to put my name on there. Obviously, I didn’t do it—although I would say that, wouldn’t I? But you all need to be certain you can trust me.”
Beattie laughed. “But that’s just the kind of thing someone who is trying to look trustworthy would say, isn’t it?”
“Is this some game of reverse psychology we’re playing here?” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Are you trying to psych each other out?”
“First,” Beattie said, “I don’t think anyone has said the phrase ‘psych you out’ since 1988, and second, yes.”
“Well, for my part, I was being sincere, but that’s hard to trust, I suppose,” Adaire said.
“You think?” Beattie quipped but then smiled to lessen the bite of her comment. “Let’s just proceed as if you are not a suspect unless we find some reason to add you back to the list.”
“Aha! So you did have me on the list!” Adaire crowed.
Beattie rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him. “I recommend we talk to Stovall,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
Adaire answered. “Because if we start poking around and haven’t told him the book is stolen, then we might as well just accuse him of stealing the book to his face.”
Beattie nodded somberly. “Precisely. We need to tell the police first, but he doesn’t need to know that.” She looked from me to Adaire. “First the police and then him – we can all go? We can act as if we’ve just discovered the forgery and have come right to him.”
I looked from her to Adaire and nodded, only realizing after the fact that my mouth was hanging open. I was usually pretty quick with most things, but apparently, investigations were my adult version of algebra. I could only hope that my brain caught up like it did when I’d finally realized all those letters were actually stand-ins for numbers.
Beattie slipped the forged book into her bag and led the way out the door. I started to follow, but Adaire stopped me with a soft hand on my arm.
“You okay?” he asked. “Beattie is right. You did nothing wrong, and I’m very glad—for many reasons—that I was the person you came to with this book.” Then, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “We’re going to figure this out.”
I smiled and felt a little of the tension leave my shoulders. “Thanks,” I said, and then we turned and followed after Beattie.
Beattie did the talking when we got to the police station—or whatever the police station is called in Scotland—and informed the officer on duty that we needed to speak to someone about a book forgery. When the young man tried to suggest he could take our report, Beattie interrupted and said, “This is related to the Davis MacDonald murder. I suspect you know how seriously Inspector Scott from Inverness is taking that investigation.”
The young officer’s eyes went wide, and he stood up immediately, returning just a moment later to say, “Inspector Scott is actually here and eager to see you. Please proceed to the second door on the left.”
I wasn’t sure why Scott was in the city, but I certainly didn’t mind that we didn’t have to explain the whole story to someone new.
The three of us filed down the hall and walked through an open door. Inspector Scott stood up behind his desk and gestured for us to sit just as the young officer brought in a third chair. Each of us sat down—I sat between Beattie and Adaire—and Beattie got the book out of her bag, drawing Butterball, who she’d picked up when she got the books from our room, out too. She set the hamster in his bag on my lap, and I resisted the urge to take him out and snuggle him for comfort.
“Good to see you, all,” the inspector said. “Unexpected but good.”
“Inspector Scott, we need to report the theft of the Sea Monster Chronicles,” Beattie said as she laid the forgery on his desk. “This fake was found at our bed and breakfast, but it is not, as confirmed by Adaire here, the original.”
Inspector Scott studied Beattie’s face and then picked up the book. “And how did you ascertain this was a forgery?” He looked at Adaire.
For the second time today, Adaire gave his brief but clear lecture on the difference between a sewn and a glued bookbinding and helped Inspector Scott see the difference.
“And we are certain the original was sewn, not glued?” the inspector asked.
I pulled the documentation about the book’s provenance from my bag and scanned it for the appropriate element of the description. I’d read this document multiple times since Uncle Fitz had given me the assignment, so I’d known Adaire was right as soon as he’d pointed out the discrepancy. But I still appreciated that the inspector was double-checking Adaire’s evaluation.
I pointed to the appropriate paragraph as I handed the inspector the sheaf of papers, and after he’d read it, he said, “Okay, tell me the full story about the book’s whereabouts since you obtained it from Stovall. Are you sure it was the real book he gave you?”
A wave of panic ran up my arms, but Beattie didn’t even hesitate. “We are sure. The book was the original, with a sewn binding, when we received it from Stovall and his associate Denise last night.”
“Denise?” Adaire said. “Who’s Denise?”
