Behind the Veil

by Kathryn Nolan

  “Absolutely,” he replied. He reached forward, cradled the little book with reverence.

  Freya came back out in her usual oversized sweater and black leggings. “So you’ll never guess who the seller was.” She took Abe’s glass of whiskey as he scowled at her. “Charles fucking Kearney.”

  “Is that so?” Abe drawled.

  “It is so.” She drained the glass and sat next to me. “And I only had to threaten to kick him in the nuts once before he basically threw the book at me.”

  I reached over, squeezed her shoulder. “You’re a bad-ass, Frey,” I said.

  “By any means necessary,” Abe said approvingly. “I shall bring you donuts tomorrow.”

  “World’s Best Boss, ladies and gentlemen,” she mock-swooned at him.

  “Don’t get too excited,” he said, but the edges of his mouth tipped into a smile. “Well done.”

  She shrugged. “And you haven’t even heard the craziest part yet.”

  I turned and made eye contact with Henry for the first time since we’d left the gallery. It’d been so strange and uncomfortable to play at being married with the newbie that we hadn’t even debriefed.

  “It’s about Victoria Whitney. And Bernard. And the Copernicus exhibit.” I paused, searching for that same feeling from earlier. It was like attempting to discern navy-colored threads in a black sweater: easy to miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for. But Victoria had dropped plenty of clues and subconscious admissions—and I needed to put them all together. “I think she’s up to something.”

  Without a word, Abe slid two more glasses of whiskey over the desk—one for me, one for Henry. “Start from the beginning.”

  Abe listened with a steely expression as I unraveled the evening’s peculiar events: Henry impressing Victoria with his art history knowledge, the code word, her almost-buy with Charles, the strange way she was talking about the Copernicus. The fact that she seemed to know Bernard Allerton very, very well.

  “And Victoria was vague and a little guarded when I asked her the last time she’d seen him,” Henry cut in. “If they’re that close, she might know that he’s in hiding.”

  Abe leaned all the way forward, hands fisted together. “Tell me what she said again. The very last thing.”

  “I think you’ll find the exhibit sorely lacking,” I quoted.

  We were all quiet while Abe followed the trail of clues I’d presented.

  “I might have something,” Henry interrupted. He dropped his elbows to his knees, one hand rubbing his jaw. I knew what this was—had felt it often when I was a police detective. That nagging in your subconscious demanding your attention. “I wasn’t lying to Victoria when I told her librarians the world over know of her private collection. I knew of her before even meeting her tonight. She has a reputation for owning some of the rarest manuscripts in the world. Specifically from the handpress era. Like the Copernicus.”

  Henry’s dark eyes landed on mine. “Tonight, she said she first met Bernard many years ago, right?”

  “She did,” I said.

  “Bernard used to talk about this woman he called his Lady Love. She never came to the library, but he’d meet her all over the world. Istanbul, Barcelona, Paris. And she was from the States, so he often spent weeks at a time visiting her here. It stopped, about a year into my working with him. So nine years ago. I never gave it a thought, it was just one more funny quirk about him.”

  Awareness flooded his features—and a hint of that charming smile. “He always told me she was richer than God. And she was fascinated with the scientists who had discovered the heavens.”

  Henry pulled one of the postcards we’d been given at the event—the one with the picture of the Copernicus book on it. It was open to a famous drawing of the planets, drifting in orbit around the sun. I returned his smile—a tentative one—and his grew. I knew that feeling well, chased that feeling every day here. When the jumbled puzzle pieces of your mind clicked together to make something real.

  “I’m thinking something crazy,” I ventured.

  “I’m listening,” Abe said.

  “What if…” I took a deep breath. “What if Victoria took this book? Or is planning to take it, setting up a job before the exhibit?”

  It was a big leap—but Abe and Freya were already nodding.

