As soon as we were seated, Wes lifted his glass. “To second chances?”
I touched his glass with mine and felt an unexpected rush of happiness. I knew there was something special here. It must be fateâhelped along with a tiny, little heartfelt love spell.
“So, how long have you been Gram's lawyer?” Wes asked.
“Oh, about two days,” I said regretfully. “But I spent all afternoon with her on Wednesday and a couple hours on Thursday. I really liked her. I wish I could have known her longer.”
“She was the best,” Wes said softly. “I only wish I had come back from New York sooner.”
I started to ask him about his years in New York and why he'd come back now. But he beat me to the punch with questions about my law practice. He seemed impressed and kept asking me about myself. Still, I was eager to know more about him. When he paused to sip his drink, I tried again.
“I really liked looking at your grandma's pictures at the memorial. Such a cute family. You have one brother, right? Does he live here in town?”
“Yeah.”
“His name's Rob, right? You two must be pretty close. Aren't you just, like, a year or two apart in age?”
Was that a shadow that just crossed Wes's face?
“Mm-hmm. Do you have siblings? Any family around here?”
“My family's mostly back in Nebraska. I'm the youngest of four,” I said. “But it's not what you think,” I added, seeing he was about to tease me about being the baby. “I wasn't spoiled or anything.”
“Sure,” joked Wes. “Whatever you say.”
“Really,” I insisted, smiling along with him. “Actually, I was pretty much left to my own devices. My two older sisters are eleven and twelve years older than me. They were rivals slash best friends, more interested in sports and friends and themselves than in their baby sister. And my brother, who is four years older than me, was
really
the baby. I mean, he was a good kid, more or less, but always up to something. After keeping up with those three, my parents allowed me a lot of independence.”
“So why'd you pick Edindale?” Wes asked, keeping the conversation on me.
Before I could answer, Jimi came by. He stood at our table with arms crossed, toe tapping the floor. “Sitting down on the job already?” he said in a mock-disapproving tone. At least, I was pretty sure he was joking. “And drinking, no less. Am I going to have to fire you on your very first day?”
Wes looked up at his friend, grinned devilishly, and took a big gulp of his drink in return.
Jimi sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess I'll forgive you this time, considering what pulled you away.” He touched my shoulder and gave me a quick nod, then walked over to the bar to take the position vacated by Wes.
“If you need to goâ” I began, but I was cut off when a phone started buzzing. Wes pulled his cell from his pocket, glanced at it, and hit
IGNORE
.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “So, you were telling meâ” His phone buzzed again.
“Someone's persistent,” I remarked.
“It's my mom,” said Wes, hitting
IGNORE
again. “She probably wants to lecture me about not being in church this morning.”
Um, wait a minute
. “Youâyou didn't go to your grandma's funeral?”
“It's not like that,” said Wes. “There wasn't a funeral. Grandma was like me. Neither of us cared much for church. Anyway, the memorial last night was it. Her body was cremated. There was no burial. My mom has the urn. I think the plan is to have a scattering ceremony in the fall, when my dad is back from his job overseas.”
The phone buzzed again.
“Please,” I said. “Go ahead and answer it. I don't mind.”
Wes shrugged and put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I missed you earlier. I was . . . What? No, I . . . of course not. Yeah. I'll head over now.”
Wes put the phone in his pocket and stood up. “I'm sorry to do this again, but I have to go.”
No way.
“Is something wrong?”
“Maybe,” he said. “My mom can't find the book.”
“The book?”
“The Shakespeare book. Apparently, it's missing.”
CHAPTER 6
It didn't take much prodding for me to get Wes to take me with him. After all, I reminded him, I was Eleanor's lawyer. And I wanted to help. I could help look for the FolioâEleanor had probably stashed it in some secret hidey-holeâand I could also talk to Darlene about the will and ask if the family still wished me to assist with the sale of the book. On the drive over to his grandmother's house, I asked Wes about the family lore surrounding the First Folio, and he told me pretty much the same thing Eleanor had said, that Frank inherited the rare book from his uncle. Sometime later, it was lost.
