Chapter Nine
Butterworth donned his gloves and picked up the book of fairy tales. He then followed Jane to Sinclair’s off ice so she could look up the book’s current market value.
“Over six thousand dollars,” she said.
Jane and Butterworth stared at the book. There was nothing remarkable about its white cover. Its gilt lettering. The silhouettes of ladies in fancy dress and a man in his top hat on the endpapers. Like the Grimm Brothers book, the illustrations in the Hans Christian Andersen book were by Arthur Rackham.
“Why Rackham? Why fairy tales?” Jane muttered angrily. “Are we going to find Gloria Ramirez in an Andersen story setting? Will she be stranded on a tower of mattresses? Or frozen, her pockets filled with matchsticks?”
Butterworth put his hand over Jane’s. “Steady on, Miss Jane. If Ms. Ramirez is on the grounds, Mr. Lachlan will find her.”
Dead or alive? Jane thought grimly. Aloud, she said, “The two fairy tale books have some significance. I’ll let the sheriff know that we found a second one in Gloria’s room. In the meantime, I want to find the couple I overheard last night at the Daily Bread. Especially the man. He invited Gloria to dinner and was obviously disappointed that she didn’t show up. The other woman wasn’t pleased over sharing the man’s attention and didn’t seem to care about Gloria’s absence.”
“What did the man look like?”
Jane began scanning the photographs pinned to Sinclair’s wall. “Like the devil.”
Butterworth didn’t immediately react, but when he saw that Jane wasn’t kidding, he began examining photos on the other end of the room.
A few minutes later, he removed a printout from the board and showed it to Jane.
“That’s the man,” Jane said, and quickly read the pertinent details. “Malcolm Marcus. Age fifty-eight. Rare book dealer from Alexandria. He checked in yesterday and is leaving Storyton Hall later today after exercising the late checkout option. He didn’t register for the conference, nor has he signed up for any of the special events.”
Butterworth gestured at the book of fairy tales. “Perhaps this belonged to Ms. Ramirez, and she intended to sell it to Mr. Marcus.”
“It’s possible,” said Jane. “Malcolm didn’t use the terms buying or selling, but the other woman said that she wouldn’t give him what he wanted without being wooed first. I don’t see that woman’s photo on this board, so we need to find the book dealer and question him.”
“His cell phone number is listed. I’ll call him right away.” Butterworth reached for the phone next to Sinclair’s computer. Before dialing, he turned to Jane. “Where would you like to meet him?”
“The Daphne du Maurier Morning Room. I want our guest to feel at ease,” said Jane. “I also want to keep an eye on the snowfall.”
“According to Mrs. Templeton, it’ll be over by noon. The ache in her hip is a more reliable barometer than any high-tech meteorological gadget.”
Jane couldn’t help but smile over this, but her smile slipped when she spotted two familiar faces on the board. Todd and Tris Petty. She looked at the arrogant tilt of Todd’s chin and sour-lemon pucker of Tris’s mouth and frowned.
Butterworth had no problem reaching Malcolm Marcus. The butler kept the conversation short and to the point. He explained that Ms. Steward, the resort manager, had recently found an unusual book and wondered if the dealer would be kind enough to take a look at it. After giving Malcolm directions to the drawing room, he ended the call.
“He was practically foaming at the mouth, and I didn’t even mention a specific title.” Butterworth shook his head. “But we’ve seen our fair share of zealous collectors, haven’t we? To them, the thrill of the discovery is paramount.”
“It’s true. The acquisition gets their blood racing. I just hope that a woman’s life is worth more than six thousand dollars.”
Butterworth glanced at Gloria Ramirez’s photo. She was a handsome woman in her early forties. Her pixie cut called attention to her high cheekbones and dimpled chin. Her eyes were large and dark, and her nose was a bit crooked, as if it had been broken and didn’t heal completely straight. There were laugh lines around her mouth, and a beauty mark grazed her upper lip. Based on her portrait, Gloria looked like a friendly, approachable woman.
She reviewed Gloria’s pertinent details. “Age forty-three. Lives in Brooklyn. Unmarried. Hobbies include urban gardening, volunteering at her local library, and working with the Boys & Girls Clubs of America. Senior editor at Baxter Books. She sounds like someone I’d like to meet.” Jane swallowed hard. “I hope I get the chance.”
“Mr. Marcus should be heading to the drawing room,” Butterworth reminded her. “I’ll stop by the kitchens for a tea tray and join you later. The tea gives me a reason for being in the room.”
