by Clea Simon
‘I know, Mr Griddlehaus.’ She turned to accompany her friend. ‘I was there.’
‘You were … excuse me?’ He stopped and turned toward her.
‘Your reading room. I was looking for you. I hope you don’t mind.’ She realized how this could sound. ‘I was hoping to find you.’
‘I was visiting with Jeremy. I haven’t found anything, you know.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘In the Mildon. Nothing else missing, that is. I did say I would call.’
‘I know.’ Dulcie rushed to reassure him. ‘It was just that I had this idea and I wanted to get started, and I felt funny about going into the library. But I thought, your reading room …’ In retrospect, it seemed a stupid idea. ‘Anyway, I opened the door and saw what had happened.’
‘Is it bad?’ His voice fell to a whisper.
‘It kind of is,’ said Dulcie, hating to break the news. ‘But maybe it’s just a mess. You know, books tossed about, the chairs overturned …’
He started walking again, picking up the pace as he muttered. ‘But why would anyone? It’s simply a reading room. The equivalent of a staff lounge …’
‘Were there any valuables?’ Dulcie caught herself. ‘I mean, something that someone who isn’t a scholar might want to steal?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe so.’ They had arrived at the library, and Dulcie came to a halt.
‘Why don’t I wait here?’ Griddlehaus stopped as well and turned toward her. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I just think it’s better.’
With a nod, he visibly braced himself for what lay ahead, and entered the library.
‘Poor guy,’ Dulcie said to herself. His lovely little lair, all messed up. She couldn’t find the heart to believe that Kyle had been behind this. Although if he were, it might help explain Stuart Truckworth’s manner. Maybe he saw something in that room that implicated his son – or was afraid that Dulcie had. Closing her eyes, she tried to re-create the room as she had seen it. Books pulled off shelves. Lamps and chairs tipped over. It all seemed so random, and yet it could have been worse. For all the tossing and tipping, nothing appeared to have been intentionally harmed. It was almost as if someone had had a tantrum – had wanted to make a mess quickly. Or, she thought as she leaned against the brick, someone had wanted to make a point.
The library staff knew about the room – knew about the key. Could Kyle have done this to divert suspicion? Could his father? Or was this a random bit of lunacy, not unheard of – although more commonly encountered during finals?
None of it made sense. No more sense than the attack on poor Jeremy. It had been only five days since Dulcie had seen him here, in this sheltered alcove. Not that it provided much protection from the cold, she realized, shivering. How much worse it must have been for the skinny scholar in his threadbare tweed. She could still picture him, where she was standing now, scratching at the wall.
Thinking of that night, she turned. Yes, the scratches he had been making were still there, white incised in the dull red of the brick. A few letters – none of which made much sense: RT UP RT 6. Maybe they were part of some longer word, something that had been rubbed off by the wind or by one of the guards. Maybe they were a code, something that made sense only to Jeremy. Beside the letters, a few additional scratches seemed to outline a semicircle – or, no, a pie chart, with slashes cutting off a hearty slice. On top, a triangle. Had Jeremy been hungry? Dulcie felt the stab of regret. If she had only invited him to dine, perhaps all of this would have been avoided. Or, wait – she squinted at the semicircle, at the slashes and point. Could that be a cat?
No, a pie was more likely. A cat is something she would draw. A reminder of Mr Grey and all he meant to her. But before Dulcie could delve more deeply into this idea, Griddlehaus emerged, pushing the heavy door open and almost falling out into the cold air.
‘Are you all right?’ She hurried over. The little man looked a bit stunned.
‘Yes, yes.’ He sighed heavily. ‘They won’t – they won’t let me in.’
‘What?’ Dulcie prepared to march back in. Her being kept out of the library – or, to be fair, kept under observation – was one thing. Thomas Griddlehaus, however, was the director of the Mildon Collection. A senior staffer and a very important part of the entire university library system.
‘No, please.’ Only his hand on her arm stopped her, and for a moment, Dulcie wondered if he had read her thoughts. ‘I misrepresented.’
She exhaled, the steam going out of her.
