Midsummer Night's Mischief

by Jennifer D. Hesse

  Wes looked thoughtful as he listened. “Interesting,” he murmured.

  I sat back, feeling a little less excited now that I had articulated my idea. It sounded pretty flimsy. “The only problem is, I don’t have any proof. And I don’t know what to do next.”

  Wes tapped his fingers on his knees. “Hmm. Seems to me the only way might be to catch the guy in some kind of trap. Like a sting, you know?”

  I smiled, so happy to be on the same side as Wes again. Impulsively, I reached over and took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not gonna give up.”

  He looked at me, then leaned over and brushed my lips with his. “You know,” he said softly, “you really don’t have to do this. But thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, right before kissing him back.

  CHAPTER 26

  Today was the day. I felt it in my bones. After a late night spent talking—and finally getting to know Wes better—Tuesday morning came a little too early. But as I lay under the sheets, stretching and yawning, my mind began to whirl. And soon I became overcome with the strong sense that this was an important day. Call it divine inspiration, or call it earthly intuition—either way, I knew. If I was going to find the First Folio, it had to be today.

  After rolling out of bed, I hurried into the bathroom to splash water on my face. Then I quickly drew the shades and gathered some candles and jars of dried herbs, roots, and powders. Arranging the candles in a circle on my bedroom floor, I invoked the four elements. Then, forcing myself to slow down, I sprinkled the roots, powders, and herbs in concentric rings, forming a spiral that ended with me in the center. With a nod to the Weird Sisters, I chanted an improvised spell as I went:

  Round about the circle go.

  In the herbal magics throw

  Leaf of basil, sprig of thyme.

  Give me courage with this rhyme.

  Frond of rue and oil of pine,

  Centered purpose, clear of mind.

  Root of ginger, breath of air,

  Victr’y comes to those who dare.

  Reaching the center, I stood still and muttered the final words, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth:

  Double, double, guard from trouble,

  Fire burn, and magic bubble.

  With a deep breath, I lowered my eyelids and pressed my palms together. For the next few minutes, I visualized myself as a powerful sorceress. I was confident and self-assured. I was wise and brave, as heroic as any knight on a quest. And I was supported—lifted up—by a whole pantheon of powerful, magical goddesses, who would show me the way.

  Finally, I opened my eyes and raised my arms, performing a partial sun salutation. Feeling fortified and encouraged, I released the vision. Quietly, I closed the circle and cleared the floor. Then I took a shower, got dressed, and went into the kitchen to make breakfast.

  Just your average, ordinary Tuesday morning.

  At around 9:00 a.m., Farrah called, back from her conference and eager for a play-by-play of the “big reveal.” I told her that the true reveal had yet to happen, but something was brewing. I promised to fill her in very soon. There was something I had to do first.

  With my cells still vibrating from the ritual, I hauled my bicycle out of the garage and rode through town to the university. After locking my bike in the rack near the law school, I walked inside the familiar three-story glass-and-steel building and headed for the law library, which made up the entirety of the school’s east wing.

  As I entered the library, I flashed my attorney ID card to the security guard, who gave me a bored nod. Strolling into the cool interior, I surveyed the first floor. Behind the circulation desk, a single librarian tapped at a computer. Since intersession hadn’t started yet, I figured the library would be used primarily by local attorneys rather than students. But this morning, the library seemed to be largely empty of any patrons. That was fine by me.

  Bypassing the casebooks and reference shelves, I made my way to the basement. Here and there, study cubicles were nestled between sections of foreign periodicals, superseded materials, and historical treatises. As the quietest area in the library, it made an ideal study spot. In theory. When I’d tried studying here during law school, I had found the deathly quiet disconcerting. I’d been too creeped out to concentrate.

  Now, as I wandered deeper and deeper into the cavernous stacks, I felt goose bumps rise on my arms. And not because of the quiet. It was because I recognized the lines of bookshelves from my vision.

