By Book or by Crook (11 page)

“I’ll forgive that slanderous statement in light of your obvious agitation, Bertie. Pay me no further mind. I’m going to have another peek at the remaining books.”

“Lucy,” Bertie ordered. “Check that the cabinet is locked. And don’t take your eyes off him.” As I’d told Butch, it was like shutting the barn door after the horses escaped, but after
Sense and Sensibility
disappeared, Bertie agreed to keep the rest of the books locked up.

Footsteps thundered down the main staircase. Ronald’s regular Friday evening program for preteens had finished. Parents, who’d been eagerly listening to Bertie and Theodore squabble, gathered their children and left. Except for the staff and Theodore, the library was empty.

“It’s five to eight,” Bertie said. “Turn the sign to Closed, Charlene. “

“Do you have the cabinet key?” Theodore asked me.

“No.”

“Run and get it, will you? There’s a good lass.”

“No.” I couldn’t resist adding, “Seen any interesting birds lately?”

“Birds? Oh, birds. Uh, yes. A yellow-breasted . . . something or other. Pay Bertie no mind, young lady. She and I have had our . . . disagreements in the past,
but I like to think that our love of great books binds us together in respect and friendship.”

I saw my opening. This might be the only chance I’d get to speak to Theodore privately. Unless he came poking around under the pretense of bird-watching yet again.

I tilted my head to one side and smiled up at him. “That’s great to hear. I love men who appreciate books.”

He stretched to his full height and sucked in a nonexistent stomach. He carried with him an aura of cigar smoke, but his fingers showed no yellow nicotine stains and I had never seen him smoking. I wondered if he hung his tweed jackets in a smokehouse to get the effect. “Only natural, my dear. Great minds seek out similar.” He gave me a wink that was probably intended to be flirtatious but rather looked as if he were attempting to clear a dust mote from his eye.

“At the reception the other night, I saw you go up the back stairs. Were you looking for something in particular? Something I might be able to . . . help you find?”

“How kind of you to offer. Bertie allows me complete freedom and the run of the library . . .”

I swallowed a laugh.

“. . . and I wanted a private viewing of her big surprise before it was unveiled.”

“Did you see the notebook?”

“Regretfully, no. Jonathan interrupted me and rudely ordered me downstairs, as though I were one of the hoi polloi.” Theodore sniffed. He really was quite good at that. “Naturally, I complied. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“What do you think Jonathan was doing upstairs?”

Theodore shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I know one isn’t to speak ill of the dead, but I’ve always believed in total honestly. Jonathan was, truth be told, somewhat of a philistine when it came to books.”

“Honesty is always admirable,” I said.

“Teddy,” Bertie shouted. “We’re closed.”

He checked his watch. “It is two minutes before eight o’clock.”

“Today I’m closing two minutes early. Get lost.”

Theodore turned to me. His smile was strained. “That Bertie. Such a delightful tease. I am, of course, free to come and go as I like, but I don’t usually care to take advantage. Some of the other, less educated patrons don’t understand. Still, I try to keep Bertie happy when I can. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear.”

“I’ll be here.” I wiggled my fingers in farewell.

Theodore sailed out of the library.

I wasn’t much of a detective. I’d been hoping he’d tell me a different story from the one he’d given the police, perhaps be more forthcoming if he wanted to impress me. I’d learned nothing, and all I’d achieved was making him think I liked him.

J
ust when I thought the situation at the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library couldn’t get any worse, it did.

We lost
Pride and Prejudice
.

Saturday morning, I noticed the volume was gone. I’d finished my first lecture of the day and was taking questions. As usual, the audience was mostly interested in learning more about Miss Austen’s best-known book, and I had, over the past few nights, become something of an informal
Pride and Prejudice
scholar. A teenage girl asked why anyone would bother reading the book, now that so many movies had been made of it. Wasn’t that good enough?

I was explaining that movies could capture the essence of the story itself, but to really understand Miss Austen and the customs and people of her times, her own words were invaluable. I swept my arm toward the cabinet containing the collection to illustrate my point.

My heart missed a beat and then it sped up. Only
four books, plus the notebook. I took a quick look around the room. Charlene sat at the circulation desk. A burst of childish laughter came from upstairs, where Ronald was leading story time. (He’d managed to beg and borrow all the long dresses, big hats, and woolen jackets and trousers in existence over this half of the state, so his young charges could play dress-up in Jane Austen’s world.) Bertie, I remembered, was in her office, going over the budget, trying to find some funds, someplace, to pay us for all the overtime we were putting in.

“Thank you for coming,” I said to my audience. I whipped off the heavy hat and bolted for the hallway. I charged into Bertie’s office without knocking. “
Pride and Prejudice
—did you take it?”

She looked up, her glasses perched on her nose, her mouth open in surprise. “Don’t tell me. . . .”

“It’s not there.”

Bertie got to her feet in one swift movement. “I didn’t authorize anyone to take it. Run upstairs and ask Ronald. I’ll speak to Charlene. And, Lucy, please be discreet. We don’t want word to get out.”

