The ping-pong ball in my brain had bounced far off course.
“Oh, you’re flattering me,” she sighed.
“Absolutely not,” he said, palm against his chest.
“You can do conservation?” she asked, fingers touching her pearls.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I occasionally hire conservationists to work in my collections room. Maybe I could hire you sometime?”
I held my breath.
“Certainly,” he said.
Victoria flashed a smile, and I let out a soft exhale. Was Henry getting us access to Victoria Whitney? She’d never been a Codex target but she was filthy rich and had an ego the size of Pennsylvania.
And Charles Kearney had given her the code.
What the hell was going on?
“Where have you worked, Henry?” she asked. A few members of her former audience were standing in the sidelines of this conversation.
“Oh, you mean as a librarian?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed. He rubbed the back of his head, looking almost sheepish. “Let’s see… I’ve worked in New York City at the Central Park Library. I’ve worked at Trinity College in Dublin. Cardinal Madrid in Spain. I, uh…”
“He freelances now,” I filled in. “As a consultant.”
I prayed that librarians could be consultants.
“How lovely,” she sighed. “You probably know my dear friend. Bernard Allerton. Head librarian at the McMasters Library in Oxford for years and years.”
“Bernard?” He gripped the stem of his glass so hard I worried he’d snap it.
“Yes,” she said, taking a step back. A dozen slightly ill-fitting puzzle pieces flew together in my brain. Abe told us Bernard was Henry’s former boss at the McMasters Library and currently on the run from the FBI for theft. Over the past three months, Abe had fed us updates from his contact at the FBI, but they were keeping his name from the papers, hoping to flush him out.
The last we’d heard, Bernard was still missing.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I was just surprised you knew him. I never—” Henry coughed, “I never had the privilege of working with him. But I certainly know who he is.”
“Such a shame you’ve never met.” She fluttered her hands. “Fifteen years ago, when I began collecting antiques, I went right to Bernard and demanded a meeting with him. Wanted to know every valuable item I should collect. The time period, the pieces.” She tilted her chin with a Mona Lisa smile. “I saw him every time I went to Europe.”
Henry’s jaw flexed.
“What a…small world,” he said thickly. “You’ve seen him? Recently?”
Her expression grew guarded. “Oh, I can’t remember when last. Months ago, probably.”
I wished Freya was here. Something wasn’t right about this.
“And now I have one of the most coveted private collections in the entire world.” She sipped her champagne; flagged down a passing waiter for more. “All of it thanks to that man.”
Another passing distraction caught her attention. She moved to my right, about to leave.
“Are you excited for the Copernicus exhibit next month?” I asked, desperate to keep her talking to us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charles, looking rumpled and flustered. No sign of Freya. “The one at the Franklin?”
Victoria paused in her step, looked between the two of us like she was bursting to share a secret. But all she finally said was, “Of course. I sit on the board of every single museum in the city. I even helped facilitate the exhibit. Do you know how many first-edition copies of On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres there are left in this world, Henry?”
“267,” he said without hesitation.
“Not many in private hands, I assume.”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “There are a handful, but that manuscript is 550 years old.”
“Meaning?” Her tone was sharp.
“Meaning…” Henry started. He tilted his head, dropped his voice. “Meaning it would take a highly skilled private collector to get it into their hands.”
She was flattered. “Highly skilled and richer than God.”
He laughed—a husky sound that made him look even more handsome.
“It sounds like you’re up to the task, Victoria.”
“A lady never tells her secrets, Henry,” she replied in an almost-whisper. Her eyes were glittering.
“Delilah and I were planning on attending the exhibit,” he continued.
“Yes, well…” She clicked her rings against her glass. “Who knows how it will turn out.”
Charles wandered over and tapped Victoria’s shoulder sheepishly.
From her answering expression, I guessed Victoria Whitney didn’t enjoy being tapped.
“Later.” She bared her teeth at him and he slunk off. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was supposed to pick an item up from him this evening but I’ve lost interest. I came into something quite extraordinary recently. Bernard is going to die when I tell him.”
Everything in the room fell to a muted silence—a precipitating event that usually meant I was about to get a lead. In the police force, before everything happened, my nickname had been the Bloodhound for my ability to sniff out a thief. And right now, I was only aware of the sophisticated heiress posing in front of me, framed by the blood-red painting she’d described as filled with a dreadful darkness.
Victoria Whitney reeked of lies and deception. The kind of stench that had me yearning for my handcuffs like a missing limb.
I leaned in close, allowing myself one last second of contemplation before I trusted my instincts. The past two years had been a slow, painful process of learning to trust myself again—and every time I took a single step forward, I tumbled two steps backward. But my gut was practically screaming at me.
So I took a deep breath and touched her arm like we were the best of friends. “This might be a bit forward,” I said, voice low. “But didn’t we once meet you at Reichenbach Falls?”
Victoria held my attention for a long, agonizing minute. She crossed her arms delicately, champagne glass aloft.
And when she grinned, it was full of mischief.
