“What? What’s in there?” Addie whispered, following him through the doorway.
He flipped a light switch on beside the door. She stopped. The room was filled with books and antiquities. Her heart pounded against her chest wall. She struggled to catch her breath. It was like the first day she had stood in the stacks at the British Museum.
“This is amazing,” she uttered.
“And maybe a clue as to why Blain was killed.” His eyes widened. “This goes way deeper than Serena being upset about some stupid little petition, I think.”
“Petition? What petition?”
Marc’s face turned crimson. He turned and stepped away from her.
She grabbed his jacket sleeve and spun him toward her. “What petition? Is that what she had in her hand when she left Martha’s?”
“You saw it?”
“No, she didn’t show it to me. What’s the petition for?”
Marc shook his head. “Please don’t press this. It’s nothing.”
“It has something to do with me, doesn’t it? Tell me—and I want the truth.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Promise me you won’t get upset.”
“I can’t do that till I know what you’re talking about.”
“Fair enough.” He sighed and took a deep breath. “Apparently, Blain started a petition with the other merchants to try to force the town council to revoke your business license.”
Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth. He pressed his finger against her lips. “Hear me out.”
She nodded.
“He said you had only been granted the permit because of your family name and no one had done a background check on you, and he was concerned there were irregularities in your past.”
Her eyes bulged.
“He felt you had been involved with some criminal activity in Boston and that it followed you here, which, according to him, caused the sudden increase in our crime rate.”
“That’s insane!” she shouted. “How dare he. I’ll sue.”
Marc nodded. “Yes, it is insane. But don’t worry. Only a few busybodies like Martha believe him.”
Addie felt the color drain from her face. “Is that what Serena was so upset about and why she was going to see Blain?”
“Yes, and now you know why the DA isn’t very interested in your statement.”
She nodded and sniffled.
“They can’t take the risk of you lying to cover for Serena when you might have put her up to the murder, or at least given her the idea. Of course, Martha’s statement about Serena saying, ‘Addie won’t stand for this, and neither will I. Blain has to be stopped,’ before she ran off to his store didn’t help much either.”
Addie hung her head.
He tilted her chin up. “It’ll be okay. I told you, no rock left unturned, and I think with this room, we’ve turned over a boulder today.”
She laughed. “Yes, maybe. It sure puts a different spin on Mr. Blain Fielding and gives other motives for someone wanting him dead.”
He stood back, hands on hips, and surveyed the hidden storage area. Addie followed his eye scan, gasped, and bolted to the far end of the long, narrow room.
“Will you look at that,” said Marc over her shoulder.
He reached around her and pushed on the center of another wall panel. It clicked open.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s a staircase.” Addie stepped forward.
“Stop.” Marc grabbed her elbow. “Don’t contaminate this area. Andrew did enough of that in the other offices.”
“Right.”
“I’ll call the station to send the crime team back over to take photos and prints.” He dialed his cell phone. “Damn, no reception in here.” He headed back into Blain’s office.
Addie squatted in the doorway, squinting into the darkened stairwell. The only light came from the room behind her, casting her shadow across the small landing. In the gloominess, two darker shapes on the floor caught her eye. She leaned over to get a better look and teetered forward. A hand nabbed her collar and pulled her back.
“I thought I told you to stay out.”
“I was trying, honest. Shine your flashlight there.” She pointed to the darker shapes on the floor.
Marc crouched down beside her. “From here, it looks like it could possibly be blood streaks across the imprint of a shoe sole? We’ll see if that’s what it is when the equipment arrives, and if it is, we’ll run a match with Blain’s blood type.”
“I guess we know how the real murderer might have gotten out without being seen by Serena,” Addie said.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. We have to prove how long that’s been here, and if it is blood and a match first.” Marc stood up. “Look Addie, your keen eyes and rare book expertise has helped to shed a different light on things and has been helpful, but . . .”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?” She stood up and looked at him.
“The guys can’t get here for about an hour. They’ve got the equipment out at Mrs. Crawly’s place.”
“Another break-in?”
“Possibly, but probably not. She’s our local cat lady, and every once in a while, she gets it in her head someone’s tried to break in and steal her cats.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, when they get here, I’d rather you weren’t . . . here.” He flinched. “If you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I understand.” She laughed. “After all, how would it look for the chief to have the friend of the person of interest working the case with him?”
“Working the case? I wouldn’t say that.”
“Well”—she smirked—“assisting him, then. You know, like a partner.”
His mouth dropped. “Partner?”
She winked. “I need to get to the shop anyway. I hope I haven’t lost all the customers I managed to gain this week.” She turned to go and stopped. “But promise me, as soon as you find out anything, let me know?”
“You’ll be the first to hear. I promise, partner.” He choked out his last word.
Addie slowly worked her way back through the hidden chamber, inspecting books as she passed by them. One by one, titles jumped out at her, causing her to pause. When she reached the end of the long row of shelves, she stopped and turned back to the last section and pulled a brown leather-bound book from the shelf.