Jane smiled fondly at Butterworth. “If the book dealer doesn’t behave, he’ll regret it.”
As she hurried through the staff corridor, Jane received two texts from Sterling. The first said that the bellhop who had worked the door last night didn’t remember seeing Gloria Ramirez. The second was to inform Jane that Deputy Emory had arrived. She and Sinclair were currently holed up in the conference room with Sasha Long, Gloria’s coworker.
Jane tried to find comfort in the thought that everyone was working together to find Gloria. When she entered the Daphne du Maurier Morning Room, with its oversized fireplace and walls lined with bookshelves, her eye went straight to the picture window. The great lawn was covered in snow and the flakes were still falling, forming a curtain of white outside the window.
“Ms. Steward?” came a man’s voice.
Jane turned to find Malcolm Marcus standing in the doorway.
“Thank you for joining me.” She gestured at one of the loveseats. “I’ve ordered tea, but if you’d prefer coffee or something else, let me know.”
“Tea’s fine, thank you.” Malcolm sat down and gave the floral chintz cushion a pat. “This room looks like it was magicked here from Manderley and then given a contemporary update. It has all the romance without any of the gloom.”
Jane warmed to her guest. “That was the idea. Have you been to Menabilly? The inspiration for Manderley?”
“Oh, yes. I’m very lucky. I have ample amounts of money and freedom, which means I can travel when and wherever I’d like.” He spread his hands. His fingers were bony, and his nails were long and tapered. “My parents were successful entrepreneurs. They bankrolled my business and encouraged me to pursue my passion for collecting rare children’s books. They’ve since passed away, but their generosity toward me continues. Like I said, I’m very lucky.”
Malcolm sounded sincere. He didn’t use the oily voice Jane had heard at the restaurant, and she wondered if he reserved that tone for potential book buyers or sellers.
“I want to be up front with you,” Jane said. “I know you by sight because I was sitting at the table behind you last night.”
“Were you? I’m afraid I was too focused on the tapas to pay attention to other diners,” Malcolm said. “I hadn’t expected to find such excellent food in a small town in the middle of nowhere, but excellent it was.”
After telling Malcolm that she’d convey his compliments to the owner, Jane said, “I couldn’t help but overhear that your third dining companion didn’t show. Gloria Ramirez?”
Malcolm didn’t hesitate. “Yes, and I don’t know why she stood me up. I emailed her weeks ago, inviting her to dinner. She accepted the next day. We’re not close, so I didn’t expect to hear from her again until we met at the restaurant. I’m surprised she didn’t call to cancel.”
“Forgive me for prying, but was this a business dinner? Did Gloria own rare books? Was she hoping to sell you something?”
Malcolm was taken aback. “I don’t understand why you’re asking about Gloria. I thought you wanted me to look at one of your books.”
At this opportune moment, Butterworth breezed into the room carrying a heavy silver tray.
“Good morning, sir,” Butterworth said as he set the tray down on the coffee table. “Would you care for some tea?”
Malcolm said that he would. His tone was pleasant but guarded.
Jane waited for Butterworth to pour before saying, “The book I wanted you to see was found in Ms. Ramirez’s room.” She handed Malcolm a pair of Sinclair’s white cotton gloves. “If you don’t mind.”
Clearly intrigued, Malcolm pulled on the gloves. Butterworth removed the book from the interior pocket of his livery coat and offered it to Malcolm.
The man’s small eyes glimmered as he studied the cream-white cover. “Very nice,” he whispered. As he carefully turned the pages, he seemed to forget about Jane and Butterworth. He was completely captivated by the book. “Yes. Very nice.”
“Was Ms. Ramirez planning to sell this to you?” Jane asked.
Malcolm gave her a bemused look. “I didn’t think she owned anything like this. Her collection has always been very specific, focusing on illustrated children’s books printed in America. She particularly liked Raggedy Ann and Andy, Christmas stories, and books featuring famous American locales like Boston Harbor or Coney Island.”
“Was there a particular item in her collection that you wished to buy?”
Malcolm glanced at the book in his lap. “It wasn’t this. Gloria owned a first edition of Raggedy Ann and the Lucky Pennies inscribed by the author. I already own a copy, but mine is in good condition and has no inscription. I was hoping to buy Gloria’s, which is in very fine condition. I’ve been trying to get that book away from her for years. It wasn’t until last month that Gloria finally agreed to consider my offer. Her father has Alzheimer’s and she’s paying for his care. I believe it’s quite costly.”
