The detective frowned. “That’s a lot of maybes, Ms. Hamilton. And what book,” he asked, tapping the tip of his pen onto his notepad, which was still as pristine as snow on a winter’s morning, “could possibly be worth killing for?”
“Not that long ago,” I said, “one of Audubon’s first editions went up for auction and sold for almost twelve million dollars.”
The two men across the table from me blinked, but then Ash thinned his eyes to slits. “That book is, what, three feet tall? There’s no way one of those could be in the library without everyone knowing about it.”
I grinned. Having a well-educated boyfriend was kind of fun. “Just an example, gentlemen. There are other rare first editions that sell for a lot of money.”
“How much?” Inwood asked.
“There was a first folio of Shakespeare’s that sold for over six million,” I said. “And a Canterbury Tales that went for seven and a half.”
“Okay,” Inwood said, putting his pen to paper, “other than old first editions, what book could be worth killing over?”
“A signed copy of a rare first edition would send it to another price range, if the signature was authenticated.” I thought a little bit. “Or it could have been some sort of tell-all journal that was given away by accident.” I didn’t see how something like that could have gotten into circulation at the library, but the breaker-inner/killer wouldn’t necessarily know how the library put books into the system. Besides, the donations box for the Friends of the Library book sale had a sign that the library had first dibs on donations.
Inwood, who had been writing furiously, glanced up at me. “But why would something that rare be in the library or Ms. Fazio’s store?”
“Haven’t you ever watched Antiques Roadshow? Rare things are found all the time in weird places.”
He thought, then nodded. “Anything else?”
“No, it’s just . . .” I put my hands in my lap, not wanting Ash or the detective to see how they’d turned into hard fists. Pam’s phone call was still fresh in my mind. Could you do me a favor? that strong and capable woman had asked hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure I’d help her. As if she’d had been dealt a blow almost too hard to bear.
I looked at my hands, then directly at Inwood, staring him flat in the face. “Just find out who did this to Pam.”
Chapter 8
That evening, I intentionally immersed myself in lake water so cold that it made me feel as if the top of my head was going to blow off.
“It’ll get better,” Ash said. He was leaning off the back of a powerboat, ready and willing to give coaching advice.
“When?” I asked, teeth chattering.
“Soon as you’re up!” He grinned, and large parts of my insides went a little mushy at the idea that this incredibly good-looking man was dating me. Then again, I was in sixty-two-degree water with a wide board attached to my feet. Sure, I had a life jacket and was being watched over by a professional law-enforcement officer who also had EMT certification, but he wasn’t the one in the water, now, was he?
“It’s the getting-up part I’m worried about,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the motor. The boat behind which I was about to water-ski belonged to, and was being driven by, a friend of Ash’s, whom I was pretty sure he’d introduced as Tank. There was undoubtedly a story there, but to me, a thin guy with long sun-streaked hair and an easy smile could have had a more appropriate nickname.
“Hang tight to the towrope,” Ash said, “and remember the drills we went through on land.”
“Arms straight,” I said to myself. “Knees to my chin. Let the boat do the work.”
“Got it?” Ash called.
I nodded. Excitement and anxiety were knotting up together in my chest. I’d water-skied before, but never had I tried to slalom ski, to get up on one ski. Ash and I had gone out boating a couple of weeks ago with a different friend of his, and I’d looked on enviously as they had cut left and right behind the boat, sending up large rooster tails of spray.
“Next time we ski,” Ash had said, “if you want, I’ll show you how.”
I’d said sure, and now here I was, about to fail miserably. On the plus side, I had a ready-made excuse: Since I didn’t have quality goggles, I’d taken out my contacts, and the world was blurry around all its edges. On the minus side, my vision wasn’t that bad, so it wasn’t that great an excuse.
“No,” I said out loud.
“What’s that?” Ash called, cupping a hand to his ear. “Did you say roll?”
As if. I took a deep breath and nodded. If I fell the first time I tried, it wouldn’t be a big deal. If I fell twenty times, it wouldn’t be a failure. I would fail only if I gave up. “Roll.”
Tank pushed the throttle slightly forward and there was an immediate tug on the rope. The boat puttered ahead with me trailing afterward like a baby duck behind a great big momma.
“Arms straight!” Ash called. “Knees to your chest!”
I nodded, although I was mostly trying to figure out where to put the towrope. To the left of the single ski that was sticking out of the water or the right? This wasn’t a decision you had to make when you got up on two skis. I tried one side then the other and settled on the right. Then, before I really thought about it, I tightened my grip on the handle and shouted, “Hit it!”
The boat’s engine roared. I was hauled forward at an incredible rate of speed. Water rushed over my face and over my head. Then, miracle of miracles, I felt myself rise, felt the ski start to level out. I was getting up! I was actually going to get up! I was . . .
Splash!
I fell forward with a resounding crash. After a second, I even managed to remember to let go of the towrope. Coughing away the water that had shoved itself into my nasal passages, I took stock of my body and of life in general.
“You okay?” Ash was hanging out the front of Tank’s open cockpit boat.
“Fine,” I said, coughing. “I hear fresh water is good for your sinuses.”
Ash laughed. “You were almost up. Ready to try again?”
“Sure. What did I do wrong?”
“Leaned too far forward.”
Since I’d fallen on my face, that made sense. I vowed not to let that happen again. And so, a couple of minutes later, I was in position a second time. “Hit it!”
Splash!
A few minutes later . . . “Hit it!”
Splash!
“Hit it!”
Splash!
The boat circled back around. “You getting tired?” Ash asked. “This is hard work.”
My shoulders were aching and my thighs were screaming, but no way was I going to quit, not now that I’d fallen every way possible. I set my jaw. “Hit it!”
Splash!
“Hit it!”
And then everything came together. Arms straight, knees to my chin, let the boat do the work, all you have to do is stand up . . . and I was up. On top of the water and skimming away. I let out a shout that was pure, unadulterated joy. I was doing it, I was slalom skiing, I was cruising, I was king of Janay Lake, I was—
Splash!
This time when the boat came back around to me, I’d pulled off the ski and was floating in the water, faceup to the blue sky, panting from the exertion, and happy with the world.
“Not bad,” Tank’s gravelly voice said.
“You did great!” Ash leaned over the boat’s transom and hauled in the ski.
“Next time,” I said, kicking my way to the ladder, “I’m going outside the wake.”
“That’s my girl.” Ash helped me into the boat and handed me a swim towel. “You’ll get it in no time.”