“Marc, come here for a minute.”
He looked up from his notepad. His brows raised. “Did you find something else?” He walked toward her from the stairwell door.
“I think I might have. I’ve been looking at some of the titles here and the condition of the books.”
“And?”
“Well, a few of them I recognize as being on my father’s list of books to retrieve.”
“Really?” He looked over the top of the book she was holding. “Is this one?”
“Yes. It’s Tamerlane and Other Poems by Edgar Allan Poe. It was the first book he ever published, and it was under the name ‘a Bostonian.’ It’s very rare—only about fifty copies were printed. I’m positive Dad was trying to track it down. A collector reported his copy stolen to the insurance company. And this one.” She pulled another book from the shelf. “It’s a first edition of Don Quixote. I’m fairly certain it was stolen from the library in Barcelona last year. It was on our watch list.”
Marc took the book in his gloved hand. “Are you sure? This one?”
“It’s easy enough to find out. Every museum and library gets an updated list of books and relics reported stolen or missing. Part of my job was to keep a lookout for them.”
He turned the book over in his hand. “You’re sure this one was on your list?”
“Fairly sure. I have some older lists on my laptop from when I worked. I can show you.”
“There’s a big market for this type of crime, isn’t there?”
“Oh yeah, smuggling antiquities, books, art, you name it. Anything of high value that can easily be moved
and sold; it’s global. Part of David’s job was to track down stolen property and see who was showing stronger than usual interest in acquiring it. He broke up a lot of crime rings during his career, as my father did.”
Marc stoked his jaw and stood back, surveying the shelves of books. “We’ll have to check these out, but it sounds to me as if this case just got a whole lot bigger.”
* * *
Addie made her way back to her shop, her head down against the wind. Even though the sun was shining, the strong gusts blowing off the harbor had a bite to them, and she pulled her coat tighter around her chest. When there was a lull in windblasts, she managed to look up. Martha was in front of her bakery, sweeping the sidewalk free of blowing leaves and papers.
Martha stopped sweeping when Addie came parallel to her. She leaned her chin on her hand at the top of the broom handle and stared as Addie passed.
“Hello.” Addie smiled at her. “Looks like a losing battle today with this wind.”
Martha glared at her. Her eyes never wavered as Addie made her way to her shop door.
Addie glanced over her shoulder and felt the stab of Martha’s icy stare as she unlocked the door. When she stepped inside she noted Martha was back to her thankless sweeping.
“Wow, how uncomfortable.” She shuddered, and turned on the lights. “Guess I won’t be on her Christmas card list.” She chuckled, picking the mail up from the floor in front of the post slot.
She dropped a pod in the coffee maker, and while a cup brewed, she sorted through the mail. Junk went directly into the recycling bin, and bills were tossed in the top drawer under the register. On the bottom of the stack, she came to a postcard. The image was of an ornately cast gold key set on a red silk cloth.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, turning the card over in her hand. The only message scrawled across the back was Be careful. She shivered. “Thanks for the warning.” There was no name or postmark—not even a stamp. She turned it over again, frowning. The door chimes behind her rang. “Well, I’ll have to figure this out later.” She tossed it into the drawer.
Soon the store was filled with shoppers, including a group of three nosy locals she overheard whispering and snickering behind their hands. They’d apparently come in to have a look at the murderer’s friend.
She turned toward the three, heat rising up from under her collar. “Alleged murderer,” she said between clenched teeth. “Now, ladies, anything I can help you find? Are you looking for something for yourselves?” Her eyes glanced at each of them. “Or a gift for a friend?” She flashed a tight-lipped smile. They hurriedly shuffled out of the store without even a backward glance.
A darker-haired, middle-aged woman watching from the far side of the bookstore began to laugh. “Well done.” She walked toward Addie. “I’m surprised you bit your tongue as well as you did.” She beamed, holding out her hand. “Hi, I’m Catherine Lewis. Your aunt and my mother were close friends.”
“Catherine Lewis? That name sounds familiar.”
“Perhaps your aunt mentioned me or—”
Addie shook her head. “Not my aunt. I never knew her.”
“You don’t remember, then?”
“I think I’ve heard the name, but I’m sorry, I can’t remember from whom. Anyway, I’m Addison; call me Addie.”
“I know exactly who you are.” She grinned, her cheeks flushing.
“Well, it is a small town, and I guess most people know who I am, even if I don’t know them.” She smiled and shrugged. “After all, with my last name, anonymity here seems impossible.”
Catherine cupped Addie’s hand in hers, tears glistening in her eyes. “You’ve turned into a beautiful young woman. It’s a pleasure to see you in person again.”
Addie stepped back. “Again? You’ve met me before?”
The woman nodded, stepped toward her, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Addie’s ear. Her fingers lingered on her cheek. “Yes.” She smiled and looked deep into Addie’s eyes.
Addie recoiled.