‘Neither Mr Truckworth nor Lieutenant Wardley are there right now,’ he explained. ‘However, they have stationed a young officer at the door, and he was told not to allow entry. Clearly, there was a failure in communication.’
‘Sounds like Truckworth to me.’ Dulcie wouldn’t soon forget her treatment at the manager’s hands.
‘Please, Dulcie,’ Griddlehaus interrupted. ‘It was Mr Truckworth who called me and informed me of the disruption, and this young officer is clearly doing what he perceives as his job. Considering everything that has been happening in the Yard, I suspect Lieutenant Wardley is overemphasizing caution, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.’
Dulcie nodded. He was right. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. ‘Well, Ms Schwartz, you had said you were looking for me?’
‘Yes.’ That seemed like hours ago. ‘I was thinking about Jeremy.’ She tried to piece her thoughts together and found herself remembering the animal she had seen in the excavation. That hadn’t been merely a hole. It had been part of a tunnel, an interconnected system. ‘Chris had said something about wormholes and it gave me an idea.’
‘You’re looking for a wormhole?’ Griddlehaus blinked in confusion.
‘Chris was talking about study habits. My study habits in particular.’ Dulcie struggled to explain and realized she was staring at the scratches on the wall. At what might just be a cat … ‘It was just a concept, but it made me think of that tower room and, well, of all the – um – animals who have been displaced by the excavations.
‘I thought that if we could find out where Jeremy had been living, we might be able to find some contact information for him. Maybe locate a family member. Maybe set him up with social services, so he could go home.’ Dulcie shook her head. ‘It was a silly idea. He probably bunks wherever he can find a dry, warm place.’
‘That’s a commendable idea, Ms Schwartz,’ said Griddlehaus, once she was through. ‘And very kind. I’m rather ashamed that I haven’t thought of it.’
‘Well, you’ve had your hands full.’ Dulcie felt her cheeks color at the praise.
‘No, it isn’t that.’ Griddlehaus stared off into space. ‘I’m afraid it’s that I simply haven’t thought. You see, as long as I’ve known Jeremy, I’ve associated him with the library. I have, on occasion, asked him to join me for lunch, but beyond that, well, I’ve gone my own way and let my poor, old friend go his.’
He looked down at the ground, and Dulcie reached out and took his hand. ‘You’re being his friend now, Mr Griddlehaus. You’ve been visiting him, and trying to cheer him up. None of us have really paid much attention to Jeremy before now, but maybe now together we can help him.’
‘He hasn’t been exactly alone,’ said Griddlehaus. ‘After all, Lieutenant Wardley has been dropping in to see him.’
‘Great.’ Dulcie snorted. ‘Just what he needs – more police harassment.’
‘But Wardley’s not – you can’t think that.’ Griddlehaus was shaking his head. ‘They’ve known each other for years.’
‘They have?’ Dulcie thought of the big cop, of his gruff manner.
‘Wardley was there the night that Jeremy tried to kill himself. Lieutenant Wardley – he was a patrolman back then – saved Jeremy’s life.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sitting over a cup of hot cocoa in the Greenhouse Café, Dulcie struggled to get her mind around what Griddleh
aus was telling her.
‘Lieutenant Wardley saved Jeremy’s life?’ She tried to picture the big, bluff officer as a younger, friendlier man.
Griddlehaus nodded, repeating the basics one more time. ‘Jeremy was half out the window, yelling. The next thing any of us knew, a young officer was hauling him back in, holding him in a bear hug.’
Not friendlier necessarily, Dulcie acknowledged. Just conscientious.
‘Jeremy was going on about the books,’ Griddlehaus continued. ‘He called them his books – and about how he’d been betrayed. There really was no option but to have him taken to the hospital.’
‘His books?’ Maybe there was a reason Wardley had grown so gruff.
Another slow, sad nod. ‘I’m afraid his obsession with the Stavendish bequest had put him over the edge. And now that one of the stolen books was found on him, I can’t help but wonder if he was involved, all those years ago.’