I dashed up the spiral staircase to the children’s library. The room was a riot of color, brightly painted walls, beanbag chairs, cushions, quilted wall hangings, soft toys for the younger children. Ronald, wearing his costume, sat on a stool in the center of the room, his young listeners spread out on the floor all around him. The kids looked absolutely delightful in their mishmash ensemble of historical garb. Some of them had brought clothes from home, and one cute little guy was highly era-inappropriate in a plumed helmet and breastplate. Charles dozed in a
girl’s lap, a big blue bow fastened to his head by a hair band. They all looked so adorable, I almost forgot why I was here.

Ronald saw me and raised one eyebrow.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Be right back, kids,” he said. He lowered his voice when he reached me. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you have
Pride and Prejudice
?” I whispered.

“No.”

“Gone.”

He opened his mouth to let out an obscenity and then remembered the little ears surrounding us. “Oh, dear.”

I dashed downstairs. Bertie and Charlene were also conferring in low voices. I shook my head.

A patron asked Bertie if we had the latest Jamie Oliver cookbook. Our head librarian smiled and chatted as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

At noon, she couldn’t slam the door fast enough when she flipped the sign to
CLOSED
.

“Think, everyone,” she shouted. “When did you see it last?”

We exchanged blank looks.

“We have a half hour to find that book. I don’t dare hope it’s been mislaid, so we have to search. The cabinet was locked when we closed up last night; I checked.”

I rattled the handle. It was locked now.

But the book was not there.

“Who has access to the key?” Ronald asked.

“Anyone who knows where I keep it,” Bertie said. The key hung on a hook on the back of Bertie’s office
door, where any one of us could grab it if we had reason to take out the books. Bertie’s office was never locked. Why should it be? Staff records and budget papers were the only things that needed privacy, and they were kept in a secure cabinet.

“Where’s the key now?” Ronald asked.

Bertie dug into her pocket and held up the tiny bronze key. “When Lucy told me we’d had another theft, I grabbed it. It was hanging in its usual place.”

“How many keys to the cabinet are there?”

“One. Just this one. The cabinet was custom-made to hold this exhibit, and we asked for only one key to keep things simple.”

With a strong feeling of déjà vu, we searched the library. “Whoever took it,” Charlene said, “has to be pretty quick of hand. This room was full from the moment we opened the doors at nine.”

“Did anyone see Teddy?” Bertie asked.

“He was in earlier,” Ronald said. “He brought a deerstalker hat for the children’s costumes. I thought it was nice of him to do that.”

Bertie harrumphed. “Diane and Curtis came to my office, wanting to talk about next year’s budget. I told them to make an appointment when all this is over.”

“I saw them,” I said. “Diane didn’t look at all happy. I don’t think they stayed after leaving your office, but I can’t remember actually seeing them go out the door.”

“Louise Jane was here,” Charlene said. “She checked out some local history books, research for the haunted-island exhibit. Lucy was getting ready for her talk, and I was on the desk, so she and Poor
Andrew were in the reference room on their own. I can’t say for how long though.”

“Keep searching,” Bertie said. “I’ll be right back.”

She came out of her office a few minutes later, carrying a book, a new Elizabeth George hardcover that had been waiting to be shelved, as well as a single piece of paper. Printed on the paper was an image of a book jacket that matched the covers of the Austen collection. She wrapped the paper around the spine of the George. “Won’t fool anyone on close inspection. So let’s make sure there is no close inspection.” She unlocked the cabinet and arranged the book underneath
Persuasion
, so only the spine was showing. She then locked the cabinet and put the key in her skirt pocket. “From now on, this key remains with me at all times. If the library catches fire in the night, Lucy, you have my permission break the glass. Otherwise the books are not to be taken out for any reason.”

Ronald, Charlene, and I exchanged nervous glances. “You can’t keep this a secret, Bertie.”

“Not for long, no, but I intend to delay informing the board for as long as possible. I hope not to have to tell either the general public or the books’ owners that we have, shall we say, misplaced another volume. In the meantime, if I have to beat a confession out of Teddy, I will.”

“You think Theodore’s the thief?”

“Who else?”

Plenty of people,
I didn’t say.

“You have to report this to the police,” Ronald said.

“I know, I know. Lucy, you seem to have
established a relationship with handsome Officer Greenblatt. Give him a call and explain what’s happened.”

I sputtered. “I haven’t . . .”

“Whatever. They’re already keen on charging me with the murder of Jonathan and not inclined to listen to anything I have to say.” She rubbed her forehead. “This is such a mess.”

We turned at a knock on the door. The big clock over the desk said 12:32.

Showtime.

*

“Not again,” Butch groaned over the phone.

“Please,” I said. “We want to keep this quiet. We’re hoping the thief will have a . . . uh . . . change of heart and bring the books back.”

“Right. Like they do that all the time.”

“Please.”

“I’ll speak to Detective Watson, but I agree with you, Lucy. There’s no point in putting it in the papers. A book like that isn’t going to turn up at a pawnshop or be left on a park bench.”

“Whoever took it knows it’s valuable. If he tries to sell it for what it’s worth, a rare-book dealer would ask for proof of providence, so he must want it for his own collection.”

“You say ‘he.’ You think it’s a man?”

