Chapter Eight

 

"Eight missing books," said Detective Logan as he rechecked the list for the second time.

"Let me confirm it again," I insisted, reaching for his list and running my finger across the titles. It was a pointless task. We both checked it twice already but I had to be sure. This time, I added a big X next to each title. Eight missing books! All of them taken on my watch!

Detective Logan and I sat on the mezzanine floor, our backs against the bookcases we so meticulously searched. He had his legs stretched out; mine were crossed.

"The museum has been open a long time," he started.

I shook my head, cutting in before he suggested anything else. "We do a yearly audit. I did the book check last year and everything was here. Every single last book!" My jaw wobbled with annoyance and dismay.

"Do you conduct the audit alone?"

"Yes. It's great that you helped today but it's really not a two-man job."

"Explain the process."

I sighed and waved a forlorn hand at the bookcases. "I do exactly what we did today. I print a list and I check every single shelf and mark each title as I find it."

"Does anyone double-check? Or sign off your checks?"

"No, I'm trusted to handle the task."

"And who did the audits before last year?"

"That would be me. I've done them for, let's see, the last four years."

"Do you audit everything in the museum?"

"Me, personally? No. We divide the tasks amongst us."

"Who is we?"

"Artie, Karen and myself. We're the core team so we undertake the inventory."

"None of the volunteers help?"

"No, they already do so much for free or a few small perks out of their love for the museum. Auditing is so mundane, we wouldn't ask them to do it, plus, I'm sure the insurance policy requires that employees handle it."

"If something went missing, there's a chance no one else would find out for years. It would be easy to put a check against an item that wasn't there," said Detective Logan.

I sat up straighter and fixed him with what I hoped was a stern look. "I know what you're implying, Detective, and I trust Artie and Karen just as much as they trust me!"

He pinned me with a steady look. "I wasn't implying anything," he said. "But would I be right?"

I swallowed hard, annoyed as I crossed my arms again. I didn't like what he was insinuating but I knew how it looked. He wondered if one of us could have stolen the books over the last few years without anyone noticing. Since he knew the books might have some value, I almost handed him a motive. What if he thought Lance caught me taking a book and thought I killed him to cover my thefts? "Yes," I conceded, "It's possible. I think I should advise Artie to ensure all future audits are double-checked going forwards."

"That sounds like a good plan." He paused and just as I was beginning to wonder if he intended to arrest me, meaning I would have to call a lawyer and, even worse, ask my ex-husband to take care of the girls while I fought for my freedom, he said, "How did you wind up in Calendar anyway?"

"Huh?" I frowned at the abrupt change of topic.

"Artie said you started here as an intern and worked your way up but you were a bigshot in the museum world before that."

"Bigshot? No!" I laughed. "It's true I interned here first before the board offered me a job. As for how I arrived, I moved here years ago. I did have some experience working in museums but as a young working mom, I had to juggle the hours required to start a career while trying to afford childcare. My ex-husband thought we should leave the city and move somewhere we could raise a family more easily. We vacationed here once and liked it and he had an aunt and uncle here so we made the move. When the girls got a little bigger, I applied for an intern role here. There wasn't actually any intern role being offered but I pestered Artie into giving me a job and worked my way up."

"And your ex-husband?"

"He lasted all of six months before he realized he missed the city life and moved back."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago and I'm not bitter about it. I never expected to leave the city but as it turns out, I love this town and I guess I like being a big fish in a small pond here. Plus, I can enjoy a family life."

"Don't you ever want to go back? Be a small fish in a big pond?"

"Sometimes I get that little twinge of homesickness or I might read something in a journal about someone I knew from college who made it big in the museum world; but then I remind myself of everything I have here. I pretty much have autonomy in major decisions for the museum, I can attend the occasional conference, and I've been instrumental in putting this museum on the map. We've won awards! I have a nice home, I can walk to work, and my girls are happy and safe," I trailed off. I had the same conversation a few times with my ex when he mentioned my moving to the city so he could see the girls more often. He failed to consider what it would involve to uproot our lives so he could visit them on a monthly basis rather than a quarterly. He wasn't a bad man but totally clueless when it came to raising kids and juggling a career with family life. He couldn't quite see why I wanted to stay here. He preferred the glittering lights of late-night bars, fancy restaurants and glamorous society, the perfect antidote to his long office hours and cutthroat promotions. Once upon a time, I wanted all that too. It made me laugh now to think of myself as one half of a power couple.

"Lance's car!" I squeaked as a thought popped into my head.

"What?"

"Lance's car is still in the parking lot. I asked earlier if he put the book in there. He could easily have rushed to his car after I saw him and then come back inside. No one would even know he left. Someone was supposed to get you the keys!"

"Dammit it, someone was," huffed Detective Logan. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit speed dial, grunting a request to whomever he spoke. "They'll be here in a few minutes," he said. "I'll wait in the lobby."

"I'll come too."

"There's no need. I can search the car."