‘But he wouldn’t have stolen from a library – not with the way he feels about books. What if,’ she said now, leaning in to face Griddlehaus. ‘What if Jeremy Mumbleigh didn’t just find that book – and didn’t steal it? What if he has been living with it all along?’
‘I believe we considered that option initially,’ said the librarian as he finished his grilled cheese. ‘But the condition of the excavation, where he was found—’
She cut him off. ‘No, I don’t mean in some abandoned sub-basement. Certainly not in the hole where he was found. I mean, living with it in the library.’ She fumbled, trying to put her thoughts into words. ‘Everyone has been talking about the infrastructure of the Yard, of the rooms and tunnels under the library. And between the rats and when we were forced to leave – sorry.’ She saw Griddlehaus wince at the unfortunate equivalence. ‘I thought, maybe Jeremy had been forced out, too. Maybe he wasn’t stealing that book. Maybe it was never stolen – only lost. And maybe he had been living where it was stored or misfiled or whatever, before the construction made him leave. And maybe he was saving that book.’
In the silence that followed, Dulcie could tell that Griddlehaus was thinking. ‘It is possible,’ he acknowledged after a few moments had passed. ‘Not likely, but it would be in keeping with the character of the man.’
‘Do you think that’s why your reading room was broken into?’ Dulcie sipped her cocoa, considering the possibilities. ‘Do you think somebody was looking for a hidden cache?’
Griddlehaus shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Our room might be private, but everything in it is from the general collection. Everything has been cataloged.’
‘Maybe they didn’t know that,’ she said, as she and her friend gathered up their belongings. ‘Whoever broke into your reading room and into the Mildon is looking for something. Something that maybe Jeremy has.’
Griddlehaus shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Ms Schwartz. I can’t quite visualize that.’
‘That’s because you’re not a larcenous thug,’ said Dulcie as she buttoned her coat. ‘Whoever did this is probably responsible for attacking Jeremy, too.’
‘Wait.’ Griddlehaus held up his hand. ‘You were saying that he has been living with this book in some kind of hidden room. Now you’re saying he was defending it?’
‘I’m not clear on the details. But he might have been.’ Dulcie mulled the possibility. ‘Perhaps his hideaway had finally been breached. Perhaps he was busy moving his hidden cache to someplace safer when he ran into trouble. Perhaps the book had been stolen and he was injured trying to get it back. That’s just it, Mr Griddlehaus, we don’t know. So the best thing we can do,’ she took a breath, ‘is to find Jeremy’s hideaway ourselves. That way, we can safeguard whatever it is, and maybe bring a scofflaw to justice.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Griddlehaus went back to the Mildon after that, citing a pressing research question. Dulcie wasn’t entirely sure he had bought her theory. He was still upset about the mess that had been made of his reading room though, and so she let him go without an argument.
Despite Griddlehaus’s skepticism, Dulcie knew her theory was sound. Maybe there were no other missing books, but the idea that Jeremy had found this one in the library – and that he had been in the library – was growing on her. As to how he had gotten it – or himself – out of the library, well, that was obvious. The excavation where he had been found was not some simple hole. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure she had seen a cat down there. A cat who, after making eye contact, had run off. No, not run off – had shown her that there was more to the digging than was readily apparent. Had shown a connection to the old tunnels.
Only, how could she access them?
The early dusk was casting long shadows as she made her way back to the Yard, and her doubts grew with those shadows. When she had hoped to enlist Griddlehaus in her endeavors, she had envisioned him using his superior knowledge of the library system – and his staff ID – to give them access to all locked entrances to the underground storage and communication system. Without her bespectacled friend, Dulcie realized she faced a grimmer prospect: entering the warren of tunnels from one of the many holes in the Yard.
It was a daunting proposition, and Dulcie made her way over to the latest excavation slowly, trying to get her mind around the idea of climbing down in the cold and mud. If only, she thought, there was another way into the tunnels, besides going through the library. Another way to look for those books …
The conservation lab! With renewed vigor, Dulcie trotted across the Yard to the white building behind the Science Center. Without Griddlehaus’s ID, she was forced to bang on the door, and for a few moments there, she was afraid that nobody would answer. A muted voice – ‘I’m coming!’ – announced that the lab had not, in fact, closed for the day, and in a moment, the door swung open.
