Murder in the Reading Room

by Ellery Adams

  The uniform rental company had taken over the stage. Each participant was called up by name and given a bag containing a uniform and a helmet. The weapons would be distributed tomorrow after the Fins had inspected every gun to ensure they only fired blanks.

  All the participants would be fighting with blank-fire weapons or, as was the case with the machine guns, modified weapons. The machine guns were gas guns. Fitted with spark plugs and hoses filled with oxygen and propane, they looked and sounded like the real thing. Though incapable of firing projectiles, these weapons appeared to do just that. Sterling had shown her a video of a gas machine gun and warned her that these “props” would significantly add to the battlefield noise.

  “The twins are still furious over being too young to participate,” Jane had said at the time. “Luckily for them, their teachers are as excited to watch the melee as their students. It’s a good thing we bought those extra folding chairs.”

  After speaking with several visiting historians and an equal number of villagers, Jane was satisfied that every man and woman had a clear understanding of the rules.

  With an hour left before teatime, Jane took one of the Gator vehicles and drove down to Storyton Mews. The mews were located close to the staff houses at the end of a long driveway. There was little else at the end of this lane other than the building housing the raptors and a small clearing where Lachlan worked with the birds.

  The raptor training program had been a smashing success from the start. Jane remembered how dubious she’d been when Lachlan argued that rehabilitating injured hawks, falcons, and the occasional owl could turn a profit. But he’d been right. The resort guests enjoyed visiting the birds, stroking their feathers, and watching them fly. And they especially loved having one of the magnificent birds perch on their forearm.

  There’d been a few complaints too. Some of the guests felt the birds should be hunting instead of eating frozen chicks. Some guests were repulsed by the chicks. Others declared that the birds should be set free, even though most of them had sustained some type of debilitating injury and weren’t equipped to survive in the wild.

  “You can’t please everyone, so please the ones who matter,” Uncle Aloysius had told Jane when she’d finished reading him a rather impassioned letter from a guest. In the letter, the guest vowed to leave a terrible review of Storyton Hall on as many online sources as possible due to the animal cruelty she’d witnessed.

  “Against the raptors?” Jane’s great-uncle had asked.

  “Against the frozen chicks.”

  Uncle Aloysius had mumbled something like “what a nutter” and dropped the subject.

  Jane parked at the mews and checked her watch. Feeding time had already passed, which meant the raptors were dozing in their aviary, being exercised by Lachlan, or delighting a small group of guests.

  When Lachlan was especially busy, Billy the bellhop would assist with the birds. Uncle Aloysius was also drawn to the mews. The raptors were one of the few things that could divert Jane’s great-uncle from his fishing pole, so she wasn’t surprised to find him standing in the clearing, cooing to a peregrine falcon named Horus.

  “Hello, Jane,” he said as she approached. “This is a fine day. Horus has finally decided to trust me.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Jane was genuinely impressed. Considering the falcon had been the victim of a slingshot strike and that the injury had wounded him both physically and emotionally, Jane didn’t think he’d ever allow anyone to handle him. It had taken Lachlan months to earn the bird’s trust. And now, it looked like Horus had granted his trust to Uncle Aloysius as well.

  Her great-uncle nodded. “He didn’t try to bite me. I was able to stroke his head, and he ate right off of my glove.”

  The boyish pleasure on Uncle Aloysius’s face made Jane smile. If only life could always be as simple as enjoying the company of a beautiful animal in a beautiful setting such as this.

  “Is William with you?” she asked.

  “He’s cleaning Cillian’s cage,” her uncle said, referring to their resident merlin.

  Jane moved a little closer to avoid being overheard, but Horus didn’t care for her proximity. He began to flap his wings and cry in an agitated manner.

  “I’d better put you back now, old fellow.” Uncle Aloysius soothed the bird with his gentle voice. Soon, Horus was glowering out at Jane from inside the security of his aviary.

  “How’s everything going with him?” Jane asked. “William, I mean. Not Horus.”