And now it was lost again.
When we arrived at Eleanor's house, a yellow Cape Cod with a stone walkway leading to a welcoming red door, we were greeted by a very frazzled Darlene. From the entryway, I could see a room to the left that seemed to be in a state that matched Darlene's. It was a combination office/library/sitting room with a desk and filing cabinets on one side and comfortable chairs and reading lamps arranged on the other. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the wall facing the doorway. It would have been a lovely, cozy room, but drawers were pulled out, papers and books littered the floor, and cushions were all cast aside. One of the chairs was turned on end.
“Wes, we've turned this place upside down, but maybe with a fresh set of eyes . . .” Darlene trailed off hopelessly. Then she noticed me standing behind Wes. “Oh, Miss Milanni! I'm glad you're here. We have a bit of a crisis, I'm afraid.”
She didn't seem to realize I had arrived with Wes. Since Wes kept his mouth shut, I decided to do the same. Darlene closed the door behind me and began introductions, starting with the person who had driven me there.
“This is my son Wes. And this is my cousin Sharon.”
Sharon stood in the living room, to the right of the foyer, wearing a worried expression. From the look of things, she had started pulling cushions off chairs in this room, too.
Darlene touched my arm. “This is Mom's lawyer, Keli Milanni.”
Sharon spoke up. “Oh, sure. We met at the visitation. Keli, maybe you can help us solve a little mystery. The mystery of the missing manuscript.” She tried to keep her voice light to break the tension in the room, but Darlene looked as if she were about to crumble. I was beginning to second-guess my assumption that the Folio was just hidden away. “Why don't we go into the kitchen and sit down?” Sharon said.
She guided Darlene down the hall and directly to a kitchen chair. I followed them and, trying my best to instill a calming presence, sat down next to Darlene. Wes went to a cabinet for a glass and poured some water for his mother.
I glanced around the room, which was tidy and modest, with a comfortable country style, complete with gingham curtains and a hen-shaped cookie jar. Recalling that this was where Eleanor had died, I looked up from the maple-wood flooring and cleared my throat. “When did you last see the book, Ms. Callahan?” I asked.
“Call me Darlene,” she said automatically. “It was . . .” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Yesterday. Before the memorial. Around four o'clock, I think. I stopped in to get a dress for Mom to be laid out in.”
“She changed her mind about the dress she originally gave to the funeral home,” explained Sharon, who leaned against the kitchen counter. “It was black, with pleats. Very formal. We decided a flowery print would be nicer.”
“What was it like when you arrived today?” I asked. “Was the house locked? Was there any evidence of a break-in? Anything disturbed?” Inwardly, I cringed at the last question, remembering the look of the front rooms, where
everything
had been disturbed.
“No, I don't think so,” Darlene said uncertainly. “Sharon and I got here about an hour ago, after Kirk went back to Indiana.”
“We were going to do a walk-through,” Sharon offered. “Water the plants, check her messages and mail. It may have been more than an hour ago.”
“I knew the book was in the den,” Darlene continued. “Like I said, I saw it the day of the memorial service. I had passed by that room on my way upstairs, and I saw it in there, in Mom's old messenger bag. I even thought to myself that we should get it to the bank. Or, at least, someplace else besides Mom's den. But at the time . . .”
“You had a lot on your mind, Mom,” said Wes. “I think everyone else had forgotten about it.”
“We were in such a rush,” said Darlene. “Rob was waiting in the car. Then you got here, Wes, and we had a bigâ” She stopped suddenly, looking upset. I noticed Wes look away and stare absently out the window above the sink.
I turned to his mother and asked gently, “Did you lock the house when you left?”
“Yes, I'm sure I did. I remember unlocking the front door again when we came by later to get the extra sodas and chips and cookies from the pantry.”