‘Hello again.’ The grey-haired woman who answered the door didn’t seem surprised to see Dulcie there. ‘Come to see more of the cat?’
‘The cat?’ Dulcie followed the conservator – Margaret Constantine – back into the pristine lab and toward a light table.
‘The silver cat. The printer’s mark you found. We’ve confirmed it.’ She smiled at Dulcie. ‘You have a good eye.’
‘Thank you.’ Dulcie recalled the sparkle of that feline. It seemed rude to say she only wanted an entrance to the tunnels. Besides, she was drawn to the curious mark. ‘Yes, I guess I would like to see him – it – again.’
‘“Him” is fine. He has that power over people, I know.’ She turned with what looked suspiciously like a wink as she ushered Dulcie over to the table. ‘I’m rather smitten with him myself.’
Margaret swung a magnifying lens over the table. Through it, Dulcie could clearly see the simple pen strokes – the profile, the ears, the whiskers – of the silver feline.
‘We’ve been trying to stabilize it,’ Margaret explained. ‘We’re lucky, you know. Being folded up in the binding helped preserve the page, although it is frustrating not to have a complete work.’
‘Tell me about it,’ murmured Dulcie. How someone could use something so beautiful as mere filler was beyond her. She looked up. ‘I actually came by for a different reason, though.’
‘Oh?’ Margaret retrieved a tool that looked like something a dentist would use. ‘Yes,’ she caught Dulcie’s glance. ‘We improvise a lot of our tools here.’
‘Cool,’ said Dulcie. ‘Actually, I was hoping you could let me into the tunnels.’ She paused, unsure of how much more she should share. ‘The situation at the library, with the water main break …’
‘Not a problem.’ Margaret replaced the dental pick on her tray. ‘It’s horrible what’s happening over there. Particularly because situating so much of the library below ground was considered safer.’
‘Safer?’
‘For the materials, of course.’ Margaret looked a little surprised. ‘Before we had our current climate control systems, constant temperatures, not to mention light exposure, were easier to maintain in a subterranean settin
g.’
‘Like that page, preserved in the binding.’ Something was scratching at the edge of Dulcie’s memory.
‘Exactly. Like that cat hiding in his lair, until it was time for us to let him out.’ After a last longing look at the tools laid out before her, the conservator stood, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her lab coat in a rather catlike gesture. ‘The tunnel?’
‘Thanks.’ Dulcie followed, another question on the tip of her tongue. ‘Margaret,’ she asked the feline conservator finally. ‘How valuable is the silver cat?’ It wasn’t what she was thinking exactly, but it was close.
‘Depends on its condition,’ she said as she led Dulcie through the back of the lab. ‘And on the piece, of course. For us, the value lies in its rarity. Right now, there are fewer than a dozen “Felix” pages that are known to have survived. You know about the January auction, I gather? So you understand how the discovery of another, well, that could shift the entire market, couldn’t it?’
The question was rhetorical, but it stayed with Dulcie as the conservator led her down the stairs and pushed open the doors. With a buzz and a hum, the lights turned on, illuminating the long, windowless passage.
‘Don’t worry.’ Margaret must have seen something on her face. ‘These are fire doors. You can always push them open and come out to the nearest exit. Good hunting, Dulcie.’
‘Thanks,’ said Dulcie. Only as the door swung shut behind her did she stop to consider. She had been too caught up in her own thoughts to ask where the other exits were – or if the path to the library was as straightforward as she remembered. Too busy thinking about the meaning of the hidden cat – and what role this latest discovery might have played in the strange events in the library. Too concerned with her own search to notice that the grey-haired conservator had not asked where she was going – or why – before wishing her luck on her search.
At the first intersection, one of her immediate fears was allayed. A door with a small, wired window was clearly labeled ‘Science Center,’ while another sign – stenciled on the wall opposite – indicated ‘Library’ in one direction, ‘Conservation Lab’ back from where she’d come. She wasn’t going to get lost, at any rate, as she made her way under the Yard.
