The Book of Secrets

by Melissa McShane

  “I still say no illusion could possibly be that strong. He’d have to make an illusion of you and that car.”

  “I bet he got Judy to pose as me. She’d be happy to do it.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her. I’ll scratch her eyes out.”

  “No violence, Viv. Though in this case I’d join in. I really don’t like her.”

  The street was quiet even for a Sunday morning, with only a few cars parked along the curb. The detectives’ Buick wasn’t one of them. I let us in and snatched the ledger from the counter. “I wish this were timestamped.”

  “No, you don’t. Imagine what a hassle that would be.”

  “All right, I don’t, except imagine how easy it would be to prove my innocence.”

  My phone rang. “I don’t have time to talk,” Lucia said. “I’ve texted Campbell and he’s on his way over. He has Briggs’s contact book—it was on his body when we picked him up.”

  I shuddered. How could so many people speak so casually of death? “Why didn’t you tell me the police—”

  “Later, Davies. We’re looking into who might have performed such an illusion.”

  “I’m sure it’s William Rasmussen.”

  “Rasmussen has too much to lose pulling a stunt like this. Don’t jump to the obvious conclusion.” The phone went dead, and I stuffed it into my jeans pocket. Easy for Lucia to say, when it wasn’t her freedom on the line.

  “This cash register is really cool,” Viv said, poking at the buttons. “I can’t believe it works. I practically expect gold coins to come rolling out of the change dispenser.”

  “Please don’t play with it. There’s actual money inside.” I dropped the ledger on the counter and buried my face in my hands. “I’m so nervous I’m shaking.”

  “Don’t be nervous. You’re innocent, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “You remember the story on the news last Tuesday? About the guy on Death Row who was exonerated after twelve years due to new evidence? I’m sure his innocence was a great comfort to him all that time in prison.”

  The door slammed open. “I—excuse me,” Campbell said, catching sight of Viv. She was resplendent in a quilted peacock-blue parka, with rhinestone clips holding her flip out of her face.

  “It’s all right. She knows the truth,” I said.

  Anger suffused Campbell’s face. “You told her? Miss Davies, do you have any idea how irresponsible that is?”

  “I trust Viv with my life,” I said, “and more importantly, with my secrets. She’s the only person I dared tell. I haven’t even told my parents. So take a deep breath before your head explodes. Do you have the book?”

  Campbell’s jaw was set and tight, but he reached into his jacket and pulled out a little notebook, the kind with letters all down one side for organizing contacts. Today he wore khakis and a navy crew neck sweater under a leather jacket, none of which hid his toned chest and abs. I focused on the notebook and pretended I hadn’t been staring. “I guess some people still have the little black book,” I quipped, and he looked at me like I was crazy. I flushed. Apparently, he’d forgotten that conversation.

  “Nathaniel was always old-fashioned. He got it from his mother. But I don’t think you should volunteer that book to the detectives unless you have no other choice. Are they coming soon?”

  “I hope so. I want to get this over with.”

  “I’m Viv,” Viv said, sticking out her hand for Campbell to shake. “Helena and I have been friends since second grade. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re magical. I am very good at keeping secrets.”

  “Malcolm Campbell,” Campbell said, a little grudgingly. “I’m sorry I implied otherwise. That was rude.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’re not used to people knowing about all this—”

  The door swung open again. “Miss Davies, good morning,” Detective Acosta said. He turned his attention to Campbell, and I could see him widening his stance and throwing back his shoulders, subtly trying to make himself look bigger.

  “This is Mr. Campbell,” I said, concealing my amusement. Acosta was as tall as Campbell, but narrower, and compared to Campbell’s lazy, relaxed pose, like a cat coiled ready to attack, he looked like a skinny, strutting rooster. “He arrived at Abernathy’s at 9:20 Friday morning and was here until about 10:30. He can vouch for my whereabouts during that time.”

  “That’s a long time to spend at a bookstore,” Acosta said.