“Figure of speech.” After talking about it with Bertie, I was convinced that the thief was Theodore. Who else was constantly in and out of the library, knew his way around, and had a reputation for taking what didn’t belong to him? And was a book collector short of funds to boot? “How’s the investigation into the murder going? You can’t
possibly believe Theodore’s story, can you? He says he left when Jonathan told him to. We have no reason to believe that. He’s not exactly the sort to meekly do what he’s told. He seems to think the library is his personal domain.”

I heard Butch chuckle down the line. “‘We,’ is it now?”

“Figure of speech.”

“
We
are, as Detective Watson will tell you, keeping our options open. Do you like live music?”

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “There’s a local band playing at a bar in Nags Head tonight. They play good old traditional bluegrass, and give it a local flavor. I thought it might be a nice introduction to the place for you.”

I might not be a longtime resident, but I wasn’t a complete newcomer, either. Still, it was nice of Butch of suggest it. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“See you then.”

I tucked my phone into my pocket with a smile. Call the police to report a theft, get a date. The Outer Banks was turning out to be an interesting place to live.

My smile faded as I remembered precisely how interesting it was these days.

*

Bertie’s deception lasted until the end of the day.

A few minutes before closing, I was telling a middle-aged woman who’d gotten too much sun at the beach the dates of publication of Jane Austen’s books when Diane Uppiton slid up to me. I’d noticed her
earlier, peering into the cabinet, but other than wonder what had brought her back again, I paid her no further mind. From a distance, Bertie’s fake
Pride and Prejudice
spine was a match to the others. “Miss Richardson,” she interrupted. “If I may have a word.”

“I’m busy at the moment. Give me a few minutes.”

“Now, Miss Richardson.”

The sunburned lady said, “Not a problem. I’m done. Thanks.”

Ronald announced that the library was now closed and would reopen on Monday at nine. People began to file out.

“I need,” Diane declared, “access to the cabinet.”

“It’s locked.”

“So I noticed. Unlock it.”

“I don’t have the key.”

Her eyes shone with spite, and I knew something was up. “It isn’t in its proper place in Bertie’s office, either.”

“How do you know where the key’s kept?”

“I was married to the chair of the board of this library, and I am now a board member myself. It will suit you, Miss Richardson, to remember that means I’m your employer. Open the cabinet.”

“I don’t have a key.” And that was the truth. The key was in Bertie’s pocket. Where Bertie was, I didn’t know. Hiding in the closet, quite possibly.

“Is there a problem, Diane?” Ronald said. “We’re closed now.”

“I can see that, you fool. I want that cabinet opened. Immediately.”

Ronald shrugged. “It’s locked.”

“So I see. No doubt it’s locked so no one can see that one of the books—two of the books, in fact—are missing.”

Three guilty faces stared at her. “What?” Charlene said.

Diane swept her arm in a theatrical gesture, pointing to the cabinet. She was quite clearly enjoying this. Ronald, Charlene, and I were not. “What,” she demanded, “do you mean by that?”

Almost against our will, we leaned closer. I saw it first and sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

One of the classic volumes was now titled
Pride and Prejudise
.

Not only had poor Bertie been so upset at the theft of the second book as to make a typo on her fake cover, but Ronald, Charlene, and I hadn’t noticed.

Diane beamed as recognition crossed our faces. “Bertie has some explaining to do.”

“As do you, Diane,” said Bertie.

She had come into the room unnoticed and swooped immediately into the attack. Aunt Ellen had told me Bertie was a huge football fan. What did they say in football—the best defense was a good offense? “I’ve never before known you to have an interest in literature, or to spend any time in the library. And here you are, twice in one day. Any particular reason you are, uncharacteristically, wanting to get close to the Austen books?”

“As the newest member of the library board, it’s my duty to know what’s going on.”

“Very commendable of you. I would have thought, however, you’d begin with the budget, or
perhaps the staffing requirements. Not one particular item.”

Diane harrumphed. “Earlier today you reminded me yourself, Bertie, that it wasn’t a suitable time for budget talk. I’m wondering where else I can be of assistance.” She waved a hand in the air. Her nails were long and painted a bright red that matched her lipstick. Today she wore a pink wool suit that looked far too warm for the day and too formal for a summer’s Saturday afternoon in the Outer Banks. “Isn’t literature the business of this library?”

“Not as far as the board’s concerned. Your business is finances and the employees. We can discuss that another time, in the presence of the full board. It’s been a long week, and my staff and I are very tired.” Bertie walked to the door. “I’ll let you out.”

Diane began to follow. Then she stopped so abruptly, Charlene crashed into her. “Hey. You’re changing the subject. I might not have a fancy-dancy university degree, but I can spell, you know. That book’s fake.”

“Yes,” Bertie said. “I’ll take you into my confidence, Diane.
Pride and Prejudice
is, like
Sense and Sensibility
, missing.”

“You mean it was stolen.”

“For now, let’s say ‘missing.’ I don’t want word to get out. We have to maintain the reputation of the library.”

“Maintain your reputation you mean, Bertie.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you, Diane?”

Diane sputtered. “Are you accusing me?”

“Just asking.”