Proof of Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  * * *

  Addie moaned as she pushed the last box into place.

  “I know, my back is killing me, too,” Kalea said, rubbing the small of her back.

  “No, it’s not that.” Addie held out her hand. “Look, one of my brand-new acrylic nails broke off.”

  “Now, that is a catastrophe.” Kalea examined her own fingers. “But good luck finding it in these boxes so your esthetician can reattach it.”

  “No, I’ve been thinking of having them all removed. It was a silly whim my friend Serena and I had last weekend. They really are impractical for my type of work.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Kalea looked wide-eyed at her. “I love my nails and can’t ever imagine not having them.”

  “Obviously, you’re not doing much typing these days, are you?” When her cousin’s face turned a slight shade of crimson, Addie knew right then that when she began dating the senior partner, her duties as a typist and paralegal had also changed. “Forget about it. Let’s see what Charlotte has planned for the books on the center table.”

  Addie picked up a reddish-brown cloth-bound book. “Look, it’s a 1935 printing by The Limited Editions Club of New York of Ulysses by James Joyce.” She scanned the other books on the table. “These books all appear to be ones that Charlotte thinks should be auctioned off individually tomorrow, as they’d be worth more money.”

  Addie placed the opened book back on the table and waved Kalea to her side. “Did you know that only fifteen hundred copies were printed of this one and this is number 1459? And see here, it’s signed by the illustrator, Henri Matisse, on the Limitation Page.” She tapped her finger on the page. “It’s worth about seven thousand dollars in today’s market.”

  “What about this one?” Kalea pointed to a pale green covered book stamped in red and green. “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum?”

  Addie picked up the book and turned to the title page. “It’s a first edition, too, originally published by the George M. Hill Company in 1900. Given its worn condition, it’s probably worth about twenty-eight thousand.”

  “Dollars?” Kalea snatched the book from Addie’s hand. “Wow, I had no idea books could be worth that much.”

  “That’s nothing compared to some that trade for millions.”

  Kalea traced her fingers over the cover illustration of the red-maned lion wearing green spectacles.

  Addie slid the book from Kalea’s hands. “I guess with books like this in the library, we’d better get those gloves on. We don’t want to leave oily finger residue on any of them.”

  “I’ll grab them.” Kalea dashed over to the desk, pulled out four cotton gloves, grabbed the key ring Charlotte had left, and returned to the glass case.

  “I think this lock up here at the top, acts like the master. One key should unlock all six of the double doors. It’s a small keyhole, so try that one.” Addie pointed to a small brass key.

  The locks clicked. “Smarty-pants.” Kalea grinned when the doors opened.

  Addie crinkled up her nose and chuckled. “By the look of all the books in there, I’d better text Paige—she’s my shop assistant—and tell her I might be longer than I thought.”

  When she finished sending the text, she crouched down beside Kalea and pulled on her gloves, nudging her cousin to do the same. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Addie slipped a worn novel from the bottom shelf and whistled. “It’s an 1888 first edition of A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle. Did you know that this was the first Sherlock Holmes book he wrote?”

  Kalea peered over her shoulder. “What’s it worth?”

  “This copy is about twenty-three thousand, but if this is what I think it is . . .” She pulled a plastic enclosed journal from its place beside where the book had sat on the shelf, carefully removed it from its protective covering, and gasped. “This . . . is the first ever published copy of the story that appeared in this 1887 edition of Beeton’s Christmas Annual. It was like the original printed proof of the story that was published in book form the following year.” She stroked the cover. “Out of all of Doyle’s books, this was always my favorite. Because it was the reader’s first introduction into how the genius of Sherlock Holmes’s deductive mind worked. Basically, Doyle started a revolution with Holmes. His character raised the bar for every other author and all the detective novels that followed. I can’t believe this is a copy of the proof.”

  “What’s a proof?”