  Her uncle shrugged. “He’s a nice enough fellow. Then again, he always was. Catches on quickly to anything he’s shown. I remember him being a smart guy. But my dear girl, I see no glimmer of the man you married. He doesn’t seem to recognize anything about Storyton Hall. That’s not to say he won’t in time,” he quickly added.

  “I’m a bit surprised by his interest in the birds. He wasn’t an animal lover when we were together,” Jane said. “At one point, I wanted to get a puppy or a kitten, but William was adamantly against it. He didn’t want a pet. He used to be fastidiously tidy. It’s strange to picture him cleaning up bird droppings.”

  Uncle Aloysius put a hand on Jane’s shoulders. “He’s had no choice but to become a new man.”

  But whose man is he? Jane silently wondered.

  At that moment, William appeared from around the corner of the mews. He had a garbage bag slung over his shoulder and was whistling a tune Jane didn’t recognize. Seeing her, his face broke into a friendly smile. “Hello,” he said.

  Jane had seen that look many times. It was the same look she used to see when he came home from work. It was a look that told her how glad he was to see her. How much she was loved. Though it hurt to see that familiar expression on this stranger’s face, Jane couldn’t stop from smiling in return. “How are things going?”

  “Great. I love it here,” William said. “The birds are fascinating. I like being around them. The staff has been really nice to me too. Storyton Hall reminds me of Biltmore, except that it’s quieter. I like the quiet.”

  “Well, it won’t be quiet tomorrow,” Jane said. “I have no idea what a Great War battle sounds like, but we’re about to find out.”

  William pointed toward the orchard. “Mr. Lachlan drove me to the field. It’s an excellent replication of the trenches. There’s no barbed wire, of course, but with the sandbags and the wood supports, it looks pretty genuine. One of the historians said that even though the guns fire blanks, injuries can happen.”

  Jane studied William as he stared off past the clearing toward the orchard. Was he worried that someone might be hurt? He didn’t look overly concerned, so Jane decided to drop the subject.

  She was about to ask William to watch over the raptors while the reenactment took place when she heard a pair of familiar voices. Young, male voices.

  “Oh no,” she murmured, swinging around to see Fitz and Hem. The boys were running and shouting at the same time.

  “Last one to Mom is a rotten egg!” Hem yelled.

  “You’re a rotten chicken even if you win!” Fitz called in response.

  There was no time to keep the twins from reaching her. They were running too fast. And Uncle Aloysius was still fussing over Horus, so there was nothing Jane could do but hold out her hand like a traffic cop.

  “Stop shouting!” she commanded. “You know the birds don’t like it. Do you want me to tell Mr. Lachlan that you’ve been upsetting Horus?

  The boys immediately slowed to a walk. “Sorry, Mom,” they said in unison.

  “We came to get you for tea,” said Fitz.

  Hem glanced around. “And Uncle Aloysius too.”

  This is it, Jane thought. This is the moment where William meets his sons. This is the moment when Fitz and Hem meet their father. Except I can’t tell any of them what’s happening.

  Suddenly, Jane remembered the framed photograph in her bedroom. It was taken on her wedding day. William was wearing a borrowed tux, and Jane was wearing a bridal gown she�
�d found at a vintage clothing shop. The boys had seen that photo hundreds of times. Would they recognize William as the man inside the silver frame?

  Before the silence could become awkward, Jane turned to William and said, “William, these are my sons, Fitzgerald and Hemingway.”

  “Nice to meet you.” William shook hands with each of the boys.

  “You too,” said Fitz before pointing at the aviary behind William. “Who’s your favorite? I like Tootsie the Owl. He’s named after the owl in the Tootsie Pop commercial.”

  When William shot Jane a confused look, Hem elaborated on behalf of his brother. “In the commercial, a kid asks the owl how many licks it takes to get to the middle of the Tootsie Pop. The owl takes the Tootsie Pop and starts licking and counting. It’s a really old commercial.”

  Fitz nodded. “I feel sorry for the kid. You know he’ll never get his lollipop back from that owl.”

  “Unfortunately, I haven’t seen the commercial,” William said. “Or the lollipop.”

