“So isn’t it really weird that this globe,” I said, standing up and walking to the glass case, “doesn’t have any outline of North America on it?”
She was on her feet again, joining me at the case.
“That’s one of the things that makes it special,” she said, describing to me the South American continent and some of the lands discovered by the Spanish and the Portuguese.
Booker had turned back the page and snapped a few photographs of it while I kept the librarian busy.
“We don’t know who made this globe, dear, but he obviously didn’t believe in any of the Viking tales of discovery,” she said with a smile. “Instead of America and Canada, there are just a few small islands here.”
“And there’s China, but he has it labeled East India,” I said. “That’s so odd.”
“Very little was known of the Orient in 1512. Mostly just the tales of Marco Polo’s travels,” Ms. Bland said, looking over at Booker. “What are you searching for, Mr. Dibble?”
“I was curious about who else was looking at the Mercator this week. I feel like I’m in very special company.”
“You certainly are. Yesterday I had a Harvard professor who spent most of the morning here. A history professor. And then a woman from England who’s writing a book on the early Dutch explorers. The other librarian spent half an hour with her.”
I walked around to stand next to Liza, peering into the ledger.
There were no times of day next to the list of names. It looked like there were more than fifteen of them, doing a quick scan.
“What are all the other books?” I asked. “Are any of them as valuable as the Mercator?”
Some people had signed in with first and last names. I could eliminate the seven women without even blinking.
“All these books are rare, young lady. I don’t think any would get quite the price of that atlas, but each one is here because it’s part of a special collection.”
I nudged Liza in the hip. It was time for her to tell Ms. Bland what she witnessed.
“I hope you don’t think I’m rude, ma’am,” she said. “But I was in here yesterday, taking notes about the globe for my school project, and I saw a man cut a page from one of your books.”
“I don’t believe that!” Ms. Bland responded sharply. “What book? Who was the man?”
“It had to be one of these guys,” I said, pointing to the list in her ledger. “Not the earliest ones in the day, but somewhere after noon. If you give me these names and e-mail addresses, I can find out who did it.”
“That’s not possible. It’s nonsense! I was in charge of the room all afternoon,” she said, holding one hand to her heart as though that would slow down its beat. She glared at Liza again. “What book, I asked you? What happened to the page?”
“I—I don’t know. The volume was very large and its cover was dark blue—”
“Most of the bindings are dark blue or black,” she said, snapping back at Liza. “Be more specific, if you can. And exactly what was on the page, please? Tell me that.”
“I didn’t see.”
“Where did he put it? All the briefcases and bags are examined by security before you go out the front door.”
“He didn’t have a briefcase or bag. I didn’t see it at all after he cut it.”
“Then you’re imagining things, young lady.”
“I heard something, too, ma’am,” Liza said. “I heard something metallic drop on the floor. It sounded like it could have been a small knife.”
Ms. Bland reached into her pants pocket and removed a small metal case. My mother had one the same size. It was for folding reading glasses to keep in her small evening purse. The librarian dropped it on the floor. “Did it sound any different than that?”
“Pretty much like that. I’m not sure.”
“Not sure? But you come in here accusing me of letting someone steal library property?”
That was a good reason for Ms. Bland not to believe Liza. Her own job would probably be at risk.
“I’m so sorry to upset you,” Liza said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Don’t apologize,” the librarian said, grabbing the ledger from Booker.
“But the men who signed that list yesterday,” I said, “it’s not like you know them. You can’t possibly assume that one of them wasn’t up to any good here, when my friend was an eyewitness to the crime?”
“Innocent until proven guilty, young lady. Don’t you know that’s the law of the land?”
Few people knew it better than the kid of a prosecutor. “Beyond a reasonable doubt, Ms. Bland. Thanks for the reminder.”
Liza and I picked up our things and dragged ourselves out of the elegantly decorated room. We were halfway down the hallway, waiting for Booker, so it didn’t look like we had been in this together. No need to burn the nice lady.
“You called that one, Dev,” he said. “She’s taking the idea of a theft here way too personally.”
“Cut to the chase, Booker, and pull up that snapshot you took. What names did you get?” I said. “I figure the Harvard professor and the English lady were closely watched, like Ms. Bland told you, because they were looking at the Mercator. You can take them off our list. As well as the six other women.”
“Yeah. So there were eighteen names. Take away those eight you’ve just suggested, and there are ten left,” Booker said. “I’ve got the top six on the list. Two women and four men.”
He read the men’s names aloud to us, said he’d captured the e-mail addresses, too, and that three of the four had listed university affiliations while the other guy had left that space blank.
Booker forwarded the photo to both of us.
I had the bottom of the list. Five women and the last person who had signed in, probably too late in the day to be our suspect.
“What have you got, Liza?”
She opened the text and read from her portion of the list. “One woman only. Two high school kids, and three men, from some time in the middle of the day. One of the men owns a rare book and map store in Atlanta.”
“He could be trouble,” Booker said, “if he sells individual maps. I’ll see whether his shop is online, or I can call them up.”