“Thank you for the explanation.” Jane studied Malcolm as Butterworth offered him a lemon poppy seed scone. “And the Andersen book? Have you seen it before today?”
Malcolm broke off a piece of scone. “I own a similar copy, but mine has red boards instead of white.”
Jane reclaimed the book and casually asked another question. “The elegant woman you dined with at the Daily Bread—does she know Ms. Ramirez?”
“No. Audrey lives in Charlottesville. She has an impressive collection of young detective novels. Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and such. From time to time, she’ll part with a few first editions. I drove to Storyton to wine and dine her and Gloria at the same time. Normally, I’d meet with them separately, but there’s an antiquarian book show in Richmond on Saturday, and I want to be there when the doors open at nine.”
“Do you know anyone else from Baxter Books? I was wondering if one of Gloria’s coworkers was also a collector.”
Malcolm fixed a shrewd gaze on Jane. “I don’t think you asked me here to look at a book. You keep asking questions about Gloria. Do you know why she didn’t show up for dinner? Is something wrong?”
Jane saw no reason to lie. “Ms. Ramirez hasn’t been seen since the day she arrived. No one knows where she is. We’re especially concerned because one of Ms. Ramirez’s coworkers told us that she enjoys hiking. If she’s lost or hurt, we need to find her without delay.”
“Oh, God.” Malcolm glanced at the snowy landscape outside the window. “How awful.”
Malcolm’s concern seemed a bit theatrical. Jane didn’t think he truly cared about Gloria’s well-being. He had shown more genuine interest in her Raggedy Ann book.
Jane got to her feet. “Thank you for meeting me. If you hear anything from Ms. Ramirez, please let me know. I have to go, but you’re welcome to stay and enjoy the rest of your tea.”
Malcolm jumped up and held out his hand. “Ms. Steward, I’m sure I’m not the first collector to express an interest in your books. I just want you to know that I always pay more than the other guy. Keep me in mind should you ever wish to sell.”
After the shortest handshake possible, Jane hurried from the room.
She made a quick stop in her office to grab a notebook and a dollop of hand sanitizer. She rubbed the liquid into her palms on the way to the William Faulkner Conference Room.
Deputy Emory stood in the doorway, speaking to a tall blonde in a book print shirt dress. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her pretty face was creased with worry.
“We’ll do everything we can to find her,” the deputy promised.
“Was that Sasha?” Jane asked when the woman was out of earshot.
The young deputy, who looked like the subject of an Edward Burne-Jones painting, pushed a wisp of auburn hair out of her face. Other tendrils had escaped from a loose bun and brushed against Emory’s freckled cheeks.
“It was. She gave us Ms. Ramirez’s cell phone number, which I passed on to the sheriff.” The deputy led Jane into the conference room. Sinclair, who’d been taking notes at the far end of the table, immediately stood up.
“Other than the cell phone number, the most crucial piece of information we received was that Ms. Ramirez purchased a new pair of hiking boots several weeks ago. She planned to use them here. Did you see hiking boots in her guest room?”
Jane remembered the shoes in Gloria’s closet. There’d been a pair of plain pumps, black strappy heels, black riding boots, and slippers. “No hiking boots. Now that you mention it, I didn’t see any outerwear. No gloves, hat, or heavy coat.”
Deputy Emory consulted her notepad. “Ms. Ramirez arrived wearing a black, knee-length parka. According to Sasha, she’s cold-natured and always bought high-quality outerwear.”
Thinking of the snow-covered ground and snow-encrusted trees, Jane said, “I hope she owns the best coat and boots money can buy. Because either someone is deliberately trying to lead us astray, or Gloria Ramirez went out for a nature walk and never came back.”
Emory frowned. “There’s a discrepancy between Ms. Ramirez being cold-natured and going for a hike on a frigid winter day.”
“That troubles me as well.” Sinclair glanced from Emory to Jane. “Perhaps Ms. Ramirez went out for another reason. What if something beyond exercise or a desire to commune with nature compelled her to leave the warmth of Storyton Hall?”
Jane envisioned a handwritten note being slipped under Gloria’s door. “I need to ask housekeeping about recovering the trash from her room.”
“I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Templeton about that,” Sinclair said. “She has three staff members sorting the trash. Luckily, the housekeeper on Ms. Ramirez’s floor ran out of standard trash bags midway through her shift. She found an old box of white kitchen bags in the supply closet and added the contents of Ms. Ramirez’s trash into a white bag.”
