Bookman Dead Style

by Paige Shelton

  The clack of her heals preceded her appearance. She didn’t miss me.

  “Clare, what are you doing?” she said.

  “Eavesdropping,” I said with a shrug.

  A smile pulled at her lips, but then they straightened again as if she remembered she didn’t like me.

  “I’m afraid we weren’t very interesting.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle on the front of her dress.

  “You were. You think Adele’s right about Howie?”

  “I doubt it,” she said with her own shrug.

  I inspected her for signs of lying, or extremely good acting. I saw neither, but that might not mean much.

  “You think Matt really killed his sister?” I said.

  Nell lifted one eyebrow. “I would never have guessed that Matt Bane could kill anyone, Clare, but this Hollywood world is full of made-up stories. We think the ones we care about are letting their guards down when we’re with them and the cameras aren’t, and we’re getting a chance to know the real people, but maybe not. Maybe Matt’s just a really, really good actor. I’ve been fooled before.”

  “You don’t trust anyone?”

  “Not a smart move, trusting anyone.” She shook her head and leveled her gaze.

  “Really?” I cleared my throat. “I mean, okay.”

  Nell smiled. “However, in regard to Howie, you probably don’t think he should be trusted, but he’s about the only one you can trust if he’s on your side. If he’s not on your side, then watch out. Or at least that’s what I thought. I’m not sure now.”

  “How in the world do you know if he’s on your side?”

  “That’s just it, Clare. That’s the reason I thought he could be trusted. He tells you—good or bad, he’s up-front. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll just come out and say it. His track record is good and all about honesty, even if it is brutal.”

  “Up until now maybe?”

  “I can’t accept that yet.”

  “You might want to consider it,” I said, knowing full well that Nell Sterling didn’t need my advice. Nevertheless.

  “Right.”

  “Were you mad at me?” I said.

  “Oh. Yes, I suppose I was. I might still be.”

  “What did I do?”

  “I saw you following me up Main Street two nights ago. You watched as I went into the place I’m renting and then you looked out what I presume is your window up at me. I thought we’d jumped right over the stalking part after I came into your shop. I was disappointed.”

  Of course her declaration begged the question, “So you didn’t see me in the hotel?” I didn’t ask it aloud, though. That small difference might mean everything, including learning something about someone’s involvement in Cassie’s murder. I thought she’d mention it if she’d seen me there.

  A surge of adrenaline zipped through me. I was about to do something I hadn’t predicted I would want to do. But the time seemed strangely right, and my next question fit with the reason Matt had wanted me to go to the party.

  “What was on the iPad I saw you carrying?”

  Nell blinked hard and I could tell this probably wasn’t going to go well. But then her surprised eyes softened.

  “Nothing earth-shattering,” she said with a sigh.

  “Obviously there’s something on it you don’t want people to see.”

  “No, Clare. Not people. Just one person.”

  “Who?”

  She shook her head and wouldn’t look at me.

  “What if it has a clue to the killer, be it Matt or someone else, on it?” I said.

  “The police cleared the room. I didn’t think I was taking something with evidence of a murder. I wouldn’t have.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to. Now, please, Clare, don’t stalk me.” She started to walk away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “You’re beautiful, Nell. That’s old news, but I didn’t want to bother you at the time. It’s difficult to think of you as just a person. It was stalkerish. I’ll never do it again. I promise. I wasn’t trying to find out where you were staying. I was just curious. When I saw you were staying so close to my house, I became strangely intrigued. Then I saw Howie, and . . . well, I was just intrigued. I’m very sorry.”

  She started slightly when I mentioned Howie, as if I’d hit a nerve. But she normalized quickly.

  “Just say hello next time,” she said.

  “I will. For sure.”

  “Good. Now, I’ve got to go out there and be pretty and witty. Flint wants us all on our best behavior and he sticks to his word about not inviting people back if they misbehave. I like it when I make friends I can just be normal around, Clare. I’m glad for this little conversation. I feel like we might have moved back to normal. Oh, and I think I’ll have you clean off only a little of the chocolate from Barnaby Rudge, the part that’s illegible. Other than that, I think it’s a good idea to keep it as it is.”

  “Well, I’ll have to get over the fact that I think you just maybe called us friends, but, yes, I’m not going to send any pictures to the tabloids or anything. And I’d be happy to clean the book. Bring it back in any time.” As I’d said “tabloids,” Toby popped into my mind. He’d probably sacrifice a toe or two to talk to Nell Sterling. I wondered how far off normal it would be for me to ask her to grant him an interview. I’d think about it.

  “Good. Well, we’ll talk later.” She stepped toward the party but then turned around again. “I saw you with a tall guy, glasses, curly hair. Is he someone more serious than a date?”

  “He’s my boyfriend. I’m sure he’d dump me for you, though, if you’re interested.”

  She laughed. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s interesting-looking. Is he smart too?”

  “Nerdishly so.”

  “Lucky girl. See you later, Clare.”

