A list of the highest prices paid for books and manuscripts:
- Codex Leicester, $52.1 million.
- Book of Mormon, $35.8 million.
- Gospels of Henry the Lion, $29.4 million.
- Magna Carta, Original Exemplar, $25.7 million.
- Rothschild Prayerbook, $20.2 million.
Miss Josie and Mr. Nate spent an hour looking through the vault. I knew from the disappointed expressions on their faces that they had found nothing. Before closing the door, Miss Josie stared around the narrow interior, at the walls lined with books with older volumes resting in specially designed drawers, a puzzled frown on her face.
“There are rare books in the vault, and valuable books, too,” she said, shutting the door. “But I don’t understand what someone would want so badly they’d risk jail for it. I mean it’s not like we have the Codex Leicester or anything.”
“How much would it be worth?”
She shrugged. “It depends. Probably about $52 million.”
Mr. Nate’s jaw dropped. “For a book?”
“For a priceless piece of history,” she huffed. “It’s a collection of scientific writings by Leonardo da Vinci. You can’t express the true value of it in monetary form.”
“You just did. It’s $52 million. That’s expressing quite a lot.”
I wagged my tail, happy they were done with the vault. I hated it when Miss Josie went anywhere without me. Jackson seemed less concerned. He snoozed on his back with his legs spread open. He snored so loudly the windows nearly rattled. Rather than being an annoying sound, however, I found it kind of soothing. I’d gotten used to the idiosyncrasies of Jackson the Pug.
Usually, Miss Josie gave me a treat for being obedient when she came out of the vault, but not tonight. When I sat prettily and stared up at the treat jar, all she gave me was a stern look.
“No treats for you, Capone. You need to give your tummy a rest after that chocolate.” She shook her head in bewilderment as she stared at me. “What do you think made him do it? Why would he grab an entire bag of candy and eat it? It seemed almost like he had a dastardly plan.”
Mr. Nate laughed. “With a name like Capone, he’s destined to be a lawbreaker.”
I stared at Mr. Nate, horrified, but Miss Josie immediately came to my defense. “It’s not his fault his name is Capone.” She frowned. “I need to change it, but I can’t seem to figure out the right name for him.”
“It’s a cool name,” said Mr. Nate, studying my face. “Why change it? It suits him. He’s Capone, to me at least.”
Miss Josie cupped my face in her hands. “Not to me,” she said, staring deeply into my eyes. “I don’t know what your name is yet, but I’m going to figure it out.”
Thank heavens for small miracles. Maybe I wasn’t doomed after all.
Mr. Nate glanced at his watch. “I’d better go. I have an early day tomorrow.”
Miss Josie blushed. “Sorry to keep you here so late. I appreciate your help.”
“My pleasure,” he said. They stared at each other a long moment, the kind of moment when time stands still. Incredibly romantic, but I ruined it by producing the most protracted, loudest fart ever to come out of my body. Why did these things always happen at the worst possible moment?
Curse my irritable bowels.
Miss Josie’s eyes widened. “Gracious,” she said. “I’d better take him out back.”
“I’ll walk you out there,” said Mr. Nate. He probably suspected Miss Josie might be nervous after the whole Charlie No Face incident. I felt nervous, too.
Although I’d thrown up most of the chocolate I’d eaten, the rest decided to come out a different direction. Not the projectile diarrhea I’d produced when I ate the peony bushes, but still an icky stream of watery, chocolaty poo. Not a good visual, I know, and not a good thing to experience first-hand either.
“So,” said Mr. Nate, making conversation as he attempted to avoid looking at what I was currently doing all over Miss Josie’s back garden. “Mr. Bartleby was a gardener. Do you like to garden, too?”
“I do. It calms me, but Mr. Bartleby had a green thumb. His roses always bloomed in the most gorgeous colors, and he kept a little vegetable garden as well. I never had to buy a tomato or a zucchini when I worked for him. He always kept me stocked.” She smiled wistfully at the memory.
“Don’t you think it’s interesting he had a diagram of the garden in the last ledger you found?”
She frowned. “It is odd.”
“Do you know what else is weird? He mapped out each rose bush and plant, and he included the dimensions of the patio, but he didn’t put the old potting shed in his drawing.” He nodded toward the corner of the garden. “Why not?”