"But you don't know what you're looking for," I said.

He got to his feet and raised his eyebrows and I scrambled to follow him. "I mean, I am familiar with our books. If Lance had one or more in his car, they might be ours or copies that you might think are ours. I should probably check to confirm." It was a weak argument but I really wanted to get a look inside Lance's car. I was dying to know what he was up to.

"Okay, but don't put so much as a little finger inside the car. Anything I find, I'll show you and you can confirm if it belongs to the museum or not," said Detective Logan. "Got it?"

"Got it."

By the time we made it to the lobby a few minutes later, a uniformed officer was waiting outside. "What took you so long?" asked Detective Logan as I let him in. "I asked for the keys more than a couple hours ago."

"There was a road rage incident a few miles out of town and I was the only available officer. I didn't expect to take so long," explained the cop as he handed over the keys. "Sorry, Detective."

Detective Logan waved him away with a cursory thanks and started to exit the main doors after him.

"There's a quicker way than walking around the museum's perimeter," I told him. "Follow me." I took him through the Employees Only door, past the staircase leading to the offices that we had ascended earlier, to the back door that served as an entryway from the parking lot. I pushed the safety bar down and the lock released. We stepped out into the light breeze. Only Lance's car remained in the parking lot, but even if other cars were there, it would still stand out. The convertible was definitely a “look at me” model and, not for the first time, I had to wonder how Lance could afford it on his museum salary.

Detective Logan beeped it open as we approached. He pulled on gloves and opened the driver's door and paused, slinging a look at me over his shoulder. I held my hands up. I knew the rules: don't approach. Don't contaminate a vehicle of interest. And definitely, don't plant anything.

Given his suspicions regarding me, and even though he hadn't actually said those words, I definitely didn't want to appear like I could have planted anything.

"Did you find anything?" I asked as the detective checked the door pockets and felt under the seat.

"Nope," he said, before sliding inside and leaning over. I shuffled my position and watched as he opened the glove compartment, feeling inside. Then he repeated the checks of the passenger door pockets and under the seat. The trunk popped open and he got out, shut the doors, and walked around. I stepped forward when he stuck his head inside and patted the sides and base. I didn't need to ask if he found anything. It was clear he hadn't.

"I keep wondering if Lance had an accomplice," I told him as I watched. "I believe Lance was dishonest but I don't know if he was smart enough to pull off a scam like this."

Detective Logan glanced over his shoulder. "Do you have someone in mind?"

I shook my head. No, but I wish I did. "Lance didn't seem to have any friends and he never mentioned a girlfriend. I'm not sure he knew anyone other than his uncle, Declan, so I can't suggest anyone," I explained.

When his cell phone rang, the detective straightened and answered it. "Be right there," he said gruffly. He banged the trunk shut and pressed the button on the key. The locks clicked shut. "I have to go but I'll arrange for the vehicle to be removed if it's inconvenient to keep here; otherwise the deceased's family will make arrangements."

"I don't think it's a problem to leave it here a few more days. We all have an assigned parking spot and with the nice weather, most of us are walking to work," I told him. "Did you get a lead?"

"Something like that," he said as we walked back to the museum. Detective Logan probably parked his vehicle on the street outside so it made sense for him to follow me.

"Anything you can tell me about?" I pressed.

"Nope," he said. "Thanks for your help with the books. I'll let you know what I find."

"I have to make some inquiries too. I need to notify Artie and the board of the missing books. They might want to lodge an official complaint prior to reporting an insurance claim."

"Of course. Have them contact me." We stepped into the lobby and crossed over to the main doors. Ethan waited outside and smiled, raising a hand when he saw me walk over. His expression turned to a frown when he spotted the detective. "One last thing, Tess. Where would someone expect to sell these missing books?" asked Detective Logan.

I thought. "I don't have a lot of experience in rare book sales but a private buyer is a definite possibility. Also, there are plenty of rare book dealers and fairs that cater to interested parties."

"So it wouldn't be hard to sell a book quickly?"

I shook my head. "No, it would be fairly easy."

"Thanks again," he said before he left, nodding to Ethan as he exited.

Ethan stepped in and we both watched the detective walk to his car. "What was that about?" asked Ethan.

"I think I just handed the detective a whole bunch of ideas about how I might be responsible for stealing rare books and killing Lance to cover up my crimes. Now I've all but told him I know how to fence the books too."

"Whoa! You'll have to catch me up. I'm not sure I understood any of that!"

I laughed and shook my head. "How can I help?"

"I called Artie and he said he'd meet me here so I can take some measurements while the museum is quiet."

"He stepped out to lunch a half hour ago," I told him. "And I think he has the keys for the building. I'd offer to wait but I need to run an errand to the library. I just had an idea."

"Why don't I walk with you?" Ethan checked his watch. "I haven't had lunch yet and you can explain what's going on."

"Okay," I agreed. "Artie should be here when we get back. Let's go."