“Another is a grad student at Columbia,” Liza said. “And the third one, we can’t really check him out because he didn’t list a school or business or affiliation of any kind.”
“Let’s start with his name, Liza,” I said. “I can’t read his name. “
“That’s just it, Dev. Here’s this man, right in the middle of the pack—so maybe that places him in the map room while I was there—and Ms. Bland didn’t even notice that he didn’t write his name in the ledger.”
“Well, what is this?” I was squinting at the letters on the small screen.
“Initials. Just three initials is all there is. Kind of sloppy handwriting. But it looks like the letters ‘PJS.’”
“That’s all?” I asked. “Not much to go on.”
“PJS,” Liza repeated. “And then an e-mail. It’s ‘BookBeast.’ That’s what he calls himself. [email protected].”
11
I couldn’t wait to get through with dinner so that I could start my Internet search for all things related to the library and its visitors. Liza, my research partner, was having much too good a time talking with my mother and Natasha to hurry through the roast chicken and asparagus Natasha had prepared.
“I understand you saw Booker today,” my mother said as I helped Natasha top off her ice-cream sundaes and serve them. “At the library.”
My mother and his had been so close since their college days that it was impossible to put one over on them. Sometimes I think they communicate by brain waves, without talking, because they know each other inside and out. I just hadn’t counted on them catching up before late evening. Must have been a slow day for both broken bones and the city’s felons.
“I was going to tell you about it, Mom,” I said. “Really, I was.”
“Did you think it would go down better over dessert, instead of earlier in the meal?” she asked me with a smile.
“Sweeter this way,” I said, kissing her on the cheek as I placed the ice cream in front of her.
“Somehow or other I thought I told you to leave the crime solving to the police.”
“I thought that’s what you said, too, Ms. Quick.” Liza was definitely into scoring brownie points.
“I know you didn’t like me chasing the man, Mom. I didn’t think you’d mind, though, if we spent time doing research in the library. It’s harmless.”
“And you hooked Booker into your caper because?”
“Face it, Mom. You know that I am nobody’s passport to cool,” I said. “People trip over themselves to help Booker. This librarian today thought he was a junior or senior in high school.”
“So did you solve the theft?” Natasha asked.
“Not even close,” I said. “Here’s the worst part. We decided to tell the librarian what Liza saw, but once we did that, the woman didn’t believe her. She practically called Liza a liar.”
I liked to separate the chocolate topping from the ice cream and save it for last.
“Try to eat that like a grown-up, darling,” my mother said. She was great at diverting an issue and avoiding conflict. “By the way, I let Andy run your photos through the facial software program today.”
“Anything at all?” I asked. That was my mother’s nod to Liza that she understood that the story was true, even though I thought she was downplaying its significance to us.
“He told me the closest profile to the man you photographed was another species, Dev,” my mother said, picking up her phone to read a text that had just come in. “A rodent of some kind, with a pointy chin and flared nostrils.”
“That’s ridiculous, Mom. Rodents don’t wear glasses.”
“Three blind mice, darling. Maybe they got their eyes examined after all these years.” She pushed back from the table and stood up, patting me on the head and then texting a reply.
“Dishes or dog, Dev?” Natasha asked. “Pick your poison.”
“Liza and I will take Asta out, okay?”
“Need any help with your homework before I go out?”
“Not tonight, thanks,” I said.
“What are you doing this evening?” Liza asked.
“I’m going to the movies with a group of kids from my school,” Natasha said.
Liza flashed me a look, like a secret grin, when Natasha answered.
“Liza’s wondering if one of the kids is your boyfriend,” I said, crouching down to put the leash on Asta. “She’s completely boy crazy, Natasha. I’m missing the point of it, you know?”
“Plenty of time for all that,” Natasha said.
“You’ve been hanging around my mother way too long,” I said. “That’s one of her favorite mottos.”
“I don’t think boys like me very much,” Liza said.
“You’re kidding. Booker thinks you’re totally cool,” I said. “I can just tell. He can’t wait till we go to the park on Saturday night.”
“He said that to you?” Liza’s smile was so wide I could practically see the molars on which her braces were anchored. “Really?”
Booker didn’t actually say Liza was the reason he was looking forward to our rendezvous. He loved picnics and was a big fan of Shakespeare, and the backstage moment would suit him, too. But he did say he thought Liza’s nerdiness made her almost cool.
“Really,” I said. “Let’s go, pooch.”
It was still light outside. I figured that Asta had been cooped up all day, and I liked to let her lead us on a path that suited her curiosity. She sniffed along the sidewalk until we reached her favorite tree, then sniffed some more until she convinced us that she wanted to square the block looking for her pals.
Dogwalkers usually have a regular routine, my mother said. We were the exception because there seemed to be nothing routine about her professional life.
Natasha and I were out at different times of the day, so we recognized most of the canines and their families. Asta knew them all.
There was a pair of beagles approaching from the opposite direction. Their tails went berserk as Asta approached them. I greeted the humorless man who held their leashes in one hand and was texting with the other. He tugged them away from us and kept going. I much preferred his wife, who always stopped to chat with Asta and me.