  “It’s a typeset edition of a book for proofreading and correction before publication. Although this wasn’t intended as an actual proof, it served as one because a few minor changes were made to the book edition a year later.” Addie traced her gloved finger over the words A Study in Scarlet on the front page of the magazine. “A copy of this sold a few years ago for over one hundred and fifty-six thousand.”

  “Say what?” Kalea stole the journal from Addie. “Wow, no wonder Nolan wanted me to stop by here on my way to meet him.”

  “What do you mean he wanted you to stop by here?” Addie fixed her gaze on her cousin. “Didn’t you say you came to visit me and then just stopped in here after you saw the flyer?”

  “I meant”—Kalea’s cheeks burned with a fiery glow—“he’ll be so glad I stopped at the auction after I saw the flyer.” She added, dropping her voice, “before I went to meet up with you and then him next week.”

  Addie was taken aback. Had Kalea simply misspoken now or were her earlier words about visiting her only an effort to save face when Addie spotted her in the library? It made Addie wonder if her cousin even knew she lived in Greyborne Harbor in the first place or whether her arrival here on the same day as the auction preview was—as she let on—purely a coincidence.

  Addie eyed her cousin warily, rose to her feet and walked toward the desk. Her mind replayed what Kalea said now versus when they greeted each other. Maybe she’d better keep Kalea close, just so she could keep an eye on her. Something about this whole visit wasn’t sitting right with Addie because obviously there was more going on with Kalea’s newfound interest than she first let on. Addie glanced down at the rare magazine in her hand and then back at her cousin, in time to witness her finishing off a text message and tossing her phone into her handbag.

  Chapter 4

  The hairs on Addie’s arms prickled. She squirmed on her chair with the uneasiness of being watched and glanced toward the doorway expecting to see Charlotte monitoring them. When she didn’t, her eyes darted over to her cousin sitting cross-legged on the floor, scribbling furiously on a pad of paper, surrounded by books from the barrister’s case. Her wedge sandals and suede jacket, discarded hours ago, lay in a heap at her side. The contents of her oversized handbag—granola-bar wrappers, tissues, and cell phone—were haphazardly scattered everywhere.

  Addie puffed out a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time today she’d had the feeling of being watched. She’d tried to put the sense that the walls were closing in on them down to the fact that they were hungry and tired. Still, she knew that if it hadn’t been for the moments she and Kalea had shared of pure childlike silliness—an automatic reversion to their antics when they were little girls—to relieve the tension . . . well, she doubted she would be able to leave here not being a firm believer in Serena’s tall tale.

  She yawned, stretched out her stiff shoulders, and checked the time on her cell phone. It was almost three and there had been no word from Charlotte since she’d left this morning to check on whatever that other pressing issue was. “How many are left to go through?” Addie asked, tapping her pen on the inventory list she worked on at the desk.

  “Last book.” Kalea kicked at a granola-bar wrapper. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Do you want to get a bite to eat when we’re done here?”

  Addie’s stomach picked that exact moment to agree.

  “It sounds like you need it.” A soft laugh escaped Kalea’s throat. “I hear the restaurant at the Grey Gull Inn where I’m staying has great food. We
could go there.”

  “Perfect. It’ll give us time to catch up, too.”

  Kalea nodded in agreement and returned her attention to the book in her lap.

  Addie sat back, watching her cousin. In spite of her initial misgivings about Kalea and her motives, Kalea had proven to be an adept assistant today, catching on quickly. However, it did make Addie wonder if she had more experience at appraisals than she’d let on. Kalea’s innate ability was uncanny for a beginner. She even proved a fast learner in cross-referencing book titles and the book’s condition on the various appraisal websites, such as the Library of Congress, The British Library, and the Bodleian Libraries at the University of Oxford, although working as a paralegal she would have a good understanding of research methods. Addie studied her young protégé—something about the situation didn’t sit right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but a long chat over dinner might just provide her with some helpful insights into the cousin she hadn’t seen for ten years.

  The doors swung open and a short, bald man stared at her through his marble-sized eyes.

