by Clea Simon
‘I’ll take over, guard,’ said Wardley, his voice a low growl. ‘Good work.’ He then turned to Griddlehaus. ‘I assume you can verify that this document belongs in the library?’
‘Indeed, I can. We were just looking for it,’ said Griddlehaus. He turned from the burly officer to Dulcie. ‘But how …’
‘This is ridiculous.’ The enormity of the situation was beginning to dawn on Dulcie. ‘You can’t think that I would steal something like this. It’s too important. Too valuable …’
‘Maybe too valuable to share?’ Wardley’s voice didn’t invite an answer. In silence Dulcie just turned from the police officer to her friend Griddlehaus, who was staring at her, eyes wide.
THIRTY
‘This is ridiculous.’ Dulcie was talking to the young guard, who seemed intent on leading her out of the library in disgrace. ‘You can’t believe this,’ she said to Griddlehaus, who stood, staring at her. ‘You can’t.’
‘Please, Miss.’ The guard put his hand on her upper arm. ‘You’ll have to come with me.’
‘No, wait.’ Dulcie reached for her bag, which still lay on the counter. ‘My phone.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time for calls once we have this straightened out.’ Wardley pulled the denim holdall toward himself. ‘I’m afraid I’ll be taking this down to the station.’
‘What’s going on here?’ A familiar voice broke in, and Dulcie turned to see Stuart Truckworth approaching. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I’ll say.’ Wardley was scowling. ‘It seems this young lady had something in her purse that didn’t belong to her.’
Truckworth blanched. ‘She what?’
‘She was attempting to sneak a rare document out of the library.’ Wardley’s voice was grim.
‘I was not!’ Dulcie was yelling now. Nobody seemed to be listening to her. ‘I have no idea how that got into my bag. I never – I wouldn’t have. Mr Griddlehaus?’ She turned to her colleague. ‘Tell them.’
For an awful moment, there was silence. Dulcie stood there, waiting, while the librarian’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. On every side of her, people were waiting – Wardley, Truckworth, that guard. She even caught a movement off by circulation: Ruby, come to see what all the fuss was about. For a very long moment, nobody said anything.
Then, finally, Griddlehaus spoke. ‘I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding,’ he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. ‘In fact, I believe I can explain everything. Ms Schwartz and I were looking for just this document, before she announced that she had to leave. I wanted her to see it, of course, so I put it right on top of her books. Clearly, she didn’t notice what I had done and packed it into her carryall with her own materials. A perfectly ordinary, honest mistake. That’s all it was. An honest mistake, and partly—’ he paused and looked around – ‘my fault.’
Now it was Dulcie’s turn to be dumbfounded. She had expected – no, she had hoped for – a declaration of support. Not an outright lie. ‘Mr Griddlehaus …’ She stopped, unsure what to say.
‘Well, there you go.’ Truckworth barged in, before Dulcie could formulate a sentence. ‘That explains everything.’
Stepping in front of Dulcie, he reached for her bag. Lieutenant Wardley looked at him, eyes closing slightly, as if he didn’t quite accept the explanation, but he released the worn denim holdall to the facilities manager.
‘You should be more careful,’ Truckworth said, handing it to her. ‘You were lucky you had a member of the staff here to vouch for you.’
Turning to Griddlehaus, he pointed to the page in its clear cover. ‘I assume there has been no harm done to the document? That you can put it back in its proper place?’
‘Of course.’ Griddlehaus didn’t clasp the page to his chest. It was far too fragile for that. But Dulcie saw his hands tighten on it as he drew it closer. ‘In fact, I’ll go do that now.’
‘Good.’ Truckworth looked quite pleased with himself. ‘All settled.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ Wardley’s voice was a low growl. ‘Truckworth, can I speak with you?’
‘Of course,’ said the facilities manager. ‘Good day, all.’
