We’d spent all afternoon at the Flamels’ house, and I was due to meet Max at his shop at closing time.
Max didn’t usually have a five o’clock shadow, but when I spotted dark circles under his eyes along with the stubble, I remembered he hadn’t had a chance to shave this morning. We’d only slept two hours last night, so my eyes must have looked equally haggard, but sunlight and adrenaline had kept me going.
“Busy day?” I asked as I surveyed the disheveled shop. Strands of loose-leaf black tea were visible in two separate corners of the hardwood floor, as if they’d been hastily swept up. I spotted the broom leaning against the wall behind the counter.
“Much busier than expected,” he said as he locked the door behind me and turned the OPEN sign on the door to CLOSED. “Still, I should have been helping you—”
“Ruining your new business wouldn’t have helped.” I breathed in the intermingled scents of the dozens of tea varieties that filled the shop, catching hints of cocoa, tobacco, and toasted rice. “I can fill you in over dinner, but I’d understand if you want to go home and get some sleep.”
“Before you catch me up? Not a chance.” As he swept me into his arms, the warmth of his body and strength of his gentle hands made me feel as if the last two days had never happened.
Before his lips met mine, a sharp knock rapped on the glass door, making us jump apart.
Detective Vega’s face was visible through the glass. “We need to talk.”
“You caught the perp?” Max asked her as he unlocked the door.
“Not exactly,” Vega said.
Not exactly?
A strangely familiar woman stood behind the detective. Did I know her? A frail, older woman, she gripped a hand-carved wooden cane in her left hand. The joints of her fingers were ravaged by arthritis, but she walked nearly as briskly as the detective as Max let them both inside and locked up once more. She wasn’t as delicate as she looked at first glance.
“Do you recognize this woman?” Detective Vega looked from Max to me.
“What are you doing, Vega?” Max took hold of my shoulders and turned me around. “You know you need a proper lineup if you think we saw someone involved. You can’t show a suspect to us like this.”
“It’s all right,” I said as the truth hit me. My pulse quickened. I knew who this was. I broke free of Max’s grasp.
I hadn’t recognized her at first, but it was her. Gwendolyn Graves. She wasn’t dead—and, more surprisingly, I’d never met her.
“Professor Graves,” I said. “We haven’t met, but I’ve been learning all about you.” I turned to Detective Vega. “This isn’t the woman I met with yesterday at Blue Sky Teas. That’s why you brought her over, isn’t it? To make sure I’d never seen her before? That it was someone else I met yesterday?”
This Gwendolyn Graves—the authentic one—looked less like herself than the imposter. At least, she looked less like the headshot that was more than two decades old. The real semi-retired professor’s wavy gray hair wasn’t pulled into a bun like it was in her headshot, but had been cut shorter and rested on her shoulders. Her frame was also quite slim, almost gaunt, and of course there was the cane. She’d aged in a less glamorous way than the fake Gwendolyn, but the curiosity on the true Gwendolyn’s face made her look far more youthful.
“Thank you,” said the detective. “I can confirm this is the real Dr. Graves. I had to be sure this wasn’t the woman you met yesterday.”
“Zoe’s meeting yesterday,” said Max. “That woman was an imposter?”
The detective nodded.
“But why—” I began, but stopped myself. I knew why. “She was the thief who stole my paintings?”
“Looks like it,” Detective Vega said.
I groaned. “She impersonated Professor Graves so she could follow me home and steal a painting that everyone is after. And I fell for it.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Max.
“He’s right,” Vega added.
“I should have been more careful,” I insisted. I knew why I’d slipped. It was exhausting to always be so careful. To always be pretending. Max squeezed my hand and my apprehension immediately faded. I didn’t have to be careful with Max. I could be myself completely.
“You thinking the dead woman’s partner double-crossed her?” Max asked Detective Vega. “Who—”
“We’re still putting the pieces together,” the detective said. She didn’t volunteer more information.
“You haven’t found the paintings, have you?” I asked.
“They won’t show me the paintings this is about,” the real Professor Graves cut in. “Could I see—”
“I need to get a statement from you,” Detective Vega said as she steered the real professor out the door. “Thanks for your help, Zoe. Max.”
“How long will you two be?” I asked. “I’d like to talk with—”
“You don’t need to speak with Dr. Graves. We’ve got it covered.”
Behind her, Dr. Graves caught my eye.
“You’re in good hands with Detective Vega,” I said to her, reaching forward to shake her hand—and to slip my business card into her palm. Now she could contact me directly.
Max leaned against the door after he let them out. “I wasn’t expecting that turn of events.”
“No.” I also wasn’t expecting such a big setback.
It was the thief who was killed, leaving me even further away from the truth. It was up to me to get my painting and Perenelle’s irreplaceable notebook back, but my best lead was dead.
It was a good thing I had a secret weapon. Or rather, a secret gargoyle.