“Stovall’s girlfriend,” I said, wondering exactly why that mattered and turning back to the inspector. “Yes, we are certain. We placed the book in our room’s safe and secured it before going out to see a play last night.”
The inspector jotted a few notes on a sheet of paper on his desk and then looked up. “And when did you realize the book was a fake?”
I flushed with embarrassment because now was the time that I had to admit that I hadn’t called him when the book went missing that morning. But before I could speak, Adaire said, “When she brought the book to complete our agreed-upon sales transaction this afternoon.”
I looked at Scott, but he didn’t seem disturbed by this information at all. I wondered, though, if he just had a poker face, given his line of work, and knew that we were omitting some crucial parts of the story because he was the thief.
Beattie must have had the same thought because I saw her brace a hand on each side of her chair. But Scott didn’t ask any further questions about the book’s whereabouts, and I let out a sigh of relief, even though the idea came to mind that he might not be asking that question to keep from implicating himself.
After he’d taken down what he considered to be the relevant details, Inspector Scott looked at each of us in turn. “We will look into this, of course, but I have to warn you that thefts of this nature, as I’m sure you know, are hard to resolve. The book could go under for months or even years before it surfaces again.”
“Was that just a sea monster pun, Inspector?” Beattie asked with a chuckle. The chuckle, however, was not her casual laugh. That laugh was her “I’m faking a light attitude” laugh, and I knew it well. She used it with every boyfriend I’ve had who she didn’t think was good enough for me.
The inspector laughed. “Completely unintentional, I assure you,” he said as he stood. “We will keep you posted about the situation,” he said as he shook Beattie’s hand. “How long are you lasses in town?”
“Our flights are booked to leave in three days, but if need be, we can extend our stay,” I said on some impulse that I couldn’t quite explain. To her credit, Beattie didn’t even glance my way despite the fact that she knew our tickets were nonrefundable and we wouldn’t charge anything new to Uncle Fitz unless absolutely necessary.
“I appreciate that,” Inspector Scott said as he gestured toward the door. “But that won’t be necessary or, to be quite frank, useful in this situation. I have your information and will be in touch as I have developments.”
Adaire shook the inspector’s hand, and then without another word, the three of us walked out of his office, out of the station, and up the block. There, we found a tea shop, ordered scones with cream and English Breakfast tea, and sat down to discuss the situation.
“I’m sure I’m too eager to find a suspect, but did anyone else think the inspector was kind of eager to get rid of us?” I asked.
Adaire nodded. “I felt that way, too.”
Beattie shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think he’s right. It is hard to find stolen books, and he may just be tired of keeping civilians in the loop about his case.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I loaded up a scone with cream and stuffed half of it into my mouth to buy myself some time. After I finished chewing, I said, “I think we should talk to the maid next.”
“Agreed,” said Adaire. “She might have seen something that she didn’t know was important.”
“Plus, we don’t know exactly where in the hotel lobby she found the book. That might be relevant,” I added.
Beattie nodded as if she was going to agree, but then her eyes grew wide as she looked over my right shoulder. “We may need to go in another direction,” she whispered.
I turned to follow her gaze and saw Stovall and Denise walk into the tea shop. A shiver ran up my spine at the odds, but I decided to think of it as the Universe being of assistance rather than a potential murderer stalking us.
“Mr. Stovall,” Beattie said as she stood and waved. “Won’t you and Denise join us? We were just discussing developments with the book.”
A flash of annoyance passed over Denise’s face, but then she composed her visage into a thin smile and said, “That would be lovely, dear.”
I didn’t know why, but I was finding myself more and more suspicious of that woman. When Adaire stood up and reached over to hug her, my suspicion turned to jealousy. “You two know each other?” I said.
“Oh yes,” Denise answered. “We’re colleagues at the library. I must have forgotten to mention that.”
I looked over at Adaire, and he winked, then shrugged. I wasn’t sure how to interpret that combination of gestures, so I just nodded and turned back to Stovall. “This book is a fake,” I said as I picked up the tome from the table and dropped it for emphasis. I did not anticipate that the plates and glasses on the table would clatter at my symbolic show of disgust. When every head in the shop turned to look at us, I blushed and shrunk back a bit.
“I assure you, my dear, it is not,” Stovall said as he picked up the title. But then, as he studied the volume, his face fell. He turned the book over, peered down the spine, and then flipped through the pages. “This is a forgery.” His voice drew the attention of the rest of the patrons again.