  “I’ve certainly always suspected Victoria of dipping her toe in illegal waters,” Abe said. “When I was with the FBI, we had a lot of suspects like her—supremely wealthy collectors who had lawyers on retainer and always claimed they never knew anything.” He stopped, cocked his head. “I agree with you, Delilah. None of this sits right with me.”

  Freya fiddled with her bun. “This would certainly take the cake for most peculiar case…but I can see it.”

  The trust Abe and Freya returned to me so easily here always felt like a gift. One that I treasured greatly.

  Henry, however, was silent.

  “How did you get her to cozy up to you?” Abe asked.

  I coughed into my hand. “It’s nothing, really.”

  Freya hummed the opening bars of the “Wedding March” beneath her breath.

  “Victoria thought Henry and I were newlyweds, so we went with it. She thinks we eloped one month ago in Ireland beneath a veil of rose petals.” My palms were sticky as I dragged them up my thighs.

  Abe swirled his drink with expert care. “Interesting approach,” he mused. “Especially for your first day in the field.”

  “I didn’t do much,” Henry said. “Delilah took the lead. She did a great job on the spot.”

  “Delilah’s quick on her feet,” Abe said, giving me a nod of approval.

  I nodded back but knew later he’d ask me about Henry’s performance, how he kept his head under pressure. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the ability to charm a target—but he’d floundered when pushed past his comfort zone. If Freya and I could figure out a way to work this potential Victoria case, we’d nail it. No awkward training needed—Henry could get out in the field at a later date, for a case that would be a little less conspicuous.

  “So what do we do next?” I asked. Abe and Freya mirroring my suspicions had my bloodhound senses turned way up. My fingers flexed into my palm. I’d had mandatory Krav Maga self-defense training at the police academy, and when Abe learned I still practiced, he had a bag and a few mats installed in the office. Abe and Freya sparred with me sometimes, but I usually took my frustrations—or excitement—out on that punching bag. My knee was jiggling, and Freya placed a gentle hand to stop it.

  Abe tapped his pen hard against the desk. Stared out the window. “Usually, Codex is hired when a book is missing,” he said to Henry, by way of explanation. “We don’t go to a potential client and beg for a job. So I’m not saying we should do this all of the time. And it’s certainly a massive risk.”

  “But we’d have a huge reward,” Freya sang.

  “Are you suggesting we go to the Franklin Museum and ask them if their Copernicus is missing based on a collective hunch?” Henry asked.

  “Yes,” Abe said. “Does that concern you?”

  “It does,” Henry said, blowing out a breath. “I’m not trying to step on any toes, and I’m certainly no expert, but what is our hard evidence exactly?”

  “None.” Abe shrugged. “But Delilah and Freya have fairly good instincts I find are right the majority of the time.”

  “And when they’re wrong?”

  Henry cast his gaze toward me. But I didn’t have a response for that.

  “I don’t believe they are,” Abe shot back.

  “Okay,” Henry conceded, after a moment of silence. But he didn’t expand.

  My fingers flexed at my sides in preparation, attempting to ignore my disappointment that my new coworker seemed reluctant. But Abe was already on the move—standing swiftly, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. “Then I think we should go pay the president of the Franklin Museum a late-night visit.”

  7

  Delilahr />
  Pale moonlight shimmered on the broad steps that led to the very top of the Franklin Museum. The building sat like a coliseum—round columns towered over us as we raced up the stairs. The museum was utterly silent, tomb-like, but Abe insisted that Francisco would be there.

  “On a scale of one to fucking ten, how would you rate your first day of field work?” Freya asked Henry. To his credit, he wasn’t even out of breath, taking long, confident strides that dwarfed my own.

  “Fucking ten seems fair,” he said. “I suppose I thought there’d be more HR paperwork to fill out before I embarked on this evening’s adventure.”

  Freya shook her head. “Only if you fuck up.”

  Henry’s warm laugh echoed in the quiet of the courtyard. We’d reached the main doors, but Abe was leading us to an unremarkable-looking side door. His phone was at his ear in an instant.