Dulcie watched as Truckworth led the police lieutenant off to a private office and then turned to see Griddlehaus heading toward the elevators. More than anything, she wanted to follow him. To assure him that she had no idea how that page had come to be in her bag – and to thank him for his quick-witted response on her behalf. His lie, if she called it what it really was. But even though Wardley had disappeared in Truckworth’s wake, the young guard who had been holding her arm remained. He had resumed his station behind the counter, but his glare did not make Dulcie feel welcome. No, she was innocent, and she knew it. But until this particular mystery was unraveled, she should give the library – or at least this particular guard – a wide berth.
Still, she wanted to speak to Griddlehaus, and so even as she left the library, she lingered. He had been the one who had suggested lunch. Surely, he would still be hungry.
She certainly was. The entire episode couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes, and yet it had left her drained. Even standing, peering up the stairs at the library’s main entrance, was an effort, and so Dulcie sat, first brushing off the lingering wet snow that had accumulated on the stone stairs and then tucking her coat underneath her.
What had happened made no sense. That document had been in the Mildon – Griddlehaus’s filing system was beyond reproach. Then it hadn’t been – not that either of them could see, at any rate. For it to show up – in her possession – meant that something was horribly amiss.
The library was not the safe place she had always assumed it was. Not if something like this could happen. Something that nearly got her … no, she didn’t want to think about it. If the worst had happened, she would have called Suze. Her former room-mate might not have been supportive when it came to Jeremy’s plight, but she would certainly rally in Dulcie’s defense.
Yes, Dulcie decided, she ought to call Suze tonight, just in case that bully Wardley decided he didn’t believe Griddlehaus’s story. Besides, their last conversation had been so brief. It was her own fault, Dulcie knew. Between work and Chris and the ease of socializing with friends still on campus, she had let their friendship lapse. This week, with everyone else out of town, she was reminded of just how much she missed her one-time roomie. She would have to make the effort to keep up their relationship, and not just reach out when she needed help.
With that thought in mind, Dulcie wondered about talking to Detective Rogovoy. Dulcie wasn’t sure what the hierarchy was in the university police department, but every interaction she had seen between the ogre-like detective and uniformed police officers had implied that he was, if not in charge, at least held in high esteem. He would believe in her innocence, if she needed another ally.
Of course, talking to Rogovoy was still talking to a cop. It would help if Dulcie had something to offer him. Some idea of how that precious scrap had gotten into her bag.
Now that she was out of danger – and getting cold – her mind began working again. Sadly, she realized that the possibilities were legion. First off was that big guard – Thumbkin. Dulcie didn’t like to think he was behind slipping the document in among her belongings. She had thought him a gentle giant. A potential friend. Besides, he had done her a favor – taking her bag into the administrative office instead of turning it in. Anyone in there could have put the document inside, Dulcie realized. That meant anyone on the library staff. Or any number of university officials who might have reason to pass through.
Perhaps, she decided, she should start at the other end. Where had the document come from? Who had snuck it out of the Mildon and for what reason?
She could have laughed. For what reason? The scrap of paper with its nearly illegible writing was a rare thing, an artifact. Someone who coveted such things probably needed no other excuse. Why steal diamonds? Why steal books?
Unbidden, an image of Jer
emy came to mind, skinny and shivering in his threadbare coat. The book he’d been found with hadn’t been the most valuable piece in the library, but it had been an antique and held some value. Why hadn’t he sold it? Exchanged it at one of the Square’s used and antiquarian booksellers for the means of purchasing food, shelter, and warmth? No, there was no questioning why. People either understood that books – that writing – had worth beyond their monetary value, or they didn’t. So why did he have it at all?
That line of thought still led her back to her own situation. Could it all have been some awful form of practical joke? A mistake of some sort? Or had it been something more nefarious?
Had someone wanted to frame Dulcie? Someone who perhaps knew that the police lieutenant would be there, when she was caught? Someone who wanted to ruin her? This must have been what happened to Kyle, she found herself thinking. He had seemed unaware, too. Perhaps both of them had been set up.
Unless … The heavy sinking feeling that settled on Dulcie was due to more than cold and hunger. No, it came with the sudden realization that there was another person who had had access to her bag and, maybe, also to the Mildon. Kyle Truckworth. She had regarded him as a friend because he was part of her larger social circle. What did she know about him really? That he worked in the library. That he was at odds with his influential father – at odds, maybe, with the university his father represented. And that he, too, was under suspicion for theft.