  Jane had been staring at William throughout this exchange, scrutinizing his face for the tiniest hint of emotion. She saw nothing but friendliness. He was as instantly likable as a golden retriever. He didn’t recognize his sons any more than they recognized him.

  Jane didn’t know what to feel. Should she be relieved? Or should she feel sorry for the two boys who’d never known a father?

  When she saw Fitz and Hem gazing at William in surprise, she felt a tug at her heart. The tug was sadness. And pity. William had missed so much—moments he shouldn’t have missed. Tootsie Roll Pops were just one of a many things in life he hadn’t experienced. If not for one winter’s night, his life would have been completely different.

  “Would you like to have tea with us today?” she asked William.

  “What a lovely idea,” said Uncle Aloysius from behind Jane. “But I’m stealing your tea guest. William and I need to compare notes on Cillian’s progress. Boys, you’d better get your mother to the terrace on the double. You know my lovely bride doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He tapped his watch. “And if you leave her alone with the treats for too long, she might gobble them all up.”

  Fitz and Hem exchanged amused grins.

  “You won’t be smiling when all the cake is gone,” Uncle Aloysius added. “I heard Mrs. Hubbard made your favorite chocolate sponge with the cherries on top.”

  Hearing this, the boys practically pulled Jane to the Gator and begged her to drive as fast as possible. Jane glanced over at their panicked faces and, seeing that they were truly worried about Aunt Octavia devouring the whole cake, burst into laughter.

  The sound floated down the driveway, drifted over the mews, and dispersed in the sun-dappled woods beyond.

  Chapter Ten

  Jane expected to hear from Eloise before bedtime, but her best friend didn’t knock on her door until the next morning

  “Come in.” Jane led Eloise into the kitchen. “I’m going to pour you a strong cup of coffee. I’m sure you need it. The boys have left for school, so we can talk freely.”

  Eloise passed her hands over her face. “I feel like I’ve entered an alternate dimension. I can totally identify with the Time Traveller’s wife now. How long have you known about Edwin?”

  Jane gestured for Eloise to sit and poured two cups of coffee. She then plated one of Mrs. Hubbard’s cinnamon apple scones and put it in front of Eloise. “A few months. He swore me to secrecy, Eloise. And even if he hadn’t, I didn’t think that it was my secret to tell.”

  “All these years, I thought he was jetting around the globe eating sautéed scorpions, bird’s nest soup, or mangosteen while writing travel articles on culture and food. And yes, he did eat all that stuff, but he’s also seen the inside of exotic palaces, museums, and prisons!”

  Jane pushed the carton of half-and-half closer to Eloise. After doctoring her coffee, Eloise took a sip. She held her cup in both hands and sighed.

  “I wanted him to tell you, but I’m not sure if it was the right decision. To be honest, I was selfish,” Jane confessed. “I wanted to you to share in this secret with me—to have someone to talk to about Edwin. Was that wrong of me? Would you have preferred not to know? To have kept your relationship with Edwin as it was?”

  Eloise shook her head. “I feel like I’ve never known him. We were close as kids, but after college, he was always gone. Now, I know why. He was jetting off to foreign countries to steal other people’s property.” She loaded her fork with a piece of scone. “That’s the hardest part for me to take. My brother is a book thief. I sell books for a living, for crying out loud. People should buy books or borrow them from the library. No one should steal them.”

  Jane wrestled with this aspect of Edwin’s calling all the time. It was one of the main reasons she didn’t want to fall in love with him. “He once said that his mission isn’t about people. It’s about the books. It’s about preserving them at all costs. He would steal from the Pope if it meant restoring a broken book.”

  “He told me the same thing, but I’m struggling to accept it.” Eloise chewed the scone, and for just a moment, she was distracted by the delicious flavors. Quickly reloading her fork, she said, “I love books as much as the next person. More than the next person. But what value does a book have without a reader? How can its words influence or shape a person if it isn’t read? Edwin said that he and these other Templars—it sounds so absurd to say that out loud—collect knowledge for the greater good. They make broken books whole and rescue books from places where they might be damaged. When you put it that way, these Templars come off as book heroes. But are they? Who benefits from their redistribution of books?”