“Ah, well, it was too much for me to hope that you’d remember. You were so young then.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket, dabbed her teary eyes, and rushed out the door.
Addie fell back against the counter. Who was this woman who made her feel like someone was walking across her grave?
Chapter Thirteen
The afternoon flew by with a steady stream of shoppers. More people seemed to have discovered the pleasure of browsing through her bookshop with a coffee in hand and reading while they snuggled into one of the comfy leather chairs. She felt fulfilled knowing her vision was coming to light.
Brian finally dropped by to give her the quote on her home security system, stating it couldn’t be installed for another week. He was most apologetic, but she was frustrated. This kind of haphazard service wasn’t something she was used to. His quote was already two days later than promised, and now he tells her that the installment is delayed, too? However, even with the distractions and her annoyance over the news, Addie’s thoughts kept returning to Catherine Lewis and the strange things she’d said. When Marc pulled up outside just as she was closing the shop, she was relieved to finally have someone to ask about Catherine.
He leapt out of his car and bounded toward her door, a grin flitting across his face.
She raced out the door to greet him. “What? A major break in the case?”
His eyes darkened and dropped. “Well, no.” He fumbled with his cap in hand.
Her heart sank.
“But I do have great news.” He looked up, eyes sparkling. “Umm, don’t turn around,” he mumbled through closed lips, “but Martha’s watching us from her window. Let’s go inside.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and ushered her toward the door.
“She’s watched me all day,” she whispered. “When I got back, she stood on the walk with a broom in her hand, staring at me until I got inside. I couldn’t help but think how much like a witch she looked.” Addie smirked and glanced sideways at Martha.
“I know she’s really quite harmless,” Marc said, following her into the store, “but I don’t trust her right now. She’s riled a lot of people up with this petition thing and is probably looking for more evidence to try to use against you with the town council.”
When safely away from prying eyes, Addie spun around toward him. “Okay, partner, what have you got?”
He sauntered past her over to the coffee machine. “Want one?”
“No, I don’t want coffee. I want to know what’s got you grinning like the Cheshire cat.”
“Everything in good time.” He dropped a pod into the machine.
She stood back and crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and glared at the back of his head. He was silent as his coffee brewed. She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it when he slowly tore open a sugar pack and poured it into the steaming paper cup. Believing he was done, she opened her mouth again. Without turning around, he raised his finger to silence her and picked up a spoon, methodically stirring his coffee. By this time, her cheeks were burning and beads of sweat were forming inside her collar. When he was finished, he placed the spoon on the counter, took a long sip, stretched out his rigid shoulders, and sighed. Her jaw tensed. She took a step toward him. He spun around, a sly grin across his face, and then he burst out laughing.
“Darn you.” She stamped her foot. “Stop with the teasing.”
“Ah, but it’s so much fun.”
“What has you in such a great mood?”
“Well, partner”—he winked—“it seems we found enough evidence today to place reasonable doubt on Serena’s charge of second-degree murder.”
“What?” she cried, jumping up and down, clapping her hands. “So she’s off?”
“Not exactly . . . but . . . the charges have been stayed for now, pending further investigation, and she’s being released as we speak.”
She bound toward him, threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a tight squeeze. “That’s wonderful.
We have to go see her.”
“Not so fast. She’s staying with our parents tonight and is really tired. She hasn’t slept a wink, as you can imagine.”
Addie frowned, her lips pursed.
“She told me to tell you she’d be by first thing tomorrow.”
“Good, I can’t wait to see her.” She beamed. “Other than tired, is she doing well—you know, keeping her spirits up?”
“Yes, I think what the DA’s office said this afternoon really helped.”
“What did they say?”
“Well, I managed to cast enough doubt on Serena’s guilt by showing proof of Blain’s possible involvement with smuggling and perhaps acting as a fence or middleman for a larger operation. So they’re going to be checking all his associates and travels over the past few years to see what they can dig up.”
“That makes sense. International travel on store business would have put him in all the right places to make his black-market buys.”
“That’s the thing. As far as I ever heard, he only went on short department store buying trips to Boston and New York. I’m not sure if you know, but Blain’s wife was killed in a plane crash a number of years ago. He was booked to be on the same flight, but had to cancel at the last minute because of business, so she went on ahead. He was supposed to meet her the next day.” Marc’s lips tightened. “He hasn’t flown since and hired a purchasing agent to take care of all the long-distance buying trips.”
“No, I didn’t know.” She rubbed her neck and frowned. “But then that means if he is involved in anything shady, he was most likely the middleman, right?”
“Which of course got me thinking about Andrew spending the last ten years in Europe and took me back to where his and my problems began.” He cocked his brow, and the corners of his lips curved up. “After high school, he got in with a bad crowd and was drinking a lot. They started pulling some robberies around town. I was a rookie cop back then and caught him in the act. In the end, Blain got him off without jail time, because he was good friends with Chief Ryan, but the condition was that Andrew was to leave town and not come back, at least not under Ryan’s watch.”
“And?”
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