  “I came early to pick up a special order, and Miss Davies was kind enough to let me browse until the store opened at ten,” Campbell said. “Then I met a few friends who came in to shop, and we talked for half an hour or so.”

  “And you can give us their names?”

  “Juliet Dawes and Ken Hardy. I believe Ken bought a book.”

  I offered Acosta the ledger. “These three purchases all happened between 9:30 and noon. You can ask them and they’ll tell you I was here. I helped all three of them find books.”

  Acosta wrote the names in his notebook. “You’re Malcolm Campbell?”

  “I am.”

  “Any relation to Alastair Campbell?”

  “My father.” The room was cold, but I could swear the temperature dropped several degrees when Campbell said those words.

  “I wouldn’t have thought a man in your position had the time for much reading.”

  “We make time for what matters. Don’t you find that’s true, detective?”

  “I guess.” Acosta closed his notebook with a snap. “We’ll check your story, Miss Davies, but it doesn’t look good. If you have anything to say, it’s better if you tell us up front. Easier for you in the long run.”

  “I didn’t do it, and those people will vouch for me,” I said. I was proud of how my voice didn’t tremble. Having Viv and Campbell there did wonders for my confidence. I didn’t feel alone the way I had the night before.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Acosta said, and he and Detective Green let themselves out. The moment they were gone, Viv slumped on the counter and exclaimed, “I was about to wet myself, I was so nervous.”

  “Viv!”

  “Oh, all right, it wasn’t that bad, but I kept wanting to yell at them for being stupid.”

  “A good illusion is convincing beyond just the sensory experience,” Campbell said. “There’s a component that makes the viewer want to believe in the illusion. It can be very compelling. Whoever witnessed you at the bank, Miss Davies, will be certain of what she saw and unlikely to recant that story.”

  “Are you saying I should worry?”

  “I think the testimony of several witnesses will trump that one. But I’ll be investigating the illusion.”

  “I’m sure it was Mr. Rasmussen.”

  “I’d like to believe that. Rasmussen has been my enemy for years and I’d love an excuse to bring him before a tribunal. But I can’t afford to accuse him and risk making myself look unstable if I’m wrong.”

  “I understand.”

  “Don’t worry. We have resources, and we’re not going to let Abernathy’s change hands twice in one week. That would be sloppy.” He smiled, and it so transformed his solemn face, lighting his eyes with mirth, that I stared at him again. Then he nodded at me, said, “I’ll let you know if I learn anything,” and was gone before I could do more than gaze at him in slack-jawed astonishment.

  Viv slugged me on the shoulder. “Ow!”

  “You have been holding out on me! You didn’t say you’d met someone!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Viv slouched against the counter, imitating Campbell’s pose. “He’s so hot it’s a miracle this place hasn’t gone up in flames. Now I want to be a damsel in distress so he can rescue me. And that smile…” She fanned herself theatrically.

  “He’s just a guy who… all right, he fights evil monsters, and he drives a great car, and—Viv, he’s really not my type!”

  “Sweetie, men who look like that are everyone’s type. You should go for i
t.”

  “There’s no going for it. He’s a customer. He doesn’t look at me that way.”

  “That’s because you dress like a hillbilly farmer half the time. If you’d let me design your wardrobe, he’d look at you.”

  “He doesn’t look at me like that because I’m just part of his job. And I do not dress like a hillbilly farmer. You gave me this sweater.”

  “That’s right, I did. I still say you should go for it. What car does he drive? Please say Aston-Martin, please say Aston-Martin—”

  “It’s a vintage silver Jag.”

  “Just as good.” Viv pushed off the counter and stretched, revealing a lace teddy over a silk T-shirt beneath her parka. “Let’s go get food, and then we’re going shopping and we’re going to forget about magic and murders and responsibilities, and we might get pedicures.”

  “It’s November. Nobody cares what our toes look like.”

