Books of a Feather (15 page)

“Listening to the conversation from inside the office,” Derek said, “we were all rather shocked when we heard him pay the deposit. I think Inspector Lee had a moment where she was unsure whether to call off the sting or not.”

“I'm glad she didn't. I think he could be the thief.”

Derek pondered the situation. “Perhaps he sensed he was being set up.”

“Maybe.” I frowned. “Can you believe he paid cash? Five thousand dollars. Who walks around with that much money these days? I don't know why he creeped me out so much.”

Derek held my hand as we walked. “That sort of obsessive-compulsive behavior can be alarming and confusing up close.”

“I definitely felt confused.” I gazed up at him. “I think you're right about him being obsessive-compulsive.”

“Either that,” he said casually, “or he's a stone-cold psychopathic killer.”

“Comforting,” I muttered.

He squeezed my hand. “Time for you to let this go, if you can.” Scanning both sides of the street, he said, “How would you like to have lunch at one of these places?”

My stomach did a victory lap. “There you go, reading my mind again.”

We walked another half block and picked a restaurant at random. But as we passed the shop next door, I glanced in the window and stopped. “I have to run in here for one minute.”

“You're going shopping?” he said.

“I just need one thing. It's too perfect.” I quickly found what I was looking for and paid for it. Five minutes later, we walked into the restaurant and were quickly seated at a comfortable booth. And with my first bite of delicately wrapped Burmese samosas, I began to relax.

We chatted about nothing in particular while sharing a bowl of rich seafood stew and a dish of riotously flavorful Singapore-style noodles. The service was wonderful and I was happy.

But the joyful food-fest couldn't last forever, and when we finally walked outside, I was reminded that I lived in a world where someone as disturbingly enigmatic as Micah Featherstone could intimidate me enough to make me search the faces of the people around me to make sure he wasn't nearby.

“He shouldn't have bought the book,” I murmured as we
crossed the street. “It makes me question whether he's our thief or not, even when I know in my gut that he is.”

“He obviously came prepared to pay the money,” Derek mused. “Perhaps he realized in advance that he'd been made.”

“Do you think Billy could've telegraphed it somehow?”

“Certainly. He's a nice kid but clearly a weak link.”

“Poor guy. He was so nervous.”

“And Featherstone is a pro,” Derek said flatly. “Billy's no match for him.”

“I figured as much before, and now that I've met the man, I know it's true. So he brought five thousand dollars with him, just to psych us out?”

“Perhaps. The sociopathic types I've run into tend to enjoy playing mind games with their intended victims.”

Scowling, I said, “I refuse to be his victim.”

“You'll never be his victim,” Derek said, wrapping his arm around me. I was glad of it; the fog was rolling in and I was starting to get chills. “I was referring to Billy and Genevieve.”

“We can't let anything happen to them.”

“Inspector Lee promised them an hourly patrol for the time being.” He pulled the car key from his pocket and pressed the button, and the doors of the Bentley unlocked. I stared at Derek across the roof of the car. “Featherstone will return with the rest of the money and pick up the
Almanack
as soon as Billy calls him with the price. Shouldn't we stick around?”

“No. From here on, Inspector Lee will take charge.”

We drove a few blocks in silence, and then I said, “What's still confusing me about Featherstone is how much he knew about bookbinding. Is he really a bibliophile or just a very smart thief? I mean, he didn't have to give Billy any money. Even if he knew
he'd been set up, he could've walked away. Is he so invested in this deal that he'll pay out that much money?”

Frustrated, I pounded my fists together a few times and continued my rant. “And if he's just a simple book lover, then who is the real burglar who's been breaking into Taylor's Fine Books? And who broke into our house and killed poor Goose? And why? Were they after the
Almanack
? Are they connected to Jared Mulrooney? We know there must be a connection because of the similarity in the way they both died. So it's got to be connected, but how? Is Featherstone working for someone else? What in the world is going on here?”

Derek turned onto Geary and headed east. “We ought to sit down tonight and make a list.”

I was so irritated, it took a few seconds for the words to sink in. And then I smiled. “You know I love making lists.”

“Of course I know.” He grabbed my hand and held it the rest of the way home.

Derek and I had found that the best way to deal with those myriad questions swirling around was to sit down and make a list of suspects and motives. Of scenarios. Of means and opportunity. Building a list of all those items helped us to focus in on what was important. We could break things down. Work things out. Clear away the mental muck, so to speak.

The fact that we found ourselves making these sorts of lists with alarming regularity was why we now made sure we did it with a nice bottle of wine nearby.

Meanwhile, since it was almost three o'clock when we arrived home, Derek decided to finish up the workday in his home office. I went to my workshop in hopes of starting the restoration of the next book from Genevieve's shop, the small Latin primer
Amo, Amas, Amat
.

Since both the front and back endpapers were badly torn at the fold, I went ahead and cut them all the way through. Then I set the cover aside and took hold of the text block. With the spine facing me, I tore off the original headbands, those small decorative fabric bands attached to the head and foot of the spine. The headbands, besides being pretty, served to cover up any remnants of loose threads and glue that might otherwise be visible after binding. Ideally, they also add strength to the spine itself.

I carefully picked and peeled away the old glue from the spine and from the super, which is a very stiff strip of woven cotton that also adds strength to the spine.

In a book this age—I saw that it was copyrighted in 1927—the adhesive used by the bookbinder was almost sure to be animal glue derived from animal protein. This type of glue had its uses, but bookbinders rarely used it anymore because it tended to turn brittle on paper and darken and shrink with age.

I picked off as much of the old glue as I could and then brushed an even coating of methyl cellulose over the spine. The methyl cellulose would soften the original animal glue and make it easier to remove.