  “Francisco,” he said. “Fancy a late-night visit from an old friend?”

  “How does Abe know him again?” Henry asked, dropping his voice.

  “FBI contacts,” I replied. “Before he left to start Codex, he’d worked Art Theft for years. He knows everyone in Philly connected to art. And they all seem to owe him favors.”

  Henry slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Interesting.”

  “What?” I asked.

  He adjusted his glasses. “This night is nothing like a typical night in my former life as a librarian, that’s all. Just noting the difference.”

  “In a good way?” I asked.

  Our eyes met in the darkness. “Very,” he said.

  “The only reason a bunch of Codex agents would be storming my castle past midnight would be if I stole something.” A short, balding man with tan skin and gold glasses was standing in the unremarkable doorway.

  “Well, did you?” Abe asked.

  The man huffed out a breath. “Come in. The kettle is on. For God’s sake, don’t touch anything.”

  We trailed in after Francisco and down a long hallway lit with glowing lights nestled in the floorboards. Rooms opened up on the left and right—empty exhibits, glass cases standing like guards, looking eerie in the absence of patrons. My detective instincts were intrigued at the shadowy corners, the darkened hiding spots.

  Next to me, Freya mimed running her hands over every object until I had to stifle a laugh.

  “In here,” Francisco said, opening the door marked Francisco Abila, Executive Director. “Let me go get the kettle.”

  Inside the cozy office, Abe perched on the edge of the director’s desk while Freya found a small couch. Henry and I both moved for the same chair at the same time—bumping each other clumsily.

  “Oh, sorry, do you —”

  “No, not at all,” he said. “I insist.”

  “I can stand,” I said hastily.

  “Delilah,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice. “Sit. Please.”

  I did—but not without wondering how on earth Victoria Whitney had assumed Henry Finch and I were newlyweds.

  I sat and Henry leaned his back against the wall next to me, which made him appear even taller in the narrow space. All four of us were silent—but Abe’s fingers tapped rapidly against the desk.

  “I’m not even going to bother with many pleasantries,” Francisco said, coming back in with mugs of tea for each of us. It was hot and soothing—but it couldn’t quell the spiky adrenaline still coursing through my veins. “I’m assuming you all work for Abe?”

  Abe waved his hand at us absent-mindedly. “Freya Evandale. Delilah Barrett. Henry Finch.”

  Francisco glanced up sharply. “Henry Finch? You’re the special collections librarian from Oxford, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” Henry replied, surprised. “Or, I was, rather. I work for Codex now. Have we met before?”

  “No,” Francisco said, “but your name is rather familiar in certain circles, I’m sure you know. Because of Bernard Allerton.”

  It was unclear what Francisco meant—and I knew enough from Abe to understand that Bernard’s current situation wasn’t entirely public. But Francisco was already moving on. “And I haven’t seen Abraham in years. Has it been more than five?”

  “I was still with the FBI, leading a team that recovered a stolen Gutenberg Bible that had been taken from the museum during a burglary,” Abe added.

  I looked up at Henry.

  “There are only forty-nine surviving copies left. It’s extremely rare,” Henry explained.

  “It was absolutely horrible when it was taken,” Francisco said. “And agonizing during the search and recovery. But Abraham got it back. It had been stolen by a trio of thieves who’d broken in through our air conditioning ducts.” On cue, we all stared up at the ceiling. “Which are now protected against that kind of thing. They’d been able to sell the book to the highest bidder—privately—within fifteen hours.”

  “Did the bidder know it had been stolen?” Henry asked.

  “Yes, he most certainly did,” Francisco replied.

  I noted Henry’s shocked reaction at that. Which was strange, given what I knew had happened to him before he’d come to Codex. But maybe he’d been less aware of theft and fraud than I realized.

  “I’ve heard great things about the upcoming Copernicus exhibit,” Abe said, directing our conversation to the potential crisis at hand.