  I watched her melt back into the crowd. She was good at it, obviously practiced enough that she didn’t look practiced. I didn’t envy her one bit. Our brief conversation told me lots about Nell Sterling.

  She lived a famous but probably lonely life. She might have placed her trust in the wrong people a time or two. And trusting her might not be the smartest move either. Was it simply the pictures of her and Matt on the iPad that had led her to taking it? She’d said “one person.” Was she trying to protect Adele’s feelings? That was hard to believe, but it was possible.

  I’d eavesdropped on two hallway conversations now. It wasn’t my style and I didn’t like the questions that my actions had left me with, not to mention the sense of guilt. Maybe it was time to just mind my own business.

  As I looked out toward the party, I spotted Jodie and Creighton standing along the perimeter of the room. They weren’t just enjoying the party. They were looking for something, or someone.

  I’d have to start minding my own business tomorrow.

  22

  By the time I made it to the spot I’d seen Jodie and Creighton, they were gone. I didn’t even catch which direction they went and I didn’t see them for the rest of the night. I thought I saw Howie once, but I couldn’t track him down. I was there with Matt’s ticket and his request that I observe the people in his life, but ultimately I didn’t do as much as I’d hoped. However, Seth and I enjoyed the party, leaving only when we were too tired to stand and too full to eat another puff pastry. The Hollywood stars we mingled with left us both with a funny sense of the surreal. Had we really talked to him? Had we danced with them? The absence of pictures would probably always make me wonder if it had been as incredible as we thought it had been. Maybe there was a hallucinogenic in the pastry and the night hadn’t been the most spectacular time ever after all.

  The next morning I was jolted awake by my phone buzzing across my nightstand. I was so discombobulated by the early hour and the caller ID that I wasn’t immediatel
y aware of the fact that the sun hadn’t risen yet.

  My phone read SALT LAKE CITY DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS.

  Since Jodie was an officer and I’d also dated one, I’d received a few calls from police stations over the years, but not from the big city, and not from a prison, certainly nothing with “Department of Corrections” in the name.

  I hit answer.

  “This is the Salt Lake City Department of Corrections prison system. You have a collect call from a prisoner. If you accept, please push one. If you don’t accept, please hang up.”

  Against my better, albeit sluggish, judgment, I pushed one.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Clare? This is Matt Bane.”

  I held back the anxiety-induced sarcasm of “No kidding” and said, “Hey, Matt. How are you doing?”

  “As well as can be expected. Listen, I know it’s early, but this is when they said I could use the phone. How was the party?”

  “Fun. Thanks.” This was weird. “I appreciate the ticket. I saw a couple of your friends, but not Howie. No one was arrested or admitted to killing your sister. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Hey, is there any chance you could come down to Salt Lake to see me today?”

  “Um. Well.”

  “It’s important, and I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

  The fact that a scary state prison had now been inserted in the mix toned down the connection I felt to Matt a bit. However, I couldn’t deny that it was still there. “Okay. When?”

  “As soon as possible. Early visiting hours are in one hour.”

  The pause went on long enough that the silence was impolite, but a moment later I said, “I’ll be there.”

  I debated calling Jodie to let her know my plans, but I didn’t. What did it matter that I was going to visit him? She would tell me I was being starstruck and I still wasn’t sure that was completely incorrect. However, I might be able to wrangle out of her what she and Creighton had been looking for at the party. I decided to take the easy and quieter route and not call.

  I didn’t call Seth either, because I knew that he had to get up extra early for a meeting. But someone needed to know what I was up to, so earlier than any human should be awake during the festival, I steered my car down Main Street toward Bygone Alley.

  The sun had just started peeking over the mountainous horizon as I parked on the street in front of the shop. I noticed a figure in the shadowed doorway and grabbed my phone to call either Chester in his apartment above the shop or the police, but the figure emerged and my concerns turned into less worrisome questions.

  “Adal?” I said quietly to myself.

  He wore faded tan pants, big clunky boots, and a sweater too thin for the frigid temperatures. He lifted one hand, covered in a glove without fingertips, away from an item he held and waved and smiled. I imagined I could hear his teeth chattering.

  “Hello,” I said when I got out of the car. “It’s good to see you. Are you okay?”

  “I wasn’t sure what time I was to arrive.”

  “Oh. Sorry about that. Well, come on in and we’ll put a plan together.”

  I’d spent two hours working with Adal the day before, but it had taken only about five minutes to realize that I’d found the perfect apprentice. Before we’d started on a simple printing project I ad-libbed, I hadn’t realized exactly what I’d look for when it came to evaluating an apprentice’s skills. But I soon knew there were two important tells. The eyes and the hands. To restore books, hands could be neither impatient nor ungainly and eyes could neither be dull nor scared. Adal had confident, strong, and relaxed hands, and eyes that, even when they were full of question, were bright and ready for answers.

  When I first started working with Chester, he said that I’d been made to do the tasks that went along with my job. He said I was even more qualified than he was, but I didn’t understand how he could “see” such a thing. As I watched Adal the day before, I finally understood what Chester meant, and I realized that Adal was probably even better suited for my jobs than I was.