“It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it,” said Jane.
Sinclair was distracted by movement in the hallway. “I believe our next interviewee has arrived. Are you staying, Miss Jane?”
“Just for this one. As soon as it’s over, I’ll go to the lobby to greet the incoming families. I have Storyton Hall Wonka Bars to distribute.”
Jane was glad to see that the coworker waiting to enter the room was Reggie.
“Come in,” Deputy Emory called.
Reggie entered and, to everyone’s surprise, sank to the floor in front of Jane.
“I should have known she was missing!” he cried. “I should have said something when she didn’t come to the paint-off! It was so weird that she wasn’t there!”
Jane took his arm and coaxed him into a chair. “This isn’t your fault. Everyone assumed she would turn up later in the day. There was no reason to think otherwise.”
Reggie moaned. His eyes were red-rimmed, and a fresh round of tears threatened. “When she didn’t show up at the paint-off, I should have looked for her. But I wanted to paint for the kids. I put my feelings and my art before Gloria, and now she’s in trouble!”
“We don’t know if that’s true,” said Jane. “In the hotel business, guests often disappear for periods of time. Usually, they’re sleeping one off or . . .”
“Sleeping with someone else?” Reggie asked, recovering a bit of aplomb.
Jane nodded. “Guests have also left the resort to visit nearby towns or to spend time with one of the locals. We encourage guests and villagers to mingle, which is why many of our events are open to the public. We also value our guests’ right to privacy, and we don’t like to ask about Ms. Ramirez’s personal life. In this case, however, we must.”
At this point, Emory took over. “Another coworker said that Ms. Ramirez was nervous about running into someone at this conference. Someone in the book business. Someone she used to love. Do you know who that person might be?”
Reggie was puzzled. “Gloria’s in a serious relationship right now, but I have no idea who she dated before.” He ran his finger over his mustache. “She and her man have been together for a while. They moved in together around Christmas. I’ve never met her guy, but Gloria loves him. You can tell.”
“The former relationship, or whatever it is, might not even be relevant. We’re just trying to gather as much info as we can,” said Emory.
Jane touched Reggie’s hand. “Please don’t feel guilty about the paint-off. Ms. Ramirez’s absence is not your fault. Besides, you created a piece of art that brought joy to a young lady. She and her family have been through a rough time, so the smile you put on her face is a gift.”
A tear slipped down Reggie’s cheek. Sinclair offered Reggie his handkerchief while Jane looked to Deputy Emory to wrap up the interview.
Emory waited until Reggie had composed himself before saying, “I’d like to confirm your contact information.” After she’d checked the information against the printout in her folder, she thanked Reggie and said that he was free to go.
As soon as Reggie was gone, Sinclair pulled out his cell phone and read the message on his screen. “Mr. Sterling is pulling up out front. He has a family of five in his car.”
Jane told Deputy Emory that she’d be in the lobby and left the room. She hurried into the lobby and ducked into the coat room to retrieve a basket stuffed with candy bars. Taking up position next to Butterworth, she watched as Sterling exited a forest-green Rolls-Royce Phantom.
“It stopped snowing,” she said.
“It has. Storybook Village is almost ready to receive guests,” Butterworth said without taking his eyes off the door. “Three sleds from Hilltop Stables are standing by. The horses are in the old barn across from the mews. The fairy-tale cottages will be warm and welcoming by one o’clock.”
An unbidden image of Kristen Burke’s body appeared in Jane’s mind. In an attempt to push it away, she focused on the candy bars. She didn’t want to picture the dead woman. She wanted to picture rosy-cheeked children visiting the cottages. She wanted to see their shining eyes and dimpled cheeks, not Kristen’s swollen lips and glassy stare.
A woman tapped Jane on the arm. “Are those for the guests?”
Jane turned to find Tris Petty ogling the contents of her basket.
“They’re for the children arriving today,” Jane said and forced a smile. “But if you attend tonight’s play, you’ll receive a candy bar when you enter the theater.”
“I don’t suppose the tickets are free,” Tris said. Her tone was petulant, and a deep frown line appeared between her brows.
Jane was used to dealing with all manner of people. In general, she liked the guests who chose to stay at her resort. But every now and then, someone like Tris came along. Someone pushy and rude. Someone who tried her patience. “They aren’t free. However, the price is very reasonable considering the quality of the production. People come from quite a distance to be entertained by the Storyton Players.”