  It was a question Jane had asked herself more than once. Not only did she take issue with the modus operandi of the Templars, but with the existence of Storyton Hall’s secret library as well. How many times had she wondered if such secrecy was still necessary? Like Eloise, she believed words were meant to be read. Stories were supposed to be shared. But then, Jane would remember what had happened when she’d put a rare book on display. It had led to murder, and Jane now had conflicting feelings about the treasure trove housed in the highest turret.

  “Book thief though he may be, Edwin is also my brother,” Eloise said. She’d finished her scone and was gazing at the empty plate with longing. “He’s all the family I have, so I’m going to do my best to accept his double life. However, I’ll never accept any action that I think is criminal or hurtful. I’m going to call him out if I think he’s doing something wrong.”

  Jane smiled warmly at her friend. She had such a big heart.

  “What are Edwin’s plans?” she asked.

  “He’s going to lie low. He said that you and I would be safer if certain people thought he was still being held prisoner.” Eloise gave Jane a sharp look. “He told me about his rescue. My best friend and my boyfriend. Heroes of the hour. Am I the last person on earth to know the truth about my own brother?”

  Jane promised that she wasn’t. “I wish what he told you was an exaggeration, but I now know that robbery is the least of the crimes these sects will commit to own a piece of history,” she said. “To these extremist Templars, the books represent power, wealth, and prestige. These people are not like you and me, Eloise. They don’t love the books because they’re book lovers. They want to own them as a means of amassing knowledge. Edwin’s different, though. He loves the words on the pages as much as we do.”

  Eloise drank the rest of her coffee. “It’ll take me a couple of days to adjust to having an anti-hero as a brother. Wouldn’t he be a great comic-book character?” She let loose a humorless laugh. “Thank God for you, Jane. You’re a perfect heroine—a blend of Jane Austen, Madeleine L’Engle, Louisa May Alcott, and Lucy Maud Montgomery women. You’d make an even better comic-book character. I can just see you in thigh-high, kick-ass latex boots.”

  “You know exactly what to say to make me feel good.” Jane turned away, hiding the guilt that must be etched all
over her face. What kind of heroine lied to her best friend? Jane was as much of an anti-hero as Edwin.

  Eloise slipped off her stool and carried her plate and coffee mug to the sink. “I’m glad the Cover Girls are meeting tonight. I could use the distraction. And the cocktails. With book club and a Great War reenactment tomorrow, I have plenty of other things to think about other than Edwin. I’m going to open Run for Cover for a few hours, but I’ll be here for the battle.” She walked to the front door and stopped. Looking back at Jane, she said, “I almost forgot to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For keeping Landon away from the battlefield. He told me how you asked him to hang out at the mews instead of helping with the reenactment. That man may have retired from the military, but the ghosts of his military past follow him everywhere.”

  Jane thought of William, and of how he was a ghost of the man he’d once been. “Landon Lachlan cares about you, Eloise. And because you care about him too, you might be able to chase away those shadows from the past with your sunny disposition.”

  Eloise smiled. “Speaking of sunshine, it looks like the weather forecasters were wrong about us getting more rain. The clouds are breaking up and the sky is clearing. It’s going to be a lovely day for a pretend war.”

  * * *

  Having no experience with reenactments, Jane was unprepared for the amount of people, chaos, and noise that came into play before the first shot was ever fired. Villagers, guests, and members of the press milled about the field, waiting for instructions. These instructions, along with a brief reminder of the rules, were issued via bullhorn by members of the BackStory Club.

  The spectators, who were sitting in folding chairs along one side of the field, included Jane and the Cover Girls, the children of the third, fourth, and fifth grades of Storyton’s elementary school, and more than a hundred villagers. The rules for spectators were quite simple. Clarence Kelley patiently explained that they were to stay off the battlefield no matter what happened. It was paramount that the Great War and present-day worlds did not collide.