“I don't have the energy to check every single book in this room. At this point, I don't even care if they're all fakes.”
I reached into my back pocket and took out my cell phone. “I'm going to ask Carter if he'll be able to do some research and find out if there's been a recent sale on a rare Edgar Allen Poe collection with a print date of 1884. Jeremy would probably have sold them to an antique book dealer. If we can find out who purchased it, we should be able to find out who sold it.”
George straightened a little and regarded me with a faint smile. “Good, I'll make a few calls as well but I doubt I'll hear back from anyone till Monday.”
“So I don't mind staying down here in the library tonight. All I need is a few more cups of coffee in me and I'll stay awake. If nobody shows up, then let's hope Carter comes through with information before the family leaves tomorrow.”
Chapter 21
By eleven-thirty, I was sitting in the dark, legs propped up on the leather recliner. Surrounded by hundreds of old books, I could imagine what it must've been like before electricity. Reading by candlelight might seem like a romantic notion, until the pages catch fire and burn down the house.
As a private detective, I spend many hours waiting for things that never happen. Stakeouts are the worst, because I hate sitting in a car for hours on end. Once in a while, however, patience pays off.
The more I thought about the situation, the less likely I expected to see anyone this particular night. After all the questions and rumors going around about Josephine's death, Jeremy would have to be an idiot to risk being discovered.
As another hour went by, I fought to keep my eyes open. I was seriously beginning to doubt that I'd be able to stay up much longer. By 12:45, I had lost faith that anyone would show up.
Just as I'd begun to drift off, my eyes popped open at the sound of soft footsteps in the hallway. A few seconds later, a silhouette of a man appeared in the entryway.
I held my breath, waiting for him to enter the library. The way my chair was positioned, I hoped he wouldn't see me. The room was pitch black but, if he turned on the light, there was no place to hide.
Clutched in my hand was a loaded pepper spray canister, just in case.
“Tina, are you in here?”
I immediately recognized Brett's husky voice. Why had he assumed I was in the library, sitting in the dark? I didn't respond right away, wondering what he might do.
“Tina, I know you're in here. You asleep?”
I cleared my throat as if waking up. “Oh, um, yeah. I'm here. I must've dozed off.” I tucked the pepper spray into my pocket.
He turned on the light and it nearly blinded me. “What're you doing down here all by yourself?”
I shielded my eyes from the light while looking up at him. “What time is it?”
“Almost one in the morning,” he said.
“How'd you know I was in here?”
He smiled and shrugged. “You weren't in your bedroom.”
“You went inside my bedroom?”
“Well, I knocked first. The door wasn't locked so I opened it a crack. Bed was empty.”
I got the distinct feeling that Brett was playing games with me. I hated the fact that I couldn't tell for sure. I also wondered if he had gone inside my bedroom to look around. Thankfully, there was nothing he could find that would give him a clue to my true identity. Maybe his wife had put him up to it.
I sat up to get a better look at him and that's when I noticed the steak knife in his hand! I tried to act casually even though my heart was pumping double-time. What the hell was he doing with a steak knife?
Brett must have seen the fear in my eyes and followed my gaze. He looked down at the knife and almost seemed surprised to see it in his hand. “Oh, shit,” he said with a chuckle. “You must be wondering about this. Yeah, I was just taking this back to the kitchen. Olivia had used it in our bedroom to cut up an apple earlier.”
“So you just decided that now was a good time to return it?”
Brett chuckled again. “I'm a night owl anyway. It's not like I woke up in a cold sweat, worried that I hadn't returned the steak knife.”
He was up to something, I could tell but, surely, he didn't plan on stabbing me to death on the leather couch. Too messy to clean up. Someone might hear my screams of terror. Then again, nobody heard Josephine falling down the stairs. Whatever his intentions, I decided to keep my eyes on him.
“Well,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “I guess my mother and I had one thing in common. I wonder if insomnia is hereditary.”
“Tina, are you hungry?” he asked, as if the topic of insomnia bored him to tears. “I was thinking of heating up some leftovers. I'd be happy to make a plate for you, too.”
“No thanks. I'm fine.”
“Well, join me in the kitchen if you want. I wouldn't mind the company.”
“Sure,” I said. “I'll join you. I'm a little thirsty, anyway.”
Chapter 22
I sat next to Brett at the kitchen counter while he feasted on a plate of reheated lobster casserole. He scarfed it down like he hadn't eaten in weeks. If he was nervous or bothered by anything, it certainly did not affect his appetite.
“So, what do you think about this idea of a surveillance video that George had forgotten about till now?” he asked.
“Well, I don't know. I guess it's a good thing if it helps answer some questions about what happened that night with my mom.”
“If you want my opinion, I think George is bluffing.”
I tried to act nonchalant, but inside my stomach was tied in knots. “Why do you think that?”
“Come on. Do you really think he just forgot about the hidden cameras? No, he's trying to trick someone into confessing.”
“Who knows,” I said. “But if he's bluffing, his ploy just might work. Did you see how nervous everyone seemed during dinner?”