“When was that?” I asked.
Darlene looked at Wes and Sharon. “It must have been after eight thirty, right?”
Sharon nodded and turned toward me. “The visitation ran long. There was a meal over at the church hall, but most of the family didn't get over there until pretty late. We stopped in here on the way, my husband, Dennis, and I and Darlene.”
Darlene continued, “I knew Mom had all this food in her pantry, and I just knew she'd want us to get it. So we hurried in and gathered it up. And Iâ” Her eyes widened, and she looked helplessly around the room. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued. “I glanced in the den in passing. And I noticed that the Folio wasn't sticking out of the bag anymore. I assumed that Sharon or Kirk or someone had moved it. Maybe put it in a safer place. Like I should have.”
“Darlene, don't blame yourself,” said Sharon. “We were all preoccupied.”
Wes spoke up at last. “Mom, did anyone else have a key to Grandma's house besides you?”
Darlene shook her head. “I have two keys, actually, the spare I have always had, plus Mom's keys. They're in her purse, which is back at our house.” She had a pained expression on her face. “Mom's purse, with its spare change and hand lotion, I managed to protect. Yet a priceless seventeenth-century artifact, I somehow overlooked.” She sighed heavily.
Wes looked thoughtful. “Didn't Grandma keep an emergency key hidden in the front yard? Under a rock or something?”
For a moment, the family looked at one another in silence. Then, all at once, they got up and headed for the front door. I started to follow, then paused at the libraryâthe den, Darlene had called it. It was in such a state of disarray, I realized it would be futile to look for any evidence at this point. I wandered back to the kitchen to take a look at the back door. Not that I had any clue as to what I was looking for. I could still hardly believe that someone had actually stolen the Folio right out of Eleanor's home. I also couldn't help remembering what Sharon had said at the visitationâthat maybe Eleanor hadn't died of natural causes, after all. The thought gave me goose bumps.
After opening and closing the back door, I looked up to see Wes coming into the kitchen by himself.
“The key was still there,” he said. “Took us a couple minutes to find the right stone. Hard to say for sure, but it didn't look as if it had been used lately. The key was pretty crusty.”
Just then, Darlene came into the kitchen with a guy I recognized from the photos at the visitation, Wes's younger brother, Rob. In a T-shirt and jeans, he resembled Wes. He had the same build, only slightly shorter, and the same chiseled jawline. He was cute. Instead of dark hair, he had sandy hair, which was sticking out from beneath a blue baseball cap. Seeing me, he immediately came over and stuck out his hand.
“Hi there,” he said with a friendly smile. “I'm Rob.”
“Keli,” I said, shaking his hand.
Wes took a step closer to me and gave his brother a warning look.
Interesting.
Then he addressed Darlene. “Mom, we need to call the police. We've got to report that the Folio was stolen.”
“Oh, no,” said Darlene, looking around the room. “I can't believe it. I just don't believe it. I can'tâ”
“Mom,” said Wes, cutting her off. “Want me to call?”
She nodded and fell into a chair.
Rob perched himself on a stool, looking pensive. “Guess the next call will be the insurance company, huh? Well, at least we don't have to worry about selling the old book. Now it will just be the insurance proceeds to divvy up.”
I suddenly had a horrible thought. Had Eleanor added the Folio to her insurance policy? If she hadn't, there was no way her homeowner's insurance would cover the loss of a million-dollar valuable the insurer knew nothing about.
Wes looked at Rob incredulously but didn't say a word. Flipping through a phone book on his grandmother's counter, he found a number for the local police station and placed the call.
Sharon had to leave for workâthe second shift at Edindale Medical Center, she saidâbut the rest of us waited in the backyard, which was lush and fragrant in the warm afternoon sun. It was a sizable yard, dotted with maple trees and fruit trees, lilacs and rosebushes. It was the kind of paradisiacal yard that tempted me to leave my cozy town house for greener pastures.
