“Mrreow.”
I flinched at the sound, then had to rub away the second layer of goose bumps that had cropped up on my arms. It took a few long seconds to catch my breath, but I finally summoned the nerve to look down.
It was the black cat, looking very handsome as it sat on the carpet near my feet. “You’re not exactly huge, but you scared the hell out of me. You know that?”
I could’ve sworn he looked up at me and grinned.
I was just thankful that my room was far enough away from the other guests’ rooms so nobody heard my pitiful squealing.
“Hello, Leroy,” I said, bending down to stroke his long, black coat. “You scared the bejeezus out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever screamed quite that loud before.”
“Meow,” he purred, and rubbed his head against my ankles.
“I suppose you’re proud about that.”
He wasn’t exactly the gigantic hobgoblin I’d envisioned, but given my reaction, he probably imagined himself a formidable fiend capable of bringing grown women to their knees.
I glanced at the ceiling. “How did you climb up there?”
“Meow.”
“Hmm.” I guess he wasn’t ready to confess his secrets to me. But, obviously, cats knew how to get from here to there a lot easier than we humans did. “Were you the one making noise in here last night? I’ll bet you were. Do you know that you woke me up?”
We stared at each other for another long moment. Leroy seemed amused by my one-sided conversation.
“I’m going to the library now,” I announced. “Feel free to join me.”
An hour later, Leroy and I were still in the library. I had given the books from my room to Nathan first thing, and told him about the other ones I’d found in the ceiling shelves. He assured me that he would check them out later. I warned him that the cat liked to hide up there, too.
“Leroy likes to hide in strange places,” Nathan said, smiling as he bent down to scratch the cat’s neck.
Nathan had set up shop at one of two antique rolltop desks placed at opposite ends of the spacious library. His laptop was set up in the center of the desk and notebooks and pencils were spread haphazardly across the surface.
“I’ll start cataloging these right now,” he said, and tapped a few keys on his laptop.
“I’d love to take a look at your catalog program when you can spare some time,” I said. “I’m thinking about updating mine.”
“No problem,” he said absently, and kept working.
I took a leisurely stroll around the spacious room, giving
thanks that there were no bookshelves hanging from the high ceiling. Instead, the ceiling was elegantly covered in dark wood with the ceiling surface painted a light cream color. Old-fashioned schoolhouse lights hung down from the center of each coffered panel to illuminate the room.
A sturdy wood library table and six comfortable chairs filled the center of the room and built-in bookshelves covered the four walls. There was a comfortable chair in each of two corners.
I cleared the second rolltop desk on the other side of the room of miscellaneous papers and still more books, then set up my own book-repair station. I ran back to my room to get my tools and supplies from my suitcase, then laid everything out neatly on the desk surface.
When I sat at the desk, I found that I could see out the window above it. There was a pretty view of the forest of pine trees that bordered the back side of the property.
“I’m impressed,” Nathan said when I was finished setting things up. “You take your tools with you everywhere you go?”
I glanced up and was reminded again of how adorable and clean-cut he was. Smiling at my own thoughts, I said, “Not always. But Grace mentioned that she might have some repair work for me to do while I was here, so I came prepared.”
“If what you found under that table last night is any indication, this place could keep you busy for a long time.”
“True,” I said. “Too bad I don’t travel with the kind of supplies it would take to repair that dented cover of the
Pilgrim’s Progress
. If Grace wants it fixed, I’ll have to take it home and work on it in my studio.”
“She will,” Nathan said. “It’s too valuable not to restore it. And I hope we can find that second volume of
Gulliver’s Travels
while you’re here.”
“Me, too. I would love to show the pair to my friend at the Covington Library.”
Ian McCullough, head curator of the Covington, would be giddy over some of the books in Grace’s collection.
Leroy settled down for a nap on the thick carpet under my desk. My rational mind tried to convince me that Leroy’s napping at my feet had nothing to do with me; that the spot on the carpet was one of his regular haunts. But as I did on a regular basis, I ignored my rational mind and savored the personalized kitty-cat love instead.
I spent another hour doing minor repairs to several inexpensive hardcovers that had suffered from torn dust jackets, ripped pages, and flapping spines.
When I was finished with my repair work, I left the library and took a tour of Grace’s house, just as she’d suggested the day before. I strolled through the public rooms, admiring Grace’s magnificent furnishings as well as the quirky personal touches that seemed to pop up in the most unlikely places. On the third floor, halfway down the hall from the grand staircase, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of an old-fashioned bright red English telephone booth. Curious, I checked the telephone inside. Sure enough, it was working. There was a little seat in there that swiveled out from the wall, too. How fun!
I continued my third-floor explorations, keeping a sharp lookout for missing books. Most of the doors were closed and I assumed they were guest rooms, but one door was ajar. Nailed to the door at eye level was a brass plaque that identified the small salon as the
WONDERLAND ROOM
. I walked inside and found it furnished with giant props from a recent remake of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
.
According to another plaque on one of the walls, Grace was an ardent fan of Lewis Carroll’s creation and had come across the unusual pieces at an auction. The furniture was