Brett turned to look at me, his eyes searching mine. “Did George tell you it was a ploy? Are you in on it?”
I finally sensed a hint of paranoia in his tone and decided to keep going in this vein. “No, but he did mention something to me before he went to bed.”
“What?”
“There's been a new development,” I finally said, figuring I'd throw him a bone just to see how he'd react. “Looks like someone's been stealing books from George's library and replacing them with similar yet much less valuable editions.”
He raised his eyebrows and said nothing for a few beats. “Any idea who?”
“Not yet but George is making some calls to find out who's purchased a rare 1884 print collection of Edgar Allen Poe recently.”
I scrutinized his features for any micro expressions but I detected no inkling of guilt on his placid face. If anything, he seemed intrigued. I had to remind myself that he was an actor.
“I see where you're going with this,” he said. “No wonder you were asking me questions about Jeremy. You think he's the one, right?”
“If Josephine caught him that night in the library, she probably threatened to tell George and Aunt Margaret. He'd lose his job and possibly face criminal charges. He couldn't risk having Josephine rat him out, so he chased her up the stairs to try and stop her.”
Brett gave me an impressed look. “Maybe you should've become a detective. You're pretty good at this stuff.”
If he only knew. “Yeah, well, it's important to me. It's important to George, too.”
Brett drummed his fingers on the counter as he gazed out the window. A light snow continued to fall. “Have you ever considered the fact that maybe George is involved? In your mother's death, that is.”
His words hit me like a slap in the face. “What are you talking about?”
“Think about it, Tina. How do you know that George isn't the one who pushed your mom that night?”
“He had no motive,” I said. “He was going to marry her. He loved her.”
“Maybe so, but then again maybe there was some ulterior motive for marrying her.”
“I can't imagine what that would be. She had no money.”
Brett raised his hands apologetically. “All I'm saying is, there might be a reason.”
I still didn't believe George murdered his fiancé. There would be no reason for him to hire Carter and me to find the real killer, especially since her death had been ruled accidental to begin with.
“If he were guilty, then why admit to having surveillance cameras?”
Brett shook his head. “Like I said, I don't think there are any hidden cameras.”
The fact that he seemed so sure, made me uneasy. If he could see through the bullshit story about the hidden cameras then, maybe, he'd eventually realize I wasn't Tina Hayes.
“I think I'll head upstairs now and try to get some sleep,” I said.
Brett got up from the counter and deposited his dirty plate in the dishwasher. “Me, too. I'm right behind ya.”
As we exited the kitchen and headed toward the staircase, I realized that my pockets were empty. Without making it obvious, I searched a second time with no reward. The pepper spray must've fallen out somewhere. The only place I could think of was the couch I'd been sitting on in the library.
Brett politely held out his hand, gesturing for me to go up the stairs in front of him. “Ladies first.”
That twinkle in his eye gave me pause. The staircase was certainly wide enough for us both to go up side by side. Why did he want me to go in front of him? I hardly figured it was so that he could sneak a peek at my ass.
At my hesitation, he cocked his head. “What's the matter, Tina?”
What could I say? I quickly thought of giving some lame excuse as to why I needed to stay downstairs. “Um, why don't you go on up. I'll make sure all the light are turned off.”
“What did you forget?”
“Nothing important,” I said, walking away toward the library. “I'll see you in the morning.”
Brett did not go up the stairs. I could hear the sound of his footsteps following me.
I didn't dare waste one second of time. I sensed that Brett didn't trust me at this point, but was he going to follow me into the library?
I continued on at a brisk pace and when I reached the library, Brett had to have been at least six feet behind me. I leaned over the couch, found the pepper spray and held it firmly in my hand.
It all happened so fast that I barely had a second to react. Brett grabbed my other arm and squeezed. What the hell was he trying to do? I quickly turned around, using my free hand to point the pepper spray at his chest. Without hesitation, I depressed the red tab, sending a stream of liquid in his direction. I purposely didn't aim directly at his face, but just below it. Just enough to get him to back off and let go of me.
The look on his face was pure shock as he stumbled backwards. His eyes became red and he coughed ferociously. “What … the hell … did you do that for?”
I remained a few feet away but my eyes were beginning to water from the residual poison in the air. “Stay back. Don't even think about getting near me.”
“Tina, I was just going to kiss you, that's all.” His expression became tight with embarrassment and disbelief.
The idea was too ridiculous to be anything but true. “Kiss me? Are you an idiot or what? Your wife is just upstairs.”
He pawed at his eyes, clearly in pain. “I thought that's what you wanted me to do.”
“What?”
He stomped off toward the kitchen, his face a sweaty mess. “This is unbelievable. I'm the only person in this house besides George that's actually been nice to you and this is the thanks I get?”
Thank goodness I hadn't aimed right into his eyes or he'd be screaming bloody murder. He should be thankful I showed restraint. “You shouldn't have grabbed my arm like that. You scared the shit out of me.”
He went to the sink and began splashing cold water onto his face. “You've been keeping Mace in your pocket the whole time? I guess you really don't trust anyone here, do you?”