Darlene, who looked like she wanted to keep busy, emptied the birdbath and turned on a hose to refill it. Then she started pulling weeds from the vegetable garden. Rob sat in a lawn chair on the small patio, eyes glued to his smartphone. I watched as Wes ambled around the yard. He stood on the back steps and then walked slowly down the path that led to an old toolshed and then to the wooden fence along the alley. He went through the gate, passed the garbage cans, and looked up and down the alley.
I started wandering around myself, tracing the perimeter of the house and pondering how someone might have gotten in without a key. There was no cellar door, no other entrance, and all of the first-floor windows looked intact. On the north side of the house, I looked up and noticed a window was slightly open. But it was out of reach without a ladder. The closest tree, a towering, bushy pine, was a good eight feet from the house. Besides, pines were difficult to climb. Too sticky.
I walked back to the patio, where Wes was talking with his mom.
“Who are the neighbors?” I asked, pointing to each side of Eleanor's house.
“That's Mrs. Ross there,” answered Darlene, nodding toward the house on the pine tree side. “She's a widow. She was at the visitation. The other side is the Perrys. They were at the visitation, too.”
The police arrived, two middle-aged officers named Buchanan and Shakley. They dutifully took notes while Darlene gave them the same account she had relayed to me. The officers looked at the front and back doors and walked through the house, but they didn't stay long. They said they would talk to the neighbors, and then they left. They weren't gone thirty seconds before Wes grabbed my arm.
“Let's follow them.”
“What?”
“I want to see who they talk to, find out what they learn. Come on.”
Admittedly, I felt silly. It was comical, really, the way we were trailing two cops, trying to be nonchalant as we sauntered down the sidewalk in this peaceful, leafy neighborhood. We tried to stay back a good half block while keeping the officers in our sight. Every time they turned to approach another front door, we turned quickly to face the other way or ducked behind a tree or a parked car. I didn't know who was more conspicuous, a couple of uniformed police officers going door-to-door or the two goofballs behind them.
Secretly, I was having a blast.
“Too bad we don't have a dog to walk,” Wes murmured from the corner of his mouth. “It would be the perfect cover.”
“Do you have a dog?” I asked. Hey, I wasn't going to miss an opportune “getting to know you” moment, crime-fighting mission or not. I was a practiced multitasker.
“Nah. Too much responsibility. And I'm not home enough. Maybe someday, though.”
Intriguing. I was about to ask a follow-up question when Wes suddenly pulled me off the sidewalk and alongside an SUV that was parked in a short driveway. We crouched down and peeked through the vehicle's side windows. Shakley and Buchanan were walking to the front of a nice two-story frame house painted pale blue, with manicured bushes in the front yard.
But it wasn't the house or the cops Wes was eyeing. I followed his gaze and saw a girl of fifteen or sixteen standing like a statue behind a juniper bush on the side of the house. She regarded the cops with wide eyes.
I looked at Wes questioningly. He shrugged and whispered, “She was walking around from the backyard and practically dove behind that shrub when she saw them. I'm pretty sure she didn't notice us.”
The cops stood on the front porch, speaking to a ponytailed woman wearing cargo shorts and a white polo shirt. We could hear indistinct voices, punctuated by the occasional “Oh!” and “No, I don't think so.”
Before I realized what was happening, the officers stepped aside and the woman, ponytail swinging, trotted down the steps and made for our direction. I tensed up and grabbed Wes's arm, ready to bolt. Though to be seen running away would probably have proved more embarrassing than getting caught.
Wes placed his hand on my knee and gave me a warning look, but his eyes sparkled. I had to stifle a sudden urge to giggle out loud.
“Brandi!” the woman called out loudly as she rounded the corner of the house.
The girl behind the bush started backing up. She looked like she was ready to bolt, too.
The woman spotted her and stopped short. “Brandi! What are you doing back there?”