Books of a Feather, page 15
part #10 of Bibliophile Mystery Series
“Do we need a plan?” I asked, unbuckling my seat belt.
“I’ve a basic idea,” he said, glancing up the street toward the shop. “If Billy’s there, I’d like to engage him in conversation, treat him as if he’s a book expert.”
“I’ll distract Genevieve if necessary,” I said, then added, “I think you’ve touched on part of the problem with Billy. He’s young and basically just a salesclerk, so I’ll bet the con man flattered him with attention, made him think he was more essential to the business than he is.”
“And that’s what I’ll do,” Derek said. “And on the off chance that we actually learn anything, we’ll report it to Inspector Lee.”
“Of course.” I bit my bottom lip and worried. If Derek discovered that Billy had other secrets, Genevieve might be in danger as well.
With a semblance of a plan, we got out of the car and walked the half block to Taylor’s.
Derek pushed the door open and ushered me inside. Once again, I breathed in the luscious scents of aged vellum and aromatic leather. And just like that, I was in my happy place.
For me, electronic readers would never take the place of a real book. The feel of vintage paper, the clean smell of a brand-new book, the experience of picking it off the shelf and making a new friend that would take you on a journey of discovery.
“You’re getting that dreamy look in your eyes again,” Derek whispered. “I like it.”
I smiled at him. It was good to be understood.
Derek nodded toward the counter that ran along the side of the store. Billy was standing near the cash register, writing something on a pad of paper. “Is that him?”
“Yes,” I murmured. “I don’t see Genevieve, but she might be in the back office.”
“You go browsing,” he whispered. “Try not to let him see you.”
“Okay.”
“Greetings, my good man,” Derek announced in his best lord-of-the-manor tone.
I grinned as I slipped unnoticed into the Antiquarian Room, by far my favorite space in the store—except for the fact that I’d discovered the dead body of Joe Taylor in this very room. Behind that very chair, I thought, glancing over at the corner.
“Never mind,” I muttered under my breath. “Just browse.”
So I did, checking everything out while also trying to catch Derek’s conversation with Billy. It wasn’t a hardship to stare at the fabulous books available in the display cases of this room. I noticed that the nicely preserved copy of The Little Prince was the same one I’d seen the last time I was here over a year ago. The book had been signed by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the author, and was still priced at twenty thousand dollars. I’d thought it a little steep the first time and wondered if Genevieve had considered lowering it a few thousand. It was a sweet little copy, however, and the author’s signature was a bonus. Maybe she was just waiting for the right buyer.
I strolled back to the archway leading to the main room and tried to catch snippets of Derek’s conversation with Billy.
“I say, you must know quite a bit about books,” Derek said, laying it on a little thick. “A friend recommended your shop rather highly when I mentioned that I was desperate to get my hands on some rare books.”
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Billy asked.
“Excellent question. I knew you’d be able to help me. Yes, indeed, I’m very much interested in finding a first edition set of Ian Fleming’s works. James Bond, you know. Personal hero of mine. Can you help me?”
“Oh, bummer,” Billy said. “We just got a set of five books in last month, but they were snapped up immediately.”
I rolled my eyes. By “snapped up,” he meant “ripped off.” Stolen by thieves that Billy himself had unknowingly aided and abetted.
I was being harsh, but honestly, Billy was the reason we were in this mess to begin with.
“Bummer, indeed,” Derek murmured. “In that case, let me put myself in your hands. Have you anything else along those lines that I might be interested in seeing? I could make it worth your while.”
“Oh, you mean, like, on the side? Heck, that’s not necessary. I don’t . . . I mean, unless . . . uh, no. I’m here to help and that’s all.”
“Aren’t you upstanding?” Derek declared. “I’m impressed. But I can’t be the first person who’s ever offered a finder’s fee. It happens all the time, doesn’t it?”
“Not here, sir.”
Okay, I felt a little better to hear Billy fighting the urge to walk on the wild side. Although he was obviously tempted. I figured Genevieve must’ve drummed the fear of God into him. Or more likely, the fear of cops.
And speaking of cops, I watched out the front window as Inspector Lee pulled up to the curb and parked.
I might’ve let out a tiny shriek of surprise, but I covered it up by coughing loudly. That caught Derek’s attention and he abruptly ended his conversation at the checkout counter and headed for the front door. I met him there and with my face averted from Billy’s view, I pushed the door open and rushed outside. Derek followed closely behind me.
“Oh, come on, you guys,” Inspector Lee groused as she approached. “This can’t be a good thing.”
“Good day, Inspector,” Derek said, his accent still in Masterpiece Theatre mode.
We led her away from the bookshop, stopping two doors down the block so Billy wouldn’t see us.
“You’d be so proud of Derek,” I said, gushing a little. “He really did a number on Billy. But to the kid’s credit, he didn’t bite.”
“He’s scared to death,” Derek said. “The entire time I spoke with him, his eyes were wide and fearful and he continually checked the front window. I can only hope it’s because his cousin warned him and not because he’s been threatened by his criminal friend.”