I figured we had about five minutes before we were all asked to leave. “So what you’re saying,” I asked in as even a tone as I could, “was that you didn’t know about this?”
“Are you accusing me of selling you a forgery?” His voice was sharp and still loud enough to draw eyes from the surrounding tables.
Beattie leaned forward and spoke very quietly. “No, the book you sold us last night was the original. We are good at our business, sir.” The message was clear—‘you would not have fooled us so easily, you arrogant jerk.’ “But that copy was stolen from our safe last night, and this forgery was found in the hotel lobby this morning.”
Stovall picked up the book again. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to buy time while he lowered his blood pressure or if he was studying the forgery for some clue. Finally, he said, “This isn’t a bad mock-up, the binding aside. Someone put a lot of money and effort into creating this.” His voice was steady and curious now. “That seems odd to me, doesn’t it to you?” He looked first at Denise and then at Adaire.
I darted my eyes between the three of them and then landed on Beattie. “Why is that odd?”
Before she could answer, a large, calloused hand dropped onto her shoulder as Aaran bent over and kissed her cheek before sitting down. “What’s this meeting of the minds about, huh?”
With considerable effort, I resisted the urge to groan as Beattie briefly explained the situation to get him up to speed.
“Crivvens,” Aaran said. “Is the book worth all that effort?”
“That’s just what I was saying,” Stovall said. “The book is valuable, of course, but this copy alone probably cost a few thousand to make. Why go to all that trouble for this book?”
Denise nodded. “It does seem a wee bit odd. We handle books every day that are worth far more than this.” She dipped her head toward Adaire as she spoke. “And most of those have never been forged because they are just too obscure to be worth it. This one isn’t worth all that much, is obscure, yet someone hired a good bookmaker to create this duplicate.”
I looked over at Adaire and found he was nodding. “That’s true. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re all right. This whole situation is, um, fishy,” he said and then grinned widely.
Aaran groaned. “Enough with the sea puns, brother. Who would want to go to this much trouble?”
Beattie, Adaire, and I exchanged glances and then, by silent agreement, filled the other three in on our suspect lists. If only Adaire had brought two more notebooks . . .
By the time we’d finished our second and third pots of tea, we were no further along in figuring out who forged the book—or who killed MacDonald, for that matter. But it had become fairly obvious that the book and the murder had to be linked, just as Scott had suspected, simply because the kind of effort involved in this forgery seemed likely linked to the kind of audacity it took to kill a man in his own home.
“We still have to prove the connection, though,” Adaire said.
Denise shook her head. “Why do we need to prove anything? Isn’t this the police’s job?”
The other five of us just stared at her until she sputtered. “I know he’s a suspect, but still, why are we butting into something that is none of our business?”
My suspicion raised its head from the depths again. “Well, it is my business since I was robbed, tricked, and now own a worthless book that I paid tens of thousands for.” I shook my head. “But also, a man was murdered, and an interesting but not-at-all famous book, as you just said yourself, was stolen and replaced with at least a passable forgery. Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s going on?”
Denise stood up and shook her head. “Actually, no. I’m going home. Seamus?” She looked down at him as if she expected him to rise at her command.
He did not.
He also did not meet her eyes but stared at the bottom of his tea mug while she continued to stare at him. Finally, she huffed and walked out of the shop.
“You sure you wanted to do that?” Aaran asked. “Could be a bit chilly at home for you this evening.”
Stovall waved a hand in the air. “Oh, well, it’s not that serious. And to be honest, I don’t much like her anyway. Thought the book thing would do, but even a shared passion can’t overcome an attitude like that.”
I looked at him carefully and found I liked the man a bit more now even though I did have some questions about how he and his girlfriend could see their relationship so differently. “So what’s next?” I asked.
“It’s time I use my contacts,” Stovall said as he pulled out his phone. Given the serious tone of his statement, I sort of expected him to touch an earpiece and call in the Avengers or something. But instead, he simply said, “Yes, I need to bring some friends to see you. Now good?”
“She’ll see us. But she won’t be patient,” he said as he stood.
My friends all followed suit, and I looked up at them agape at their willingness to go along with the plans of a man we had, up until a half-hour ago, suspected of both forgery and murder. But when Beattie raised one eyebrow at me, I pried myself out of the chair and let them lead me out the door, even though I really just wanted to go back to the room, eat a candy bar, and watch a game show.