“Don’t take it personally,” I said, bending to pat my dog on the head. “We’ll find you a buddy before we go upstairs.”
I was trying to give quality time to my most loyal friend, Asta, and strategize about the next steps in the investigation, but Liza’s mind was somewhere else.
“What are you going to wear to the picnic on Saturday?” Liza asked.
“You can’t be serious.”
Asta strained at the leash as we turned the corner. She spotted her favorite retriever half a block away. We broke into a trot and made directly for Ginger and the dogwalker who walked her in the afternoon and again in the evening.
The dogs circled each other with delight, yelping, while Asta rubbed herself against the taller girl’s long legs, entangling the leashes.
“How are you doing in this heat, Devlin?” Amalie asked.
“Not so bad, Amalie. And you?”
She mopped her brow with a handkerchief. “Don’t like it much.”
“This is my friend Liza. She’s visiting from Argentina.”
“Pleased to meet you. You must be the only girls left in this neighborhood,” Amalie said. “It seems all the families around here have moved to the beach from this terrible heat.”
“We’re in summer school.”
“Your mother works too hard,” Amalie said. “She’s in the newspapers every day. Tell her I said she needs to give herself a little holiday. And take you along.”
I stroked Ginger’s back and thanked Amalie as we walked on.
“She knows your mother?” Liza asked.
“She doesn’t know know her. Everyone sees my mother in the neighborhood walking the dog with Sam late at night. Then they see her on the television news or in the papers, so they all feel familiar enough to pass along advice or comments. It’s weird. There’s a woman with a huge standard poodle who stopped me one day to tell me that my mom should wear more makeup when she’s at a press conference.”
Liza gasped. “What did you say?”
“I should have kept my yap shut, but I told her I didn’t think the folks at the morgue who’d arranged the press release that day were worried about hair and makeup. At least, not for the living.”
“The lady deserved that answer,” Liza said.
We were three-quarters of the way home, and the sun had begun to drop behind the tall buildings on the west side of the park. Asta and I had greeted a lot of the locals and accomplished what we had set out to do when we left home.
“About the picnic,” Liza said.
“Get over it, girl. I have no idea what I’ll wear. Jeans. Shorts, if it’s hot. Today’s only Wednesday.”
I could see our doorman standing under the awning of the building, about fifty feet away. He was in shirtsleeves and had taken off his hat, too. His back was to us and he was fanning himself with a rolled-up newspaper.
“Okay, then. Have you thought about what we’re going to do tomorrow? About the case?”
“That depends on what happens tonight.”
“Why tonight?”
“You’ll see when we finish our homework. I’ve got a—”
“Devlin? Devlin Quick?”
It was a man’s voice calling my name. I stopped short and looked over my shoulder. There was a guy across the street, a total stranger, raising his arm to wave at me.
“Aren’t you Devlin Quick?” He stepped off the curb but had to pause because a line of cars was passing between us.
Liza also turned when he called to me and seemed startled when she saw the man’s face. She panicked,
as though she recognized him, and started racing toward my building.
“C’mon, Dev. You need to run!” she said.
I had no idea what it was that spooked Liza, but she was moving like she’d seen a ghost. I leaned down to grab Asta and tucked her under my arm like I’d just caught a pass from Tom Brady and was making a run for the end zone.
“It’s okay, Liza. I’ve got your back.”
Liza had sprinted past the overheated doorman and was next to the elevator, doubled over trying to catch her breath.
I stood my ground at the front door. My mother would never forgive me if I let anyone frighten or harm Liza. Conduct unbecoming a police commissioner’s daughter.
Within seconds, one of the cops in the patrol car who had seen us scrambling to get inside was right next to me.
“You two okay?” he asked. “What’s the hurry here?”
Before I could give him an answer, Liza blurted out a response. “Don’t let that man inside, Officer. He’s after us!”
“Who is?” I started to ask her.
“He must be an accomplice to the map thief, Dev. A—a lookout or his partner in crime,” Liza said. “I saw that guy in the library yesterday, too. I’m sure he’s out to get us.”
12
“It’s all my fault, Blaine,” Natasha said. “I’m so very sorry for upsetting Liza.”
We were in the lobby of the building. Liza and I were sitting on the deflated cushions of the worn-out sofa, my mother and Natasha standing in front of us, with one of the officers by my mother’s side.
The doorman was staring at something on the sidewalk, so I could only imagine that the second cop had our assailant—well, maybe the word “assailant” was an exaggeration—in handcuffs. Bystanders never tired of watching someone else’s misfortune.
“Seems like a perfectly harmless situation,” my mother said. “Tell me who he is, Natasha. He’s a friend of yours?”
My mother probably wasn’t happy about what had just happened, but it was so like her not to embarrass Natasha in front of all of us. She’d deal with that when they were alone.
Asta let out with a growl, low and long, in the direction of the front door.
Into the Lion's Den Page 7