“I just spoke to a guy over at the Richmond station,” Lee said. “He told me that nobody’s come by to get Billy’s story yet. So his little friend is still out there.”
“Which means you don’t have a description of him yet,” I said. “That’s a drag.”
“Wait a minute.” Lee glared at me. “What are you doing here? What part of ‘your life is in danger’ don’t you understand?”
“I’ve got my bodyguard with me,” I said, tucking my arm through Derek’s.
But Derek didn’t look much happier than Inspector Lee. “I couldn’t dissuade her from going out, so I insisted on accompanying her.”
I scowled at both of them. “Sure. Throw me under the bus. I’ve been there before.”
Lee jabbed her finger at me. “Under the bus is probably safer than being out in plain sight.”
Derek nodded but wisely said nothing.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I protested.
“Sure it does,” she said, grinning.
“Oh! Wait,” I said. “I’m starting to get an idea.”
“That can only spell trouble,” Lee muttered.
“What is it, darling?” Derek asked, instantly winning back my affection.
“Even if Billy gives you a description of the guy and even if he points out the guy to the police, you’ll only get so far. You won’t have fingerprints or a closed-circuit camera to nail the guy. You’ve got to catch him red-handed or else get a warrant and search his place. But you might not find anything because chances are he’s already fenced the stolen books. Right?”
Derek nodded. “It’s unlikely that he’d keep the books in plain sight.”
“Go on,” Lee said, reluctantly willing to listen.
“Okay. So suppose the guy saw me working in the store last week. Suppose he watched me walk out with all those books that Genevieve wanted repaired. He could’ve been curious, followed me home, and found out where I lived.”
Derek’s jaw clenched. “Possibly.”
“And then suppose a day or so later, Billy told him about the Almanack and mentioned that it was being repaired. The guy might’ve imagined that I was the one who had it. So he scopes out our place, sees us leaving for the Covington, follows us, and is right there when Genevieve actually hands the book to me.”
“You’ve got a lot of supposing going on,” Lee said.
I held up my hand. “Bear with me for one more minute. Suppose he was tracking my movements around the Covington, waiting for the opportunity to steal the Almanack from my purse. Then he saw me talking to Jared Mulrooney and saw me slip something else into my purse. At least, that’s what he thought he saw. Suppose he wanted to know what that was all about, so he followed Mulrooney into the back gallery and things went badly.”
Inspector Lee and Derek stared at me, then exchanged glances. Both had skeptical looks on their faces and I had to mentally scan back through my words.
“Okay, that didn’t make sense at all,” I admitted.
Lee snorted. “You’re right.”
“But then, none of this has made sense from the start.” I sighed. “My point is, the only way you’ll trap this guy is with a book so phenomenal he won’t be able to resist. And that’s where I come in.”
“Not going to happen,” Lee said. “Look, you mosey on home and I’m going to go talk to Billy.”
“You’ll think about my idea and call me if you need me?”
“You bet I will,” Lee said, laughing. “Be sure to wait by the phone.”
• • •
“I think she was being sarcastic,” I said on the ride home.
Derek squeezed my hand in solidarity. “You’re nothing if not observant.”
I shrugged. “I thought it was a good idea.”
“Frankly, darling, I agree. It is a very good idea. Except for the part where you’d be putting your life in further danger.”
“I know, but still.” I squeezed his hand in response. “I have to say, by the way, that your conversation with Billy was nothing short of brilliant.”
“Thank you, love. I think my use of the James Bond connection was a minor stroke of genius.”
“Absolutely.” I nodded firmly. “We are both brilliant and Inspector Lee is going to call any minute, just as soon as she realizes how essential we are to her success.”
“I expect to hear from her within seconds.”
I leaned my head against the passenger window and stared at nothing in particular. And wondered if it was too early for a margarita. Chips and salsa would be good right now.
And suddenly Derek’s phone rang.
• • •
The following afternoon, I walked into Taylor’s Fine Books, clutching my satchel for dear life.
After talking to Billy yesterday, Inspector Lee had come to the conclusion that my half-baked idea could actually work. In fact, she thought it might be the only way to catch a thief—and possibly a killer—in the act.
Billy had been assured of complete immunity if he would tell them everything he knew and if he was willing to arrange a meeting at the store with his con man friend. He was eager to help catch the guy who’d made him look stupid, so when he got his friend on the phone, he explained that Genevieve’s bookbinding expert would be coming into the store with the repaired Almanack at two o’clock that afternoon. If he wanted the Almanack, he would have to be there because the window of opportunity was about to slam shut. At least, that was Billy’s story to him.
The story we’d made up for Billy to tell was that Genevieve was planning to mail the Almanack to a client in New York later that afternoon. If that happened, Billy’s friend would never have the chance to own—or steal—a fascinating rare piece of American history.
The guy took the bait and promised to be there.