  “I’m sorry, this room isn’t available for preview yet.” Addie smiled apologetically and met his unblinking, beady-eyed gaze. His fists tightened into balls at his sides as he walked toward her. She reached for a letter opener on the desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Kalea rising to her feet and grabbing one of her wedged sandals to brandish like a weapon.

  The man noticed Kalea’s reaction and stopped; a harsh laugh erupted from his chest. “Relax, Queen Charlotte ordered me in here.” His eyes fixed on Kalea, a leering smile tugging at the corners of his thin, upper lip. He sniffed and held out a child-sized hand to Addie. “I’m Robert Peters, Charlotte’s assistant and slave.”

  “I see.” Addie ignored his outstretched hand and slid back into her chair, toying with the letter opener still in her hand.

  “As the queen doth command, I am merely her servant to do her bidding.” He swept his hand across his midsection and bowed low from the waist before slumping into a leather armchair beside the desk. His gaze refocused on Kalea, who stood unmoving from her position beside the barrister’s case.

  Addie swallowed the acidic taste in the back of her throat. From the challenging look in Kalea’s eyes, though, Addie guessed she was no stranger to lewd attention. If this weasel of a man picked up on even one thing as he held her in his sights, it better be that Kalea would fend off any of his unwelcome advances. Violently.

  Addie stroked her neck, studying his bulbous-nosed profile. When he jumped to his feet and clapped his hands, her body jerked, betraying her feigned nonchalant attitude.

  “Where are we at with this room?” He glanced at the stack of books Addie had arranged on the table for the live auction and then at the stack in front of the bookcase that she had arranged for lot sales. Each was marked in the same manner that Charlotte had catalogued the previous ones. “It looks like you’ve made quick work here—perhaps too quickly for her majesty’s liking, though.”

  Addie shoved the letter opener aside and moved around the desk toward him. “It has been over five hours and there was only the one bookcase to appraise. I think that two experienced”—she glanced at Kalea—“appraisers can accomplish a lot in that time.”

  “We’ll see if she’s in agreement with you. Nevertheless, you’re done here now.” He waved his hand. “Go. I’m here to relieve you.” Robert looked at Kalea. “You may stay if you like, though.” His top lip curled up in a half smile. “I always do like a bit of company when I work.”

  Kalea grabbed her jacket and other shoe, slipped them on, scooped up her bag and its disarrayed contents, and dropped it all on the table of books they had catalogued. She dug through her bag, tossing out other odds and ends onto the table, fished out her phone, tucked it into her jacket pocket, straightened her collar, shoved everything back into her handbag, and shouldered it. Robert’s tongue caressed his bottom lip as Kalea strode over to him. His chest puffed out as his face lit up in a wide, leering grin.

  “You, sir . . . are a pig!” She flipped her head and stalked out.

  Addie grabbed her purse and walked past Robert, who stood openmouthed in the middle of the room. “She’s not wrong, you know. I may have used a stronger description, but I guess pig covers it fairly well.” Her lips formed a twisted smile as she followed her cousin to the door, sidestepping a head-on collision with Charlotte as she swung into the room.

  “Miss Greyborne, how did you make out? Or will I be here till past midnight to finish this room?”

  “No, I think the appraisals are complete. I’m certain”—she glanced back over her shoulder at Robert—“your competent assistant will have no problem finishing up any loose ends.”

  “Good.” She rubbed her hands together. “Did you find anything of great value, or will I have to dig through it all to find out what to set as lot sale items and what can be—”

  “It’s all been catalogued as per your methods.” Addie stuffed her used cotton gloves in Charlotte’s hand. “I assure you that everything is in order. However, there is one collection I left on the table that I wasn’t certain how you would want to proceed with the sale of, so I’ve marked it for your attention.”

  Charlotte glanced at the balled-up gloves and then to the table.

  “It’s the entire Sherlock Holmes first-edition series and a few other Sir Conan Doyle works. It’s all there and marked.”

  “A complete set of Sherlock Holmes first editions?”