“Good question,” she said and grabbed her flashlight from the hook inside the back door. “Do you want to take a look?”
As they walked to the shed, Jackson sat on the patio and waited. “I’m not tramping through that grass,” he said, scratching his round belly. “You had the runs. It’s like a minefield. No, thank you.”
Mr. Nate and Miss Josie didn’t seem to have a problem with it as together they marched through the grass and went straight to the shed. Miss Josie opened the door to take a peek inside. I came with them, sticking my head in, too. It felt like a party. I wagged my tail happily. How fun.
“It’s hard to see much of anything right now,” said Miss Josie. “I’ll have to come back and look again in the morning.”
She turned to leave and bumped right into Mr. Nate. He put his hands out to steady her, and they stared at each other a long moment before he leaned his dark head close to hers. “I’d really like to kiss you right now, Josephine.”
Her breath came out with a hitch. “I’d like to kiss you, too, but I can’t. Not when I know you’ll be leaving soon.”
He still had his hands on her upper arms, his face somber and a bit confused as he stared down at her in the darkened shed. “You won’t kiss me because I have to go to Seattle next month?”
“It’s not the trip to Seattle. You have a business to run, not one little shop.” She shook her head. “Getting involved would be a mistake.”
“I don’t understand—”
She put a finger to his lips. “In the last few years I’ve lost my parents, my mentor, and also Cedric; the man I thought I loved. Right now, I’m on the verge of losing this shop, too.” I heard the pain and emotional exhaustion in her voice, but I heard something else, too. Fear. “It’s not only about business. If I lose the shop, I might have to give Capone back, and it would break my heart.”
Oh, calamity. It would break my heart, too.
This was tragic and also proof I’d been correct. Mr. Nate might be one of the most excellent men I’d ever met, but he could not be her Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy would not leave Lizzie to go open a new coffee shop. True love does not gallivant off to Seattle. True love stays.
I was running out of options. Doc McHottie? No longer a contender. He’d basically called her a skank and dumped her. And Sexy Trainer Dude had failed, too. The man was a terrible kisser, and also, he peed his pants in front of her, which is never a good sign.
The only question was—who remained?
I got my answer the next day after Miss Josie updated Ms. Anne on the events of the night before. She’d left out the part about almost kissing Mr. Nate, oddly enough, but she told her the part about me eating chocolate.
Gracie looked at me in shock. “It’s toxic. Why would you eat something toxic?”
“I was trying to help Miss Josie find her true love.” I explained my efforts to find a Mr. Darcy for my beloved owner.
Gracie looked misty-eyed. “How adorable. You risked your life to help her.”
“But I’m failing. Miserably. And at this rate I’ll never get a new name.”
“What’s wrong with your name?”
I gave her a sidelong glare. “Seriously?”
She shrugged, looking exceptionally fluffy and pretty this morning. She smelled sweet, too, which meant she must have been at the groomer recently.
“Okay. Fine. Capone may not be the perfect name for you, but you’re more than your moniker. Your name isn’t what’s important. It’s what’s in your heart that matters, and your heart is good. Trust me. I’ve seen some bad dogs in my day, and you’re not one of them. You’re a nice puppy.”
It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to me. “Thank you, Gracie.”
“Don’t mention it, and don’t give up. You’ll find someone for Miss Josie. Someone perfect. I know you can do it.”
The bell on the door tinkled and Cedric burst into the shop. Miss Josie had been putting a dictionary back on the shelf, and she held it in front of her, like a shield.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Ms. Anne, who’d been behind the counter, came to stand next to her. “Good question. Tell us what you’re doing here, Cedric, or we’ll call the police.”
I leaped in front of Miss Josie and Ms. Anne and let out a low growl. If Cedric wanted to get to them, he’d have to go through me. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem like a man on the warpath. He looked more like a man on the verge of tears.
I studied him carefully, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. Although he’d been fastidiously dressed the last time he visited, Cedric seemed rumpled this morning, like he’d slept in his clothes.
“Josephine St. Clair. Did you tell the police I broke into your shop?”