So here I was, in Taylor’s Fine Books, preparing to put myself and the poor Almanack in jeopardy and shaking in my shoes. Luckily, they were my best running shoes in case I needed to make a run for it.
Naturally, Derek and half of his security staff were close by. Two of them were stationed inside the bookshop, casually browsing the back rows. They were to be as quiet as possible but still act normally so as not to scare off Billy’s contact.
Two more agents were parked in different cars on the street in case they had to give chase. A couple of female agents were window-shopping along Clement Street.
Inspector Lee and Derek were ensconced inside the back office with Genevieve.
Despite all the security, I was freaking scared to death. If this was the same guy who had killed Goose—and possibly Jared Mulrooney as well—then he was dangerous to the max.
For the hundredth time that day, I thought to myself, Why did I open my big mouth in the first place? Why did I have to volunteer to play the starring role?
To stop a thief and avenge a homeless man’s death, I said to myself.
Oh yeah.
Billy was the only one working the checkout counter, and he was wired for sound. I hoped that the store would be empty of real customers. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, including me.
“Oh criminy,” Billy muttered. “Here he comes. Oh jeez.”
“Deep breaths, Billy,” I whispered. “Relax. Be cool. Don’t blow it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re always cool.”
I almost laughed. Where in the world did he get that idea? But I didn’t have time to disabuse him of that preposterous and completely wrong notion because the front door opened and the bells above it began to chime. So I simply murmured, “That’s right, Billy. I’m cool. Be just like me.”
But Oh criminy, I thought. Don’t blow it.
Chapter Ten
“Brooklyn, this is Micah Featherstone,” Billy said, sounding as cool as a cucumber all of a sudden. He turned to the man and said, “Brooklyn’s the bookbinder I was telling you about.”
“I couldn’t be more honored to meet you,” Micah assured me as he shook my hand enthusiastically. “I really admire the work that bookbinders do, so this is a real pleasure.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” I didn’t know what to think. His words seemed genuine, but then again, he was a crook, right? It followed that he was lying through his teeth, right? I would be a fool to trust one word he said.
I had to hide my surprise at finding him attractive. He was tall and slim, with startling green eyes, a charming smile, and a shock of white-blond hair that brought back visions of the punk rockers of my youth. Somehow my imagination had conjured up a snarling, broken-nosed thug in a dirty trench coat, but Micah Featherstone was nothing like that. Of course, if all thieves were trolls, we’d be able to spot them at a distance, wouldn’t we?
Billy reached under the counter and carefully presented him with a lush black silk book box. “Here’s the Poor Richard’s Almanack I was telling you about.”
“Oh, oh,” Micah whispered reverently, taking it in his hands. “This box is exquisite.” He turned the box around to examine the side seams and edges, the fabric loop with its elegant pewter fastener. Glancing up, he said, “And you made this, right? It’s amazing.”
“Thank you.” It was foolish of me to feel flattered, knowing it was probably the exact reaction he wanted from me. But since I agreed that the box was gorgeous—if I did say so myself—it was easy enough to play along.
“May I open it?” he asked, his fingers touching the miniature pewter sword I’d used as a button for the loop latch.
“Of course.”
He set the box on the counter and slowly lifted the top. The inside bed was lined in the same black silk. For the inside of the lid, I had used a complementary shade of rich gray silk. For extra protection I had slipped the Almanack into a slim pouch made of the same gray silk. It was masculine and very elegant.
Micah frowned at Billy. “You introduced Brooklyn as a bookbinder, but she’s clearly much more.” His gaze panned across to me. “You’re obviously a magnificent artist and I would venture to say you’re also a master at book restoration.”
“Yeah, she’s really good,” Billy said.
“Billy, Billy, Billy,” Micah said, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Another pitiful understatement.”
I chuckled. Yes, he was a thief, but come on, everyone loves a good compliment. “Thank you, but you haven’t even seen the Almanack yet.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” he said, lifting the box again and continuing to study it from every angle. “And yet I’m enjoying this feeling of anticipation building up inside me.”
I almost laughed, but I took one look at his solemn expression and immediately quelled my reaction. He quietly oohed and aahed over every little feature with such rapt appreciation I didn’t dare speak. I also didn’t dare mention that the box he was gushing over was one I’d whipped up last year for a completely different book. Last night I had taken an hour to futz with the inner walls so that they held the book more securely and I resewed the pouch to make it look as if it had been tailor-made for the Almanack. My trickery didn’t take away from the fact that it was indeed a fabulous box. Again, if I said so myself.
Finally, Featherstone set the box down and picked up the gray pouch. He rubbed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, then weighed the package in his hands. After carefully loosening the cord, he slid the Almanack out of its protective sheath.
“Ah.” He took a deep breath and let it out, as if he were entering a cathedral and uttering a sigh of veneration. Taking his time, he scrutinized the Almanack much more seriously, more reverently, more closely, than he’d done with the box.
After several long minutes, during which Billy shot me at least three nervous frowns and I tried to remain serene, Featherstone finally glanced up. “You completely resewed the loosened threads.”