“It's pepper spray” I said. “And you're right. I don't trust any of you. Can you really blame me, though?”
He dabbed a towel on his face and stood by the sink, hunched over like he had just been in a fight. “If you think your life is in danger, why don't you just leave?”
“Because I want to know the truth about my mother. I'm not leaving until I know what happened.”
“Bullshit,” he said, giving me a narrowed look. “You haven't spoken to your mom in years. You didn't give a crap about her. You're just looking for a way to get your hands on some of George's money, just like the rest of us.”
Finally, the truth comes out. “So you admit that you only married Olivia for her father's money?”
“I didn't say that but, let's face it, having a rich dad certainly helped to sweeten the deal.”
“Why were you going to kiss me? Why risk having Olivia find out? It doesn't make sense.”
He shrugged. “Maybe she doesn't care.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him the look that I wasn't buying his excuse. “You have an ulterior motive with me. What is it?”
He closed his eyes and went to sit down at the counter. “Olivia and I don't have sex anymore and I guess I'm a little vulnerable and lonely. I thought you liked me. I mean, isn't that why you were waiting in the library tonight? You knew I'd show up.”
“Seriously? You thought I was waiting for you to come down so we could have sex on the couch?”
He shrugged. “Why else would you be down here at one in the morning?”
As crazy at it seemed, I actually believed him. I could only imagine what Carter must be thinking if he was listening to this conversation.
“Brett, you're a good looking guy but I'm not interested. I'm sorry if I sent you the wrong signals but I have no intentions of fooling around with a married man.”
He seemed genuinely confused but I didn't owe him further explanation. “Look, I'm sorry I jumped the gun. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone, especially George.”
“As if I'd tell anyone,” he said with a snarky tone. “You think I'm stupid?”
I had nothing else to say so I left Brett alone in the kitchen and headed back upstairs to my bedroom. Behind the safety of the locked door, I slipped into pajamas and got in bed, wondering if my misjudgment with Brett would have dire consequences.
The clock on the nightstand read: 1:44am.
As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard my cellphone chirp and I knew it must be a text from Carter.
I just got confirmation a few minutes ago that Miles is the one who sold the Poe collection to an antique dealer in Tennessee. George will not be pleased that his only son has been scamming him.
Chapter 23
When I woke up the next morning around seven, the realization hit me again. Miles was the book thief?
Miles had been struggling financially for over a year after he lost his job. He'd been taking his father's hand-outs; apparently that wasn't enough. With a daughter going to an Ivy League college, and a wife who was accustomed to her cushy lifestyle, Miles saw an opportunity and took advantage of his father. He probably knew that George's eye-sight was going and that he'd never discover the slight difference in the books' outer appearance.
If George had never specifically mentioned the print date of his Poe collection to me, I never would've noticed a discrepancy. Miles would've gotten away with it - at least for a while.
After a long, hot shower, I dressed and prepared myself for what I needed to tell George. Just as I was about to leave the bedroom Carter called.
“When are you planning to tell George about Miles?” he asked.
“I'm heading to his room right now, why?”
“Tell him I'm sending him an email with the proof of sale that Miles made with the antique book dealer. But I just realized something important.”
I could hear the trepidation in Carter's voice and it concerned me. “What is it?”
“Well,
the transaction took place on the twenty-fifth of January, over three months ago.”
“So?”
“Well, we're assuming that Josephine was killed last month because she caught Miles stealing the Poe collection.”
Shit, Carter was right. Our theory was beginning to crumble. “Have you actually talked to this antique book buyer? What's his name?”
“Norton Paisley. He lives in Tennessee where he owns a lucrative antique book store.”
“How did you get him to share information with you?”
“I told him I was a wealthy entrepreneur who collected rare books and was looking to buy a Poe collection, no matter the cost. The guy was eager to make a deal and agreed to show me the necessary documents to prove its authenticity.”
“How much does he want for them?” I asked.
“Two hundred grand, give or take. I'm not sure how much he paid Miles for the set, but I'm thinking around a hundred and fifty grand. The dealer would want to make a profit.”
“Wow,” I said. “I hope the money was worth it.”
“Still, there's no proof that Miles killed Josephine. Unless he was in the library that night planning to steal some other books from George's collection.”
“It's almost nine o'clock. I'm going to see if George is in his room so we can talk.”
“Good luck. Hopefully this will be over soon and we can go home.”
“Roger that.”
When I ended the call with Carter, I opened the door to my bedroom and checked the hallway. I smelled coffee but not a person was in sight.
I stepped into the hallway and continued on to George's room. The door was cracked an inch so I knocked on it. A few seconds later, the door opened and George ushered me inside.
He looked unusually tired, still in his robe and slippers. A tray on the nightstand contained a muffin and a cup of coffee. I assumed that someone had brought up breakfast for him.
“Have you talked to your family today?” I asked.
“No. Lucita came by with some food, but I'm not hungry.”
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, figuring he should have been dressed by now. The whole weekend had been leading up to this point and yet he seemed unsure that it was still the right plan.
The Devil You Know (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 15) Page 8