Miss Josie’s face turned so red it looked like the lobsters I’d seen once in a PBS special. “I didn’t think you did it, Cedric. But they asked me for the names of disgruntled former employees who might know about rare books.”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He reminded me of a deflated balloon, as if all the air had gone out of him as soon as he heard Miss Josie’s words. “I guess I would be the first person to pop into your mind. But I didn’t do it, Josie. I swear.”
She slowly lowered the dictionary she’d been holding and put it down on the table in front of her. “I believe you, Cedric.”
At her words, Cedric put his face in his hands and moaned. I’d been right in my earlier assessment. He stood on shaky emotional ground. What was going on here?
Ms. Anne called Cedric a rude name under her breath and went back to the cash register. Miss Josie led Cedric to a chair in the corner of the shop and gave him a cup of tea. She sat in the chair next to him.
“What’s going on, Cedric?”
He sniffed, wiping his nose on a napkin. “My wife kicked me out.”
Miss Josie sat back in her seat, her expression blank. “Oh.”
He nodded. “She suspected I hadn’t been faithful to her.” He let out a long shaky breath. “The police confirmed those suspicions when they came to our house last night.”
“This was not a vengeful act on my part. I never intended to break up your marriage.”
“I know,” he said, reaching out to hold Miss Josie’s hand. She pulled it away from his grasp. Good girl. “And I got what I deserved. Our marriage hasn’t been the same since I fell in love with you. I tried to make it work, but my heart wasn’t in it. It remained here. At Bartleby’s. With you.”
Miss Josie’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Cedric?”
He fell on his knees in front of her. “I love you, Josie. I always have, and I always will. Please forgive me. Please take me back.”
Cedric took Miss Josie’s hand and kissed it fervently. I’d licked her entire hand only moments before he’d arrived. In essence, it was almost like Cedric kissed me.
Note to self: Ew.
The bell above the door tinkled, and Doc McHottie walked in, a bouquet in his hands. Mr. Nate came in behind him, carrying two cups of coffee. They both froze when they saw Cedric on his knees in front of Miss Josie.
Ms. Anne ushered them in, trying hard not to smile. “Form a line, gentlemen.”
Miss Josie hopped to her feet, and away from Cedric the Betrayer, but Mr. Nate and Doc McHottie didn’t stay long. Doc McHottie put his flowers on the counter and left without saying a word. Mr. Nate watched him go, his expression unreadable, before turning back to us.
“Your coffees, ladies,” he said. The only indication he gave he might be upset was a slight flush in his cheeks.
Cedric shot him a condescending look. “Josephine doesn’t drink coffee.”
Miss Josie took the cup from Mr. Nate. “Yes, I do. I love coffee now. Thanks, Nate.” She took a sip and smiled. “This is the best one yet. What is it?”
“It’s black, actually,” he said, biting his lip as if trying not to laugh. “But a nice Sumatran. One of my favorites.”
“Mine, too.”
“Good choice. I’d better get back—” he said, but Miss Josie interrupted him.
“Did you get any further in the book?”
He stuck his hands into his pockets and leaned against one of the bookshelves, his pose casual. Cedric’s was not. He stood ramrod straight and watched the interaction between Miss Josie and Mr. Nate with something icy and calculating in his eyes.
“I finished it, actually,” said Mr. Nate.
She blinked at him in surprise. “I can’t believe you read it so fast. What did you think?”
“Well, I relate to Mr. Darcy more than I ever thought I would. See you later, Josie.”
She waved to him, a bemused expression on her face, and Cedric watched him go. “You never drank coffee before,” he said, sounding a bit peevish.
“Things change,” said Miss Josie, her eyes still on Mr. Nate’s retreating form. “People change.”
“I want to change. I want to be better,” Cedric said. “For you.”
Ms. Anne made a gagging noise. Clearly, she was not Cedric’s biggest fan, and judging by the hostility in his eyes when he looked at her, the feeling seemed to be mutual.
“I’m so glad I came this morning,” said Gracie, watching Miss Josie and Cedric. “I was going to stay home and sleep, but this is much more interesting.”
Although not certain I agreed with Gracie, I knew one thing for sure. Miss Josie was in a pickle, and not the yummy kind of pickle they gave out with the sandwiches at Don’s Deli. She was in a bad kind of pickle, and I didn’t know how to help her get out of it.