Maybe Chris was right. And what had Lucy said, about her young companion? It saddened her to think this way, but she couldn’t escape the idea that perhaps Kyle was behind her mishap. That he had secreted the purloined document in her bag as a way to deflect suspicion for the burglary on to her and, possibly, to clear himself.
There were too many loose ends, and Dulcie let her face sink into her hands as she sat there, her bottom growing cold from the stone. Too many mysteries about where the page had been and how it had been spirited out of the Mildon in the first place. And even though Griddlehaus had lied – there was no other word for it – to keep her from being taken away in shame, she knew he would never trust her again. She had been in the Mildon. He had turned his back, and a page had disappeared. He had to suspect her. She would suspect herself if the roles were reversed. Looked at objectively, she was the likeliest culprit. Besides, she had been sitting out here for a good fifteen minutes by then. Griddlehaus would have emerged by now if he still wanted to go to lunch with her. He would have come out to talk to her if he really believed in her innocence. If he really wanted to set things right. He couldn’t trust her any more, she knew. That friendship, which had only started to blossom, was over.
Dulcie closed her eyes. It was all too much. But as she did, she saw a movement. Maybe an old, dried leaf caught up in the wind. Maybe something even less substantial – a shadow flitting, caught in the corner of her eye – but it caught her attention, and she jerked her head up.
‘Mr Grey?’ More likely a squirrel, she told herself. A squirrel or one of those rats. Something scared out of hiding by the jackhammer noise. But, no, she saw it again – grey and too large to be either form of rodent. ‘Is that you?’
‘Courage, Dulcie.’ The voice seemed to sound within her head, and yet as she looked the shadow seemed to gather and form. Dulcie could make out the sleek whiskers, the silver softness of the fur. ‘You must search for it – for me.’
In response, Dulcie stood and stepped toward the apparition. As she did, she brushed off the remnants of the ice – and with it her most morbid thoughts – and even as she did, the shape began to waver and fade, till only the line of the whiskers was visible, a silver flicker in the air. Then, even that was gone. It didn’t matter. Dulcie had been heartened by the visit even as she puzzled over its enigmatic message.
Clearly, she decided, she had work to do. She had to quit waiting for Griddlehaus. He was never going to come out, but she – and this she felt firmly about – was going to treat herself to a nice, albeit late lunch.
‘Thank you, Mr Grey,’ she whispered to the frosty air. ‘I needed that.’
What she needed to do was to figure out how to proceed. What would Hermetria, the heroine of The Ravages of Umbria, do? That intrepid character had faced demon wolves and betrayal. Surely a library mishap would not be beyond her. Surely Hermetria would know how to decipher the various clues she had been given.
Some steaming split pea soup would help, and she sped up as she turned the corner – and heard a strange hiss.
‘Ms Schwartz!’ The hiss was followed by a voice and she spun around, looking for its source. ‘Ms Schwartz, over here!’
By the trees, where she had seen the shadow, a glint of light. The reflection of the weak sun on glasses. Griddlehaus was motioning for her to come closer.
‘Mr Griddlehaus!’ She raced over. ‘But I thought you were inside – in the Mildon. That document …’
‘I was.’ He was crouched behind the tree, and now looked around nervously. ‘I did. I filed it properly, and I made extra sure that the collection was secured when I left. I’ve been waiting here for you, Ms Schwartz. We have to talk.’
‘I didn’t do it.’ Now that she had a chance to explain herself, the words poured forth. ‘I don’t know how that got into my bag or where it came from. I mean, I remember seeing it, but I would never—’
‘No, no.’ His voice, though hushed, carried a sense of urgency. ‘I know that, Ms Schwartz. You can’t believe for a minute that I would think you capable of – of showing such disrespect for the material.’ He paused. ‘Or for the Mildon.’
‘Thank you.’ She could have hugged the little man. ‘I thought that when you didn’t come out …’
‘I left via the back entrance,’ he said, his voice hushed. ‘I’ve been trying to get your attention for some time now.’
