“I can be there in about twenty minutes.”
I pictured Maggie pulling a hand through her blond curls. “Okay, I’ll see you then,” she said.
* * *
When I walked into Brady Chapman’s office, his receptionist smiled at me. “You can go on back, Ms. Paulson,” she said. “Mr. Chapman is expecting you.”
Brady was standing in his office doorway with Maggie. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “Maggie says you might have figured something out. What is it?”
“Tell me about the piece of paper with the address on it that your mother dropped,” I said.
“That isn’t going to help,” Brady said. “The street doesn’t exist. Not here. Not in Minneapolis or Red Wing, either.”
“Tamera Lane,” I said. “Right?”
Brady nodded.
I pulled a pen and a pad of paper out of my bag. “Like this?” I wrote the address across the middle of one page.
Brady shot Mags a puzzled look. “Yes,” he said.
I exhaled loudly and tapped the paper with one finger. “That’s not Tamera Lane,” I said. “It’s Tamerlane. All one word, and it’s not an address; it’s the name of a very, very valuable book.”
“How valuable?” Maggie asked.
“The last one sold at auction in 2009 for more than six hundred thousand dollars,” I said.
24
“Good dog!” Maggie exclaimed.
“You think my grandparents owned a copy of this book?” Brady asked, pulling a hand over the back of his neck.
“I don’t know,” I said. I couldn’t tell him that I thought his mother might have had something to do with stealing the book. First of all, it was a big leap to think that Nic Sutton’s father had had a copy of a very old and rare book and that it had been stolen, and yet he hadn’t said anything about it to the police and his insurance provider. And second, I couldn’t tell Brady that I suspected his mother had been involved somehow in that pawnshop robbery. It would have been cruel, especially since I didn’t have any proof.
“I need to tell Marcus about this,” I said.
Brady shrugged. “That’s okay.”
His mind was somewhere else. Replaying that visit with his mother, I wondered.
He loosened his tie. “Thank you, Kathleen,” he said.
“I’ll see you at class,” I said to Maggie.
“Thanks,” she said, wrapping me in a hug. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she whispered against my ear. She studied my face when she let me go and I nodded, almost imperceptibly, but I knew from the way Maggie pressed her lips together that she’d seen.
I touched her arm. “I’ll see you later,” I said.
I called Marcus as soon as I got home. I told him I thought the address Dayna Chapman had dropped wasn’t an address at all and explained about the value of the book. Tamerlane and Other Poems was Edgar Allan Poe’s first published work, and a 2009 sale of a first edition had been big news. Well, at least among librarians and book collectors. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t convinced.
Maggie must have been watching for me, because she came over to me as soon as I stepped into the studio. “Did you talk to Marcus?” she asked.
I nodded.
“What did he say?”
“I don’t think I convinced him that Dayna had written down the name of a rare book and not a nonexistent street,” I said, adjusting the drawstring waist of my workout pants.
“What didn’t you say to Brady?” she asked.
“Mags, don’t ask me that,” I sighed.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because . . . because I’m way out on a limb. Because I don’t want to say anything that might hurt Brady when I don’t have any proof. And because I don’t want you to have to lie to him.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”
I gave her arm a squeeze.
* * *
I’d left the truck parked on a side street about halfway between the studio and Eric’s Place. After class I walked over to the restaurant. I knew there was a good chance Nic would be there, and I needed to see if he knew anything about his father having a copy of Tamerlane.
He was just delivering a tray full of food and I waited at the counter. “Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “What can I get you?”
“A large hot chocolate with marshmallows to go, please.”
“Just give me a minute,” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen. He came back with a tall take-out cup, the top rounded over with a pile of the Jam Lady’s handmade marshmallows.
“May I ask you a question about your dad’s pawnshop?” I asked as I snapped the take-out lid on the top of the cardboard cup.
“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “What did you want to know?”
“There were two first editions stolen in the robbery.”
He nodded. I noticed a tiny flush of color in his cheeks.
“Did your dad get a lot of rare books in the shop?” I asked.
Nic fingered the knot in the strings of the long apron tied at his waist. “A few. In a pawnshop you never know what’s going to come through the door.”
“Like a very rare, very valuable book that might have some questionable lineage?” I asked. That was about as diplomatic as I could word things.
Color flooded his face. He looked down at the floor for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Not for sure. But it’s . . . possible.” His mouth twisted to one side. “My grandfather started that pawnshop. Not everything he did was on the up-and-up. Some of his customers still brought my dad business. He didn’t turn it down.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying to figure why someone would have wanted to kill Dayna Chapman. Maybe then I can figure out who did.”
25
I would have slept late in the morning since I didn’t have to go in to the library until noon, but Owen poked his furry gray face over the edge of the bed and meowed at me about six thirty.
“Go away,” I mumbled.
He put his paw over my nose. I knew this was another one of those battles that I’d lose, so I got up.
Both cats were still in crabby moods. Hercules managed to upend Owen’s dish and Owen kept crowding Hercules away from his. Frustrated, I finally snapped my dish towel in the air. That got their attention and made a very satisfying whipping sound. I glared at them. “I don’t know what’s up with you two, but cut it out,” I said.
I picked up Owen’s dishes and set them on the floor over by the sink. I moved Hercules’s breakfast closer to the back door. I could see them darting looks at each other while they finished eating, but other than that it was peaceful.
Roma called just after eight o’clock. “What do you think about having supper in Red Wing before we go shopping for Rebecca’s dress?” she asked.
“I’d like that,” I said. Maybe a change of scenery would help me figure out what I was missing about that pawnshop robbery. “Want me to check with Rebecca?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Roma said. I could hear a smile in her voice.
“You sound extra happy,” I said. “Has Eddie gone AWOL from the team?”
She laughed. “No. Ollie called me last night. She’s coming for Christmas!” Roma’s daughter was a biologist and a commercial diver. “And don’t let me call her Ollie when she’s here. That was her nickname when she was two.”
“My mother still calls me Katydid,” I said. “But I’ll try to keep you out of trouble.”
Roma said she’d pick me up at the library at five thirty and we ended the call.
I was about to call Rebecca when I heard the sound of a cat squabble from the kitchen. Hercules was next to his water dish, eyes narrowed, ears flattened. Owen was by the basement door. He didn’t look nearly as wary as he should have. Hercules rarely got angry, but when he did it was a bad idea to get in the way of his fury. Of course, usually the person he was angry with was Roma and usually there was a needle and Kevlar involved.