  As I walked, I read the alphabetical labels on the end of each row. Hmm. F for “Folio”? S for “Shakespeare”? W for “William”? No. The Folio wouldn’t be shelved like any other book. If it was here, it might be in plain sight . . . but it would still be hidden.

  I continued down a side aisle, then stopped. Way in the back, against the far wall, tucked in a corner behind a study desk, was a column of shelves holding oversize Old English tomes in faded gray and brown. When I reached the shelves, I ran my fingertips lightly over a couple of dusty spines and caught a faint whiff of history and mildew. Looking up, I saw that the shelves reached to the ceiling. Nearly. In between the top of the uppermost shelf and the ceiling was a dark space of indeterminate size.

  Grabbing a nearby stepladder, I climbed up, stretched to my tiptoes, craned my neck, and peered over the top of the shelf. Something was there. A book, lying flat on its cover, spine to the wall. My heartbeat quickened as I reached out and slid the book forward to the edge of the shelf. Without taking it down, I gingerly touched the pages with my thumb and then carefully rotated the book and turned it over so that I could read the cover. My breath caught in my throat.

  Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. Published according to the True Originall Copies.

  The First Folio.

  I could hardly believe it. I found it! After all this time, I actually found Eleanor’s book.

  The only problem was, I couldn’t rescue it. In order to catch the thief, I was going to have to leave the book in place.

  Damn.

  After glancing over my shoulder to make sure I was still alone, I turned the book back over and reluctantly pushed it toward the rear wall, then rotated it to its original position. With wobbly legs, I climbed down and moved the stepladder back to where I had found it. Looking back up at the top shelf, I bit my lip.

  Trust the Goddess.

  Now wasn’t the time to retrieve the book. Now was the time to follow Wes’s suggestion. It was time to set up a sting.

  * * *

  Before unlocking my bike, I texted Farrah and asked her to meet me at T.C. Satterly’s shop. On the way, I formulated a plan. It might be a long shot . . . but, then again, I had magic on my side.

  “So?” said Farrah as I rode up to where she was leaning against her car in front of Satterly’s Rare Books. “I take it there wasn’t a shoot-out last night. How about a confession? Do we have the culprit?”

  “Better. We have the book.”

  “Get out! You found the book? Where is it?”

  “It’s still where the thief hid it.”

  “What? Oh, I get it.” said Farrah, following me as I locked my bike to a street pole and entered the bookshop. “A mousetrap? The book is the cheese, and we’re gonna catch ourselves a mouse?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Detective Milanni! Always a pleasure!” T.C. squeezed himself around the counter to greet me, then shook my hand with both of his plump mitts. Today he wore a white T-shirt featuring a print of Shakespeare’s visage above the words Will Power.

  Perfect, I thought, smiling broadly.

  “T.C., this is my friend Farrah. She’s been helping me track down the Folio.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful. So tell me, did you see Stenislaw?” He said the name in an exaggerated whisper, looking left and right as he did so. I had to chuckle.

  “Um, no. Somehow I missed him. But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have the Folio, anyway.
At least, not yet.”

  “Oh?” T.C. raised his bushy brows. “Then you know where it is?”

  “I do. But it may not be there for long, so we’ll have to act fast. Do you still have that message about the Twitter post?”

  T.C.’s eyes lit up. “Yes, yes. It’s right here.” He reached for a spiral notepad behind the counter.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal. I’d like you to post the message and wait for a call. When he calls you, tell him you have a cash buyer, but he’s leaving the country tonight. So the exchange has to take place today.”

  T.C. rubbed his hands together. “You betcha. I can do this. Oh, boy.”

  Farrah, appearing impressed and a little bit astonished, looked from T.C. to me. “Well done, Scooby Gang. And then what? Do we rig up a giant fishnet?”

  “Ha-ha,” I said. “Actually, I was hoping you could call Jake’s friend, the police officer. Think he could wire me with a little recording device?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Farrah. “I’m sure he could. But are you sure about this? This sounds a little dangerous. We are talking about a rock-wielding, creepy note–leaving criminal here.”