  It would be good to work with him, see my world and my work through someone else’s eyes. It would be a true honor to teach him, and I had no doubt I’d learn plenty too, about him and myself.

  I unlocked the front door and flipped on the lights and then moved the temperature up on the ancient thermostat on the wall above a display of parchment. I had to tap the thermostat twice to get it to kick in.

  Once I heard the distant revving of the furnace, I said, “It’ll warm right up. Chester likes to sleep in the cold and Baskerville likes to curl up in his armpit at night. Chester’s apartment is above the store. He usually comes down about ten. I’m early today, but most days I’m here about eight thirty. Come on to the back and I’ll make you some coffee.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you have any idea of the hours you’d like to work?” I said as we went through the door and into the workshop.

  Before Adal could answer, our attention was directed toward the bottom of the stairway that led up to the apartment. Baskerville stood at the bottom and looked at us with sleepy, critical eyes.

  “Hey, Baskerville. All is well. We’re just early,” I said.

  “Hello,” Adal said with a big smile toward the tired cat.

  Baskerville meowed reproachfully.

  “Ah, here, kitty. Come see me.” Adal crouched.

  Baskerville lifted his head higher and looked at Adal suspiciously. I was about to say something like “He won’t come to you” when the cat trotted toward Adal.

  “Sweet boy,” Adal said as he scratched behind Baskerville’s ears.

  “Uh-huh. Also a traitor, but we don’t need to dwell on that at the moment.”

  Baskerville meowed again.

  I moved to the coffee machine next to the back wall. Chester always prepared the water and the grounds the night before so all I had to do was push start. I glanced inside the few mugs we’d accumulated and decided the most sanitary choice would be to give Adal his coffee in a foam cup. I’d get the other mugs cleaned up or buy him one of his own later.

  “What do you have?” I nodded toward the item resting on Adal’s knee as he continued to pet the now smitten cat.

  “A book. I thought we could work on it at some point. It’s missing four pages.”

  “All from one sheet of paper?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see it?”

  “Of course.”

  Adal stood and met me at my desk, where he handed me the book, sending a whiff of something that smelled like lemons and roses toward my nose. It was an odd combination but pleasant. I wondered what soap he used.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said as I ran my finger along the spine of a copy of Friedrich Nietzsche’s Twilight of the Idols. It wasn’t a first edition from the late nineteenth century, but a copy from the first half of the twentieth century. Old but not monetarily valuable. It was in great condition, only worn at one corner. “Nietzsche, huh? Heavy stuff?”

  “Yes.” Adal smiled. “Thank you. It was my grandfather’s.” He reached into his sweater pocket. “I made copies of the missing pages long ago. I found a copy in a library in Düsseldorf.”

  “That’s perfect. I’m sure we have the font. We can re-create the pages if you’d like. Is it something you’re keeping or do you want to sell it?”

  “Oh, no. It is one of my treasures.”

  I smiled at my new apprentice. “I understand. All right, we’ll do it in the next couple of days. Unfortunately, I have an errand to run in Salt Lake City this morning.”

  “Would you like me to watch . . . watch the shop?”

  “Only if you want to. It’s early and you can keep the front doors locked and explore back here if you’d like. There’s nothing that’s too fragile and we don’t have any sec
rets.” I glanced toward the red Royal and realized that we had, in fact, had a big secret recently, but it was back where it belonged now. “If we get any valuable books in, we lock them up or take them home. We need to work out a salary. I promise we’ll do that later today.”

  “No need. Mr. Chester took care of it, and it’s more than fair.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” I’d discuss the amount with Chester later.

  “I’m so happy to be here. Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome. And I’m glad you’re here. I think I’ll enjoy teaching this stuff and it will be fun to have someone other than Chester and my niece to talk to about it all.”

  Adal told me he’d let Chester know about my errand as he walked me to the front of the shop. The box of ribbon tins had been placed on the counter, and the one that had held the money, the one presumably from Germany, was out of the box and next to it. I didn’t know when the police had returned it.

  The tin was German. So was Adal. Was there some connection there that might have something to do with the money? I stopped at the counter and pondered the possibilities, but truthfully no overlapping seemed to exist. There was no way the two of them could be tied together, or the three of them if you took into consideration the impostor who’d said the money was his. Still, though, the German coincidence was strange.

  “Clare?” Adal said.

  “Do you know what these are?” I said.

  Adal looked at the tin on the counter and then peered over the top of the box.

  “No.”

  “They’re typewriter ribbon tins.”

  “I should have known. Yes, I’ve seen something like these before.”

  I got no sense that Adal was lying about his knowledge about the tins. He seemed pleasantly and gently honest.

  “Right. Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Thanks for watching things. My niece will be here in a couple hours. She knows what she’s supposed to do. Just tell her I said to get to work. You can stay or go when she gets here. If you leave, I’ll call you if I make it back so we can get started on something.” I frowned. “I’m sorry. We’re not very well prepared, but I promise that we’re glad to have you here. Please be patient and I’ll get things worked out better.”