  Viv hooked her arm through mine and drew me out of the store. “Sweetie, you never know when that might turn out to be untrue.”

  he detectives didn’t show up again. I spent Sunday with Viv, and Sunday evening with my family watching My Favorite Wife. Cary Grant is always good for relaxing me. By Monday morning I was ready to face my job again. With luck, my newness was wearing off, and the store wouldn’t be so crowded with gawkers.

  Lucia was there when I arrived at Abernathy’s. “Inside,” she said, as if I’d been planning to stand around in the cold. “We have to talk.”

  I ushered her to the break room and took a seat opposite her. “Why did anyone find Mr. Briggs’ body? And why didn’t you warn me? You had to know they’d come after me as their first suspect.”

  “Cool it, Davies. It was a mistake. We needed Briggs to be found dead because eventually someone would notice he’d gone missing, and then suspicion really would fall on you. But there was some confusion about who was supposed to do what, and his body was planted without the illusion that would have made it look like an accident. I didn’t know about it until you called. So on behalf of the guy I fired for screwing up, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” I felt briefly guilty about someone losing his job over this, but remembered none of it was my fault. “Did you figure out who did kill him?”

  Lucia shook her head. “Briggs was blackmailing fifteen people, which is a lot if you want to keep that activity secret. Eleven of them have solid alibis—plenty of witnesses to put them elsewhere at noon on Thursday.”

  “That reminds me. Why did the detectives think he died between five and seven?”

  “Part of the misdirect. The part that worked. Did you want to hear this, or interject inane questions?”

  “Sorry.”

  “The remaining four were all in town Thursday and can’t account for their whereabouts at the key time. But two of them don’t fit the profile Maxwell came up with. Too short. So that leaves us with two. We’re still investigating, but it’s going to take time.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Nothing.” Lucia pushed back from the table and stood. “We’re also looking into who created the illusion of you at the bank.”

  “And when you find out it’s Mr. Rasmussen, what are you going to do to him?”

  “Will Rasmussen is a powerful magus and a well-respected member of the community. That’s not an accusation to throw around lightly.”

  “I’m not making it lightly. He wanted Judy to be custodian, and if I were arrested and sent to prison for theft, I couldn’t exactly work here. Who’s going to be custodian if I disappear?”

  Lucia’s lips were set and grim. “No one knows. Judy was in training, yes, but she hasn’t signed the contract. Maybe she should.”

  “But I don’t know how to create the contract! And even if I did, if she signed it, then anyone who wanted me gone could come after me!”

  “I know. It’s why I hesitate to suggest it. I don’t think Judy will be sufficiently disinterested as custodian of Abernathy’s. You’re an unknown quantity, but you seem to be doing all right. And you’re far better than the alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  “Only one custodian has ever abdicated. When Silas left, it took three weeks for a new custodian to be chosen. During that time magery underwent a serious crisis. We depend on Abernathy’s to direct our efforts in fighting this war, and with no custodian… at any rate, if Briggs hadn’t hired you before being murdered, we’d be in serious trouble right now. Starting with being unable to perform the Ambrosite augury.” She let out a deep breath. “Any other questions?”

  “I, um, you don’t…” Lucia already knew I was in over my head. “What can you tell me about that augury?”

  Lucia arched her eyebrows. “I know it’s not like an ordinary augury, but that’s all I know. Damn. If you—you’d better figure that out fast. You’ve got until this Friday to do it.”

  I stayed at the table after she left, staring at my hands. It sounded like I had Lucia’s support, but at the risk of being ungracious, that didn’t mean much. I still had no idea how to do the big augury, I didn’t know how to protect myself against Rasmussen, and I was still probably a suspect in Mr. Briggs’ murder. And there was nothing I could do about any of that. All I could do was keep the store running and pray I wasn’t arrested.

  I spent the day talking to people and doing a handful of auguries. Word of Mr. Briggs’ murder—the one the police thought they knew about—had gotten around, and to my surprise most of my visitors came to assure me of their support. Everyone had theories about who could have pulled off such an illusion, and why. It reassured me that Rasmussen was on several other people’s lists of possible culprits as well, all of them Ambrosites. It seemed Campbell wasn’t the only one who disliked the Nicollien leader.