  For a split second, Francisco’s expression wavered. Then he plastered on a conciliatory smile. “We’re truly excited. It’s one of the highest honors that’s ever been bestowed upon this museum.”

  “Hit any snags? Any issues with the planning of it?”

  “Not at all,” Francisco said smoothly. “It’s been clear sailing.”

  Abe tapped his fingers again and held the other man’s stare. I could feel Abe turning the situation over in his mind, searching for holes. “We’ve come into some information that I thought you needed to be made aware of immediately, which is why we’re visiting you at such an odd hour. It’s about the Copernicus exhibit.”

  “Go on,” Francisco said.

  “Henry and Delilah were working a case at the Smith Sampson art gallery opening this evening, and they had a very intriguing conversation with Victoria Whitney, your board member.”

  “I’m well aware of our most famous and beloved board member,” Francisco sniffed. “What about her?”

  Abe let another silence linger until Francisco fidgeted. “We suspect she might be planning on stealing the Copernicus manuscript before the exhibit in three weeks.”

  “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard.” Francisco looked down at the floor. “You mean the Victoria Whitney?”

  “If you haven’t already, you need to find an even better way to secure it,” Abe said softly. “Believe me, we know it sounds absurd.”

  Francisco was still looking away, nostrils flared.

  “Francisco,” Abe continued, “certainly stranger things have happened in the time that we’ve known each other. I can have Freya and Delilah consult on your security system if you’d like, make sure there are systems in place to ensure a person like Victoria can’t gain special access to it.”

  “She’s president of the board. Of course, she has special access,” Francisco replied. “She’s had special access this entire time.”

  His face was turning a sickening green right in front of our eyes. And my heart leapt at the phrase special access.

  Abe arched an eyebrow at Freya and me. I sat forward, tugged by that pesky voice in my subconscious. With a nod, I mouthed do it.

  “Of course,” Abe began, “this would be an entirely different conversation if the book had already been stolen.”

  That sentence landed like a grenade in the quiet room.

  “Abraham, if the Franklin Museum had been the victim of a theft of that magnitude, don’t you think you would be aware of it?” Francisco’s voice held a tremor that hadn’t been there before.

  Abe didn’t answer. His body language was sharp but knowing. Francisco’s
was fearful. I peered up at Henry to see if he was watching—evaluating the many ways the body can expose a lie was good training for a new private detective.

  But Henry was watching me.

  “If the museum has been a victim of theft, don’t you think Codex would be able to help?”

  Francisco sipped his tea angrily. Grumbled beneath his breath. An intense stare-down occurred between the two men—one that I imagined contained years of working history and professional respect.

  “You know I’m always right,” Abe finally said.

  Francisco’s cup clattered onto the saucer.

  “Our first edition of On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres was stolen two weeks ago, the day that it arrived from England.”

  All the air left my lungs. Next to me, Henry stood up straight, as if primed to run.

  Abe, meanwhile, sat still as a statue. “Who’s working the case, Francisco?”

  “The local police. The FBI. They’ve been sworn to secrecy so there isn’t a media spectacle but they—” He ran a palm over his head. “They can’t seem to find it and they’re running low on suspects. It’s an absolute mess.” Unburdened, he sank back in his chair and held his hands up, as if in apology. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Of course not,” Abe said. “But if they’re not making any headway, let us get it back for you. You know we can do it.”

  Confronted with the enormity of this case—its high-profile nature, the stakes, the money—I was hit with the full extent of the risk Abe was taking. But he appeared cool and confident perched on the desk while goosebumps broke out across my skin.

  “All of this is a disaster,” Francisco said quietly. “The museum that’s loaning us the copy is beyond furious. I’ve had to lie to the press. The board is out of their minds. It’ll be my head on the block if this gets out.”

  Freya slid a concerned look my way. Maybe Victoria had hinted at the missing Copernicus because Francisco had told her—not because she was the thief. My stomach rolled violently at the thought—had we leapt to all the wrong conclusions already?