  Addie stopped short of telling the dour-faced woman about her discovery of the first-ever publication of A Study in Scarlet in the 1887 Beeton’s Christmas Annual. She’d already done more than her part for this unappreciative woman. Charlotte could discover that little treasure on the table later when she inspected Addie’s work, as she no doubt would.

  Addie glanced over her shoulder at Robert, who had edged toward the table and the pile of Holmes books. “From what I discovered in that barrister’s case, the estate should do fairly well tomorrow,” Addie sidestepped away from Charlotte and her equally unlikable assistant. “But I have to go now. I do have a business of my own to run so I hope you find everything in order. If you have any questions, call me.” Addie tucked her business card under the gloves still housed in Charlotte’s palm.

  “Thank you,” Charlotte mumbled, turning the card over in her hand. At least Addie thought she said thank you, because the sound she made was more like her regurgitating a mouth full of marbles.

  Addie suppressed a snicker as she sauntered out the door. That was probably the first time Charlotte had ever even tried to utter those two little words to anyone, and she hoped that the garbled noise she heard wasn’t her choking on them.

  As the doors began to shut, Charlotte’s voice cracked. “Robert, we need to talk now! There’s been another theft—” The closed library doors snuffed out the rest of her words.

  “Addie, my dear.” Blake waved at her from the front door where he was chatting with Kalea and another man. “I was just thanking Kalea here for the two of you stepping up today and helping this old man keep his business afloat despite the dragon lady I have to deal with. Your father would be so proud of you.”

  “No problem. We’re happy to help out. It’s something he would have done, too.”

  “I know you’ve saved me a lot of stress this evening. I’m not sure about her, though.” His head ticked toward the hallway in the library’s direction. “But I do know that we might be finished setting up before midnight now.”

  Addie glanced questioningly at the other man, who had clearly caught the attention of her cousin as she fluttered her lashes and coiled strands of her long hair around a finger.

  “Forgive me, Addie.” Blake’s voice broke the spell that engulfed the foyer. “This is my nephew, Garrett Edwards, my brother’s youngest.”

  Garrett smiled fleetingly at Addie before returning his focus to Kalea, mirroring her teasing stance as he swept a shock of raven-black hair from his f
orehead. It was clear to Addie that these two were locked into a mutual-admiration ritual that left her with the discomfiture of intrusion.

  “Addie,” Kalea murmured, “Garrett was just telling me that he’s recently graduated with his MBA from Harvard and is going to take over Blake’s company when he retires. Isn’t that wonderful?” She cooed, locking her eyes with Garrett’s.

  Addie did an inward eye roll. For all her cousin’s protests and declarations, Kalea hadn’t changed at all since college.

  Blake leaned toward Addie and cupped his hand around his mouth. “My retirement won’t be for a few years yet, my dear,” he whispered. “It was a carrot his father and I had to dangle for him to come and work for me.” A sly glint glimmered in his eyes.

  Addie smiled apologetically at Blake. “Kalea, I hate to interrupt, but I’m starving, and I need a coffee. Besides, I think we’ve kept Blake and Garrett long enough. I’m sure they’re busy.”

  Blake grinned and motioned to the door. “Thank you again, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Addie, bright and early.”

  Addie sensed he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that his poor nephew was being reeled in by someone akin to a black widow and wasn’t going to miss the opening Addie had left for their hasty departure.

  As Kalea and Garrett exchanged a few whispered parting words, her fingers trickled along his forearm. She then flipped her amber waves behind her shoulder and topped it all off with a come-hither smile as she turned toward the front door. It swung open and a small crowd of people spilled into the foyer, forcing Addie’s group backward for fear of being trampled.

  Addie’s hand shot to cover her mouth to suppress the hysterical laugh that the scene conjured in her mind: a gaggle of squawking geese. She really needed to eat. Something. Anything. Would Kalea notice a missing granola bar from her purse? No laugh escaped but the ungodly sound from smothering it did manage to slip past her lips. Thank heavens Blake picked that exact moment to approach the group of eight and hadn’t heard the ghastly noise she’d made.