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  Wasn’t I?

  * * *

  Sure or not, five hours later I was back in the law school library basement, this time hidden inside a dark storeroom. I stood close to the door, which was open a crack, and waited for my cell phone to buzz. It would be Farrah’s signal to me that someone—anyone—was entering the stacks. Although I had a pretty good idea, I wasn’t 100 percent certain who had stolen the Folio. Or if he was working alone.

  The first time my phone buzzed, it almost slid out of my slick palm. With heart thudding, I spied out the storeroom door. Footsteps sounded on the parquet floor, growing louder as the person approached. I held my breath. Finally, a young woman came into view. I watched as she entered a row of casebooks and soon emerged with a book. Then she left.

  I sighed. Goddess, how long was I going to have to stay in this storeroom? I had unlocked my phone and had started typing a text to Farrah, to let her know the first person was leaving, when the phone buzzed again, causing me to jump. Jeesh. I closed my eyes, touched the amulet Mila had given me, and said a brief prayer to the goddesses Diana for courage and Hecate for protection. Then I peeked through the crack again.

  Once again, I heard footsteps, this time approaching more rapidly. It sounded like the person was moving toward the rear section, but he or she was outside my field of vision. Slowly, I pushed open the door another inch. And then another, until I saw a man dragging a step stool to the back wall.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door farther and slipped out. Quick as a ghost, I darted behind the bookshelves adjacent to the back wall and peered through the gaps between books. As I watched, the guy climbed onto the step stool, grabbed the Folio, and stuffed it into a navy blue duffel bag. Although his back was to me, I recognized him right away—and remembered seeing that duffel bag before, too, under his desk. When he climbed down and turned to leave, I stepped out into the aisle right in front of him, blocking his path.

  “Hi, Jeremy.”

  At first he looked startled and confused. Then he feigned delight. “Keli! What a pleasure. Are you . . . doing research?”

  “Actually, I’ve already found what I was looking for.”

  Jeremy cocked his head inquisitively and continued with the false pleasantries. “Oh? Well, that’s good. Me too. Want to walk out together?” He looked beyond me, clearly eyeing the exit.

  “You can give it up, Jeremy. I know what you’re doing. I know what you did.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything. But I have to go now. I have an appointment with a client.”

  He walked forward, as if to pass me, but I didn’t budge.

  “No,” I said, holding out my hand. “That doesn’t belong to you. I know you have the Shakespeare Folio, Jeremy. You took it from Eleanor’s home, and you’ve been contacting book dealers, looking for a buyer. It’s time to come clean. Just do the right thing and turn it over.”

  Like a dark cloud passing before the sun, Jeremy’s fake smile transformed into a menacing sneer.

  “Maybe it does belong to me. Ever think of that?”

  “Come on, Jeremy. If you’re talking about a gambling prize that may or may not have been won in an illegal poker game sixty-odd years ago, you know that can’t be a legitimate claim.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Ever hear of history repeating itself?”

  “Are you talking about Rob? I knew you knew him.”

  “Yeah, I know Rob. I’ve known him for years. I even met his grandmother once, when Rob needed help moving something out of her shed. Robby’s a regular at the casinos around here.”

  “So Rob told you about the Folio?”

  “He bragged about it. But what he didn’t know was that I already knew about it.”

  “Do you mean—”

  “Enough of the chitchat, boss. Get out of my way.”

  “I’m not moving, Jeremy.”

  “Oh, I think you will.”

  “Jeremy—”

  “You’ll let me pass, and you’ll pretend this whole conversation never took place.”

  “You’re dreaming.” The gall of this guy!

  Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “You want your little vacation from work to turn into permanent unemployment? You really want to be fired?”

  “What? You can’t fire me.” What was he talking about?

  “Ever hear of sexual harassment? Beverly would never tolerate it. And neither will the Attorney Disciplinary Commission.”