  Harry and Harriet dropped by around three with a Tupperware container filled with Chocopocalypse cake and the printed recipe for it and the roast. “We are so sorry you have to endure this, dear,” Harriet said. “But I promise you Will wouldn’t pull such a nasty trick.”

  “Even to get Judy in as custodian?”

  “What good would that do? It’s not as if she could use the oracle to give him an advantage. She’d be sworn to impartiality.”

  “You don’t think, her being raised in a Ni—in a household with certain sympathies, she’d be biased?”

  Harry and Harriet exchanged glances. “You’re new,” Harry said, “so you won’t know what a terrible insult that is. Neutralities are essential to both sides, and neither of us would risk losing access to them by trying to game the system.”

  My face grew hot. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “It’s all right, dear. You weren’t to know.” Harriet patted my hand. “We’ll see you later, and hang in there. Everything will work out for the best.”

  Despite their words, I was still convinced Rasmussen was behind framing me. Maybe it wasn’t to put Judy in my place, but I’d made him look foolish, and he seemed the type to hate being made to look the fool. I smiled and accepted the next augury slip. Where will I find true love? the woman had written on it. Her smile was fragile, and her narrow hands gripped her purse as if it were her lifeline. I stepped into the timeless silence of the oracle and let myself relax. Her question seemed so simple and yet so complex. True love, riches, wisdom—all popular aug. pers. questions. I found her glowing book and flipped it open, and inhaled sharply. Ten thousand dollars. Simple, complex, and expensive. I had to find out what to do with all the cash I was amassing.

  Viv showed up at five ‘til six. “I love you, Viv, but I don’t want to party tonight,” I said.

  “We’re not going to party. I had something else in mind.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it better not include socializing, because I’m beat.”

  Viv shook her head and walked away through the stacks. I shrugged and returned to counting the till. It didn’t see much use, being only for mundane transactions, but I felt responsible for its contents. A last customer waved goodbye, and I
waved back. One normal day, with no murders, blackmail, detectives, or appearances by hot security consultants who looked good in black fatigues. I felt myself blushing and locked the door with some force. Viv had an overactive imagination.

  Thinking of Viv reminded me that I hadn’t seen her in a while. “Viv?” I moved between the bookcases, checking for anyone who might not realize it was closing time. Not that I could imagine anyone wanting to stay here overnight, what with the cold and the smell. Viv wasn’t there. I checked the break room and glanced down into the basement, calling her name again. No Viv.

  I heard a rustling sound behind me and followed it back into the store. “I’m sorry, we’re closed,” I called out. The rustling stopped. I took a few more steps, and heard it again—like someone walking over dry, dead leaves, only this time there was the whispering I’d heard my first day on the job. I strained to hear it more clearly. It was almost intelligible, words spoken just out of earshot. “Hello?”

  I walked between the bookcases, stepping as quietly as possible on the linoleum, but the whispering never became louder or comprehensible. The rustling, on the other hand, faded away the deeper I got within the store. I trailed my fingers along a row of dusty spines and sniffed the air. The smell of onion wasn’t as strong as it had once been, but I’d probably gotten used to it. No perfume or deodorant to suggest someone had been here.

  I reached the far corner of the store and looked up at the ceiling. There was a giant cobweb in the corner, moving slightly with the draft that came from somewhere I hadn’t been able to find. Dust on the spines, cobwebs on the ceiling—I needed to take half an hour of the time I didn’t have and do some quick cleaning.

  The whispering grew louder, then faded to nothing. Now, who would know if this was normal? Other than Judy. I shrugged and headed for the office. Maybe I was wrong, and Abernathy’s was alive on some level. The idea was intriguing rather than alarming. Not for the first time, I wished Silas had written a book about his time as custodian, but now, instead of wishing it for the guidance it would give me, I wished to share in his experiences. What had he felt, transferring the bookstore across the ocean? Had he listened to the store’s whispers, too?