She shook her head, confused.
‘I don’t think this is random, Ms Schwartz,’ he said. ‘I fear that you are being watched.’
THIRTY-ONE
‘Why?’ Dulcie’s first response was to spin around, as if she would spy a shadowy figure behind each tree. ‘Mr Griddlehaus, what are you talking about?’
‘Come with me.’ He led the way out of the Yard, avoiding both the library’s rear entrance and the excavation. Only once they were out on the street did he stop and turn to her again. ‘I don’t know if it was your questions or simply that you were convenient, but I do believe you were targeted, and I didn’t want to take any chances. Lala’s?’
The apparent non sequitur threw Dulcie for a few seconds, but her growling stomach understood. ‘Yes, please.’
The combination of the hour – it was after three – and the break meant that the Mass Ave storefront was virtually empty when they walked inside. Still, Griddlehaus silently led them to a back table. Only once they had ordered did he begin to speak.
‘Ms Schwartz, I know you didn’t remove that fragment.’ He leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial hush. ‘We both know that it went missing before I reopened the Mildon, before either of us was in there. The first question, therefore, is when did it go missing?’
‘During the break-in?’ Dulcie thought back to what she knew. The Islington Bible had been the apparent target, but maybe the thieves were grabbing whatever they could.
Griddlehaus was shaking his head. ‘I don’t think so. We had the security gates down by then, and even if the thieves had managed to breach the Mildon, I doubt they would have had time to re-secure the gates. Not so that I wouldn’t notice, at any rate.’
Dulcie nodded. ‘How long has the Mildon been closed?’
‘Since the first leak.’ Griddlehaus’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses. ‘Exactly what I’ve been thinking.’
‘So it was someone on the repair crew. I know what you said earlier, but really, who else had access?’ Dulcie paused while their food was set down: soup for Griddlehaus and a hearty three-bean burger for her. Narrowly escaping arrest had given her an appetite.
‘I s
upposed.’ Griddlehaus looked doubtful. ‘I still don’t think it likely that some well-employed plumber would risk a union job, not to mention have the expertise …’
‘Truckworth would.’ She took a bite and chewed it, as she considered her words. ‘He has the academic background and he would certainly have access. Plus, I knew he had it out for Jeremy. And I called him on it.’
She took another bite, rather proud of herself. Only, when she looked up, Griddlehaus was shaking his head.
‘No, it doesn’t make sense,’ he said. ‘He came to your defense. He didn’t have to. Your being implicated might have helped get his son off.’
‘He didn’t …’ She stopped. Truckworth had not defended her exactly. However, he had been the first to accept Griddlehaus’s explanation. He had been the one to hand her bag over and to declare the matter resolved. More telling, to her mind, was the look of shock when Wardley had told him that Dulcie was being held. ‘Well, I guess he did, close enough.’
The two continued eating in silence, but even with the hot sauce, Dulcie found she was barely tasting her burger at all.
‘I still think it must have been stolen during the repairs,’ she said at last. Griddlehaus nodded as he sipped his soup. Dulcie took another bite and mulled as she chewed.
‘Was anything else taken?’
Griddlehaus stopped eating, spoon halfway to his mouth, a look of horror on his face. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, his voice a whisper. ‘I hadn’t thought to check.’
‘We’ll go back as soon as we’re done.’ Dulcie shifted into action mode. ‘We should probably start with the other fragments. They’re easier to remove than books. I’ll read from the ledger and you can—’
‘We can’t.’ Griddlehaus had put his spoon down and was shaking his head. ‘You can’t, at any rate. I’m sorry. I don’t think it would be wise.’
She looked at him. Surely, he couldn’t suspect her …
‘It’s not you, Ms Schwartz.’ He must have read the fear on her face. ‘I simply mean, if you are being watched – or, well, being kept under surveillance for any reason – then it won’t do for you to be in the Mildon. We have presented the fiction that you accidentally packed that document into your carryall. If it becomes apparent that we are checking to see that others have gone missing, that makes the fictive nature of this story apparent.’