  My mouth dropped open. Jeremy took another step closer. “You can’t deny it, can you? You’ve been coming on to me ever since I started at the firm. Touching me, insinuating things.”

  Now he hovered over me, his breath warm on my face.

  “You want me,” he jeered. “Everyone knows it. It’s so obvious. When I tell Beverly that you’ve been demanding special favors from me, you’ll be out on the streets faster than you can say ‘quid pro quo.’”

  My stomach clenched; I was so taken aback. Maybe I had broken some ethical rules in my interactions with Jeremy, but I had never demanded anything of him. I had never initiated anything—he was the one who had always started things.

  Still, if anyone had seen us together, I supposed they might have gotten the wrong idea.

  I felt light-headed and confused. Jeremy moved to pass me again, and the heavy duffel bag bumped my leg. I backed up—and suddenly laughed.

  “Who would believe you, Jeremy? You’re a liar and a thief.”

  Before I knew what was happening, Jeremy reached out and shoved me. I staggered for a moment but managed to grab a bookshelf to keep from falling over. Then I turned to watch as Jeremy ran down the center aisle. He made it to the elevator as the door opened and a tall police officer stepped out with one hand on his holster.

  “It’s in the bag!” I called out.

  Literally.

  CHAPTER 27

  My first day back at the office was a fairly typical Wednesday. I had messages to return, appointments to schedule, mail to review. What was surprising, though, was the fact that all my case files were stacked neatly on my desk, beneath detailed notes on any actions taken and the current status. Notes written in Crenshaw’s slanted handwriting. Interesting.

  When I met with Beverly later that morning, she repeated what she had said before about Crenshaw looking after my cases for me while I was away.

  “A lot can happen in two weeks,” she said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  We sat in Beverly’s lounge, in two wingback chairs near the window. Sunlight streamed in, making speckled shadows across the table between us. Beverly had welcomed me back and had congratulated me on solving the case. However, she hadn’t apologized for my forced vacation. I guessed it was the price I had to pay for causing any kind of threat to the firm in the first place.

 
Even though it so clearly wasn’t my fault.

  “So, have you heard from Jeremy?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “He’s being held pending arraignment, which should be later today or tomorrow. The state’s attorney told me Jeremy has decided to defend himself.”

  “Ooh. That doesn’t sound like a very good idea.”

  Beverly raised one eyebrow. “I think we now know that Jeremy’s judgment is seriously lacking in a lot of areas.”

  “Yeah. I feel sorry for his girlfriend. Although, she’s probably better off without him.” I didn’t mean to sound so cold, but I was still pissed at Jeremy for what he did. Not only did he cause a lot of heartache for a lot of people, but he was also now causing a hardship for the office. In fact, it occurred to me that the lost relationship predicted by my tarot reading was probably the loss of Jeremy as my coworker and friend.

  “Well, I truly feel sad for both of them,” said Beverly. “I don’t see Jeremy getting out of this without forfeiting his law license and serving jail time—which, of course, he should.”

  “Right. Of course. He has to pay the consequences.” I thought back to my conversation with Darlene the night before. She was so relieved to have the Folio back, and even more relieved the thief wasn’t one of her sons or her brother, that she had almost declined to press charges. I didn’t know which of her family members had convinced her otherwise, but I had to agree with them. I certainly intended to press charges for the vandalism Jeremy had done to my front window. He wouldn’t admit to it, but I was hoping the police would find some evidence that linked him to the crime.

  Shortly after taking Jeremy to the jailhouse, the police had received an anonymous tip that Jeremy was involved in an illegal money-lending racket. I had a strong hunch it was Rob who had made that call to the police. Wes had told me his brother felt guilty about informing Jeremy that the Folio was at his grandmother’s house. Apparently, Rob had said he would do whatever he could to make things right. Wes was hopeful Rob would turn his life around now and get the help he needed to kick his gambling addiction.