It took a few minutes for the methyl cellulose to do its work, so in the meantime, I picked up the old cover and began removing the original endpapers from the cover boards. For this task, I used a thin stainless steel tool called a micro spatula that could be wedged between the endpapers and the cloth turnover to lift and separate and tear away the paper from the boards. As much of the endpaper had to be removed from the boards as possible, after which I would sand away any bits that remained in order to create a smooth surface for the new endpapers.

Meanwhile, the methyl cellulose had softened the old glue,
so I returned to the text block spine and used the micro spatula to scrape away more glue. The combination of glues was extremely sticky and I had to continually scrape at it to get rid of it all.

Once everything was removed and all of the surfaces were sanded and smooth, I picked up the text block and tapped it gently against the surface of the table several times to straighten and realign the sewn signatures.

For the new endpapers, I had chosen two sturdy pieces of acid-free paper with a nice pattern of forest green swirls. I folded each of the pieces in half, lined the text block along the fold, and trimmed the paper to size.

Starting with the back of the book, I brushed the edge of one of the endpapers with PVA glue and attached it to the back edge of the text block. Once the glue was dried, it was time to actually stitch the new endpaper to the first set of signatures of the text block, using linen thread and lining up the original needle holes. I reinforced the kettle stitch knots with tiny dabs of glue and then slipped a sheet of wax paper between the sheets. Then I placed a heavy metal weight on top of the text block to press it until it was set.

I repeated the same procedure with the front endpaper. Once this was done, I glued a new piece of the stiff super to the spine, smoothed it down with my bone folder, and weighted it until it was dry. I added new headbands to the ends of the spine because they would make the book look professional and pretty.

Now it was time to reattach the cover to the text block. I wrapped the cover around the text block to test that everything fit nicely and used a blade and a steel ruler to make one tiny trim to the back endpaper.

Slipping a piece of waste paper between the sheets to keep the glue from going onto the other pages, I coated one side of the
endpaper with PVA, evenly spreading it in the direction of the grain of the paper. Otherwise, the paper would stretch as well as buckle.

Removing the waste paper, I carefully pressed the cover of the book down onto the glued paper. I checked that it fit together nicely—there was still time to tweak it before the glue dried—and made sure that the edges of the endpaper ran evenly along the inner cloth rim of the book. It looked really good and straight, I thought, so I opened the book and smoothed down the endpaper with the edge of my bone folder to get rid of any minute bubbles or ripples. Then I used the tool on the outside cover to further define the hinges.

After repeating the gluing process with the front of the book, I surveyed the finished book. Genevieve was going to be very happy with her newly restored Latin textbook. And that, in turn, made me happy. As a final step, I slipped a piece of wax paper between each of the front and back endpapers and placed a weight on top of the book until the glue was completely dry.

A quick check of the wall clock told me it was almost time to start dinner. I cleaned up my worktable, put away my supplies, and rushed out to the kitchen to start dinner. In other words, call in an order for pizza.

•   •   •

After we polished off a lovely sausage-and-veggie pizza served with an antipasto salad, Derek poured each of us another glass of wine and I got out my legal notepad.

I always felt the need to justify what we were doing by insisting that we would never actually act on our suspicions—although we usually did. By which I meant that we called Inspector Lee to run our theories by her. But as far as making these lists went, it was just a way to organize all the information floating around in our
heads. If we sensed a pattern emerging, that was when we would call the police.

I liked to look at our list-making as being proactive and helpful. And it was a lot better than sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or the next body to fall. That was my story, anyway, in case Inspector Lee ever got wind of our list making.

“I'll start with our suspects,” I said, and began to write names. Three seconds later, I looked up, frowning. “I've got Micah Featherstone, although I'm not sure why he would try to break into our house and steal the
Almanack
when he showed up at the store and bought it.”

“True, but he's suspicious nonetheless.”

I picked up my pen to write down a second name but couldn't think of one. “I'm sure one of the bird-watchers could've killed Jared, but I don't know any of them.”

“Won't we meet them tomorrow at the memorial service?”

“Yes.”

Derek sat back in his chair and casually swirled his wine. “Maybe we should start our list tomorrow night.”

Even though our list-making ability was hampered by our lack of suspects, we stayed at the table and talked out a few scenarios and possibilities anyway.

“We know both Jared and Goose were stabbed,” I said, “but we don't know if the same knife was used.”

“If it was, then the same person killed both men,” Derek said. “If not, we are dealing with two separate cases.”

“And what are the chances of that?” I wondered.

“Slim to none,” he murmured.

I frowned. “If these are two separate cases, then they must involve two different books.”

“Very good thinking, darling.”

“It's too bad we can't start with the books. I've assumed all along that the thief was after the
Almanack
. But what if they were after something less obvious, like the
Robin Hood
?”

“Or
Dracula
,” Derek added.

“Right. Or
The Maltese Falcon
, which is worth somewhere around ninety-five thousand dollars.”

He raised one eyebrow. “That much? Why didn't you mention that before?”

I shrugged. “To tell the truth, even though it's worth the most money of all the books from Genevieve's shop, it's not the most historically significant. That would be the
Almanack
. But since Featherstone just bought it, it's officially off the table.”

“In other words, it doesn't seem like a motive for murder.”

“Exactly.” I took a quick sip of wine. “But then, neither does
Songbirds in Trees
, the book that Jared gave me to repair. So maybe we're missing something.”

“I have no doubt of that,” he muttered, and studied our scant suspect list. “How does Jared Mulrooney's death fit with Goose's murder?”

“Well, I did spell out one possible scenario yesterday, where the killer was following me from Taylor's Fine Books to home to the Covington. What did you think of that idea?”

He thought for a moment. “It was a good one, but unfortunately, now that Micah Featherstone has bought the
Almanack
, I'm afraid that part of your theory might not be viable anymore.”