Tris snorted. “I go to plays on Broadway. No rinky-dink local theater company could hold a candle to what we have in New York. Even off-off Broadway is bound to be better.”
“You don’t get free chocolate bars in New York though, do you?” Jane asked in a sugary voice.
Just then, a bellhop opened the front door and a family entered Storyton Hall. A brother and sister, very close in age, stared in open-mouthed wonder. A mother and father smiled from ear to ear. The father held a little girl by the hand. When she whispered, “Wowee,” the whole family laughed.
“Welcome to Storyton Hall,” said Butterworth. He offered champagne to the parents while Jane told the children to take a chocolate bar.
“Are you a princess?” the little girl asked Jane.
“No, but I know of a place where little girls are being turned into princesses.”
The girl’s eyes went saucer-round. “Where?”
“It’s called Storybook Village. It’s in the woods. You have to ride in a horse-drawn sleigh to get there,” Jane said. “It’s not just for princesses, either. It’s for pirates, knights, artists, and people who like hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows.”
The children immediately begged their parents to take them to the Storybook Village.
Jane rescued the mother and father by saying, “It doesn’t open until after lunch, so you have plenty of time to unpack and explore first.”
The parents finished their champagne and herded their children toward the front desk. Jane saw that Tris and Todd were watching the family with matched expressions of disapproval.
“Why write children’s books if you dislike children?” Jane whispered to Butterworth.
Butterworth glanced at the sour-faced couple and grunted. “They certainly seem ill-suited for the job.”
As more and more families were dropped off by Storyton Hall drivers, Jane was able to forget about Todd and Tris Petty.
Jane loved greeting the new guests. Every person was unique. Regardless of the differences in their skin, hair, and eye color, the one thing they all shared was amazement over Storyton Hall. That, and their delight in receiving a glass of champagne or a Wonka Bar.
“Are there golden tickets inside?” a boy asked Jane after receiving his.
“You don’t need a ticket to enter our chocolate factory. Tomorrow, we’ll bring the factory to you.”
The boy clearly didn’t understand what Jane meant, but his mother told him to say thank you and move along, so that’s what the boy did.
After an hour or so, there was a lull in arrivals. Most of the drivers were on their way back to the train station to collect more families, which gave Jane time to resume her worrying.
“I’m going to my office. Call me when the next family pulls up,” she told Butterworth.
Once she was alone, Jane checked her phone for texts or missed calls. There weren’t any. The lack of communication from both the sheriff and Lachlan felt like a bad omen.
She called Sheriff Evans. When he came on the line, he told Jane that Gloria’s phone couldn’t be tracked to a precise location.
“We’re using triangulation to narrow down the area,” he explained. “Now that the sky’s cleared, we’re getting a stronger signal. We’ll get there. Did you learn anything from Ms. Ramirez’s coworkers? Other than a text saying that she was still conducting interviews I haven’t heard from Deputy Emory.”
“All signs point to Gloria having gone for a hike. She had outerwear, hiking boots, and her phone. She left her purse and the rest of her belongings in her room. It would seem that she went out and lost her way. Except for one thing.”
The sheriff sighed. “Which is?”
“The book of fairy tales in her room. Like the book Kristen Burke had, this one is also valuable. It’s worth around six thousand dollars.”
Sheriff Evans whistled.
Jane went on. “I don’t know if the book belongs to Gloria or someone else. Two expensive fairy tale books. Two women in peril—one of whom was likely murdered—has me fearing the worst.”
“Could these books have anything to do with your, er, special collection?”
The sheriff was referring to the secret library. “I don’t see how. Still, I could look for similar fairy tale books,” Jane said. “I can’t do that now, but if nothing else pans out, I’ll find time to search the collection.”
There was a knock on her door and the front desk clerk softly called, “Mr. Butterworth asked me to tell you that another family is arriving.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”
Jane took a compact from her desk drawer and touched up her lipstick. Her stomach gurgled, reminding her that it was lunchtime. Since she wouldn’t be eating soon, she popped a mint in her mouth and left her office.
She was halfway down the lobby when her phone buzzed.
Doubling back, Jane stepped into the staff corridor and pulled out her phone. She had a text from Lachlan.
Jane read it once. Twice. She didn’t realize how much her hands were shaking until she tried to call Sheriff Evans. She had to press the phone hard against her ear to keep from dropping it.
“Lachlan found Gloria Ramirez,” she said. In the empty corridor, her voice sounded thin and ghost-like. “She’s in the woods off the service road. We can’t save her. She’s already gone.”