“Henry and Delilah,” she murmured. “The two of you just became even more interesting.”
“You probably can’t tell us about your…new acquisition, can you?” I said this timidly—knowing it was a long-shot. Victoria was essentially a walking ego but she wasn’t stupid.
Her expression confirmed this. “No, my dear.” She patted my hand. “But I will keep the two of you in mind for the future. For your collection, Henry.”
I guessed he was probably confused by all of this—and luckily he stayed silent, merely nodding along.
“We would love that.”
Victoria beamed at me. Then grabbed my left hand and held it toward her face. “Now, let me ask you a forward question.”
“Uh…um, okay,” I stumbled.
She stared at my left finger. “What’s a married woman doing without her wedding ring? Henry, don’t tell me you never bought her one.”
I almost dropped my glass.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“A ring, darling,” she said, speaking to him like he was a child. “Your wife is the most beautiful woman here and she’s not even wearing a diamond, let alone the four diamonds that she deserves.”
“Delilah and I aren’t married,” Henry said. He glanced back and forth between us as if waiting for another explanation. And I watched as Victoria’s attention began to sharpen, spotting a fake.
“Henry has a…a very dry sense of humor,” I stammered. Two years of training with Freya kicked in. I slid over and wrapped my arm around Henry’s, laying my cheek against his jacket. “He likes to joke around.”
His arm moved—as if to jerk away—and I locked mine tighter. Trapping us together.
“The two of you are just the sweetest.” She pressed her hands to her chest. “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds, but any
hopeless romantic worth their salt can see it.”
He was struggling to contain his confusion.
“I guess,” I said, shrugging meekly. The ping-pong in my head was back.
But Victoria shook her head in disbelief. “So humble,” she tsked. “It’s glaringly obvious.”
“What is?” Henry asked.
She propped her hands on her hips. “That the two of you are newlyweds.”
5
Henry
“Oh, wait a moment,” Victoria said, holding her talon-like finger up. “Bitzi is coming. You can tell both of us about your wedding. And I want an answer about that ring, Henry.”
“Who’s Bitzi?” I managed. A woman who looked almost exactly like Victoria came striding through the crowd. Victoria waved—but beneath her breath said, “She’s my archnemesis. I despise her.”
And then she proceeded to greet her nemesis like a long-lost sister she hadn’t seen in a decade.
Delilah took the brief reprieve to curve her body into mine, tipping her lips against my ear.
“We’re definitely married. Follow my lead, newbie.”
She moved away but kept our arms lightly entwined.
It was my first day in the field as a private detective for Codex. And I was already fake married to my coworker.
The past three months had been a whirlwind of chaos and change. After many interviews with Interpol, I was—thankfully—no longer a person of interest in Bernard’s case. And like Abe had predicted, the forged letters were discredited almost immediately. I’d resigned from the McMasters Library, much to Louisa’s fury and the community’s shock. Packed up my flat in Oxford and moved back home to Philadelphia, where Codex was located. Began the process of becoming a private detective—all while spending most of my days positive Abe would realize the giant mistake he’d made in hiring a rare book librarian to do the job of a law enforcement officer. I’d mostly been separate, squirreled away doing research for Abe as Freya and Delilah tracked down stolen books.
But deep down I’d wanted this, wanted this taste of the thrilling adrenaline I’d felt the night I confronted Bernard. Wanted to give into that thirst for revenge that was now a constant presence in my thoughts.
And now that I was here, in the field, I realized how little I knew.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Delilah said to Bitzi, who barely acknowledged her before turning toward me.
“And who is this?” she squealed
“My husband,” Delilah blurted, nudging my shoulder. The word husband stunned me into silence—and in reality, I was still stunned from Victoria’s admission that she knew Bernard. I wanted to press pause on this entire interaction and beg her for more details.
But instead I took Bitzi’s hand and brought it to my lips. “Yes, of course. So nice to meet you. How long have you and Victoria known each other?”
“That’s top secret information, Henry,” Victoria crooned. “Now I was telling Bitzi the two of you are newlyweds. How long ago did you get married?”
“One month ago,” Delilah said, at the exact moment as I said, “Six months.”
There was a long beat of awkwardness. Delilah stared up at me with barely concealed irritation.
“Um…” I started.
“Do you not know how long you’ve been married?” Victoria’s words dripped with elegant sarcasm.
“You know librarians,” Delilah simpered. “He’s always got his head in the clouds.”
“I guess…” I started, “it feels like we’ve been married for ages.” I turned to my coworker. Up close, I noted the flecks of sea-green in her blue eyes. “It feels like we’ve always been married, if I’m being honest.”
Her lips parted on a breath.
“So how long has it been?” Victoria’s brow arched.
“One month,” we said in unison. Thankfully.
“Such a perfect young love,” Bitzi said. “I haven’t gotten my husband to look at me the way Henry looks at you, darling, in ages and ages.”
Victoria’s knowing smirk spoke volumes about her opinion of Bitzi’s husband.
“Now tell us about the big day. Are there pictures?” she asked.
Delilah opened her mouth. Closed it.
“We eloped, actually,” I said hurriedly. Delilah squeezed my arm in surprise. “One of those spur of the moment things. We were visiting Trinity Library, wandering through the stacks, and…” I paused, tried to let an imaginary movie play in my mind. I considered my coworker, whom I’d barely spoken to in three months. She had the bearing of a silent film star: tall, lithe, graceful. Delilah had pale-white skin, full red lips, and a mess of raven curls. And she could take down a man twice her size without batting an eye.
How would you propose to a woman like that?
“The sun from the stained-glass windows was illuminating her,” I told Bitzi and Victoria. “And we’ve been together for so long, the only reason we hadn’t done it was because we were waiting for the time to be just right. But really, shouldn’t the time be when you are madly in love?” I didn’t even chance a glance at Delilah—I’d either burst out in nervous laughter or sprint from the room. “So I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. And when she said yes, I suggested we get married that day, right where we were.”
Bitzi watched me with an enchanted expression. Victoria plucked at her pearls and seemed sad.
“You must have been so surprised,” Bitzi said, clutching at Delilah’s arm.
Delilah nodded. “Yes. Very, very surprised. We got married an hour later. Right in the…in the famous place at Trinity Library where everyone gets married. You know the one.”
“The Long Room?” I asked.
“Is it a question?” Victoria looked as confused as I felt.
I faked a laugh. “It was The Long Room. The library patrons were our guests. They stood around during our ceremony and tossed, um…” I racked my brain. “Tossed rose petals that someone bought at a corner store.”
The back of my neck felt hot and my heart was clamoring so hard I felt almost dizzy. But next to me, Delilah seemed serene. I couldn’t tell if I was ruining everything or actually convincing them.
“He’s always been a romantic,” she said. She tucked herself against my chest just as I happened to turn—causing my lips to brush the soft strands of her hair.
“Yes, I can see that,” Victoria said. “And the ring?”
Fuck. I should have been using this time to come up with a plausible reason why Delilah wasn’t wearing a ring.
“Oh, it’s…um…” I stammered.
“We just haven’t found the right one yet. For either of us.” Delilah nudged my side, and at the last second, I realized what she wanted.
“I’m not wearing one either.” I held up my left hand. “So if you have any good jewelers please send them our way.”
“Yes,” Victoria said softly. “I just might.” She handed us one of the postcards that had been floating around advertising the Copernicus exhibit. “Can you place your phone number there for me, please?”
“Of course,” Delilah said, snatching the card from her. “Henry, let’s use yours.” She gave a subtle nod. So I scribbled down my real phone number for the most famous woman in the city.
As Bitzi bade us farewell, I stared at the postcard, recognizing the famous manuscript on the front. I’d once handled Oxford’s copy of On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres, and it had been one of the most magnificent books I’d ever seen. Since it was printed in the handpress era, it was riddled with mistakes, overcome with age, and the gilded flowers on each page had permanently lost their sheen. But there was no doubting the feeling it evoked in me—that sense of glorious wonder.
“So, will we see you at this exhibit in a few weeks?” I asked.
“No, that’s unlikely,” she said. “And, if I can be perfectly honest, I don’t suggest going.” She reached between us and snatched the card back, depositing it in her purse. “I think you’ll find it sorely lacking.” She g
rimaced at something behind us. “As much as I’d love to talk with you two for this entire night, I’m afraid my audience expects me. I’ll be calling you, Henry. And I do expect you to answer.”
And with that, Victoria Whitney disappeared into the crowd.
As soon as she was out of sight, Delilah sprang from my arm like it was on fire.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” I asked.
“No, no,” she said nervously. “I’m fine. But we need to go find Freya. And we really need to talk to Abe.”
“Okay,” I said, slipping my hands into my pockets.
Delilah bit her lip. Tapped her foot. “Okay.”
She turned and left as quickly as Victoria, like our entire interaction—and sudden marriage—had never even happened.
6
Delilah
Codex was located on the second floor of a 300-year-old carriage house in Old City. The first floor was Marple’s Home for Used and Abandoned Books, run by a seventy-five-year-old woman named Bea. She had two great loves in her life: Agatha Christie and men with cute butts, and she let us run amok on the second story without ever saying a word.
It was almost midnight now as Freya, Henry and I wove our way through stacks of dusty books and climbed the rickety spiral staircase to our offices. Abe was sitting behind his desk in a dark suit with a glass of whiskey in his hand, fire roaring behind him. When Abe had started Codex, he hadn’t changed much of the second story’s historical details—old wood floors, brick walls, fireplaces in every room.
“Returning triumphantly?” he asked.
“Yes, which means I deserve some of that whiskey and to change back into my yoga pants.” Freya yawned, placing a wrapped package on the edge of Abe’s desk before loping off to the bathroom.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked.
“It’s the Bradbury,” I said, sinking into a chair. Henry sat next to me, still looking immaculate. He’d barely said a word as I rattled off our conversation with Victoria to Freya on the ride home.
Behind the Veil Page 4