During our walk to the library, I told Ethan what happened that morning and how I suggested all kinds of new theories that pointed directly to my guilt. By the time I got to the part about searching Lance's car, Ethan was shaking his head. "If you were the guilty party, you wouldn't be handing motives to Detective Logan so willingly. He knows that."

"Then you haven't watched every episode of “Colombo.” The guilty party is always more than helpful," I scoffed.

"Why are you really running an errand to the library?" he asked. "I put two and two together and figured it had something to do with the missing books."

"I figured if anyone knew anything about books, it would be the head librarian, Sara Cutler. We've collaborated a few times on small exhibitions and she's very knowledgeable."

"Do you think she could be Lance's fence?" Ethan winked.

I gasped and swatted Ethan's arm playfully. "No! If Lance were up to something shady, and so far it's all guesswork on my part, I don't think he would team up with Sara. I'm one hundred percent positive she doesn't spend her free time fencing rare books."

Sara Cutler wasn't at her desk when we walked in but the assistant librarian waved us upstairs. We jogged up the beautiful staircase and stepped onto the upper level. After a little searching, we found her arranging a display case on the far side.

"Tess! Hi!" she called, waving when she saw us. She tucked her brown hair behind her ears, smiling as she waited for us to walk over. "I was thinking about you this morning. What a terrible business at the museum. You all must be so upset."

"We're still shocked," I told her. "But I have every faith in the investigation."

"I hope they catch who did it. What a terrible thing to happen to Lance!"

"Were you friends?" I asked.

Sara shook her head. "Oh, no. Actually, that just seemed like the right thing to say. Sorry, if it didn't come out too sympathetic."

"We hoped you might be able to help us," said Ethan, moving on before Sara became embarrassed. "We're making some inquiries."

"I don't know that I can. I hardly knew Lance at all. I don't know if it was his general demeanor, and I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but he left a bad impression with me. He was rude to me on both occasions we met. Like I said, it's still a terrible thing to happen to a person." She winced and I understood her dilemma. It was hard to feel really sorry for such a horrible person but like me, Sara couldn't lie and say he was a nice guy.

"It's not about him so much as the museum's book collection. I wondered if Lance ever spoke to you about it?" I asked.

Sara shook her head quickly. "No, never. I don't think he would either."

"Why's that?" asked Ethan.

"I came to the museum just last week to talk with Artie about borrowing some of those lovely botanical books you have for an evening event at the local gardening club and Lance called me a ‘parochial idiot.’"

"Ouch!" I pulled a face. Unfortunately, that sounded exactly like Lance.

"I know. Anyway, he didn't stick around and Artie said it was fine to borrow them and I should talk with you. I meant to ask you at the party but then Lance..." Sara trailed off.

"We can discuss it soon. I'm sure we'll be happy to lend the books to the library," I assured her. "I wondered if you knew anything about the rare books world? Sellers and buyers, valuations, that sort of thing?"

"A little. I don't have any purchasing power for rare books but I do subscribe to a few auction houses and journals that cover such information. Occasionally, the library gets a bequest so it's useful to have some knowledge but I have to admit, it's a nerdy passion of mine."

"We all have nerdy passions," smiled Ethan. "Mine is making matchstick models of buildings."

"I've seen a couple displayed in your office window. Did you make them?"

"Sure did."

"If you ever want to make one of the library, we'd love to borrow it," said Sara. To me, she said, "They're amazing. Every little detail is so perfectly reproduced."

"I will make one when I get some time," agreed Ethan.

Before they got side-tracked, I knew I had to bring the conversation back to the point. "If I gave you a small list of books, do you think you could find out if any of them are valuable?" I asked. "That is, very valuable?"

"Sure, I can try. Do you have the list?"

I only had my audit list with me but I told Sara I would get some paper from her desk and leave the list with her assistant. "No need," said Ethan, producing a notepad from his pocket.

I printed the book titles, authors and editions and handed it to Sara. She skimmed it and her eyebrows rose. "I think I've seen this one recently," she said, tapping one of the titles. "I remember because it had such a pretty cover. Come to my office." She closed the lid of her display case she was stocking and we followed her downstairs and across the library to a small office. She rifled through a stack of catalogs and junk mail before she found the one she was looking for. After flipping through a few pages, she turned it around and pointed to a listing.

Ethan whistled. "Do you think that's one of your missing books?" he asked.

Sara looked to me. "Missing? As in stolen?"

"I think so," I said with a heavy sigh as I looked at the listed price for the book. "That's a lot of money."

"The auction was last month. Let me see if it sold," she said. She sat at her computer, her hands whizzing across the keyboard. "Yes. Here it is. This book sold for a lot more than the reserve price. Almost fifty thousand dollars!"

"Could it be a coincidence? Perhaps it's another book from the same printing?" Even as I said it, I had a horrible feeling the recently sold book was one of the ones I was looking for.

"Times that by eight?" said Ethan as I was already doing the mental arithmetic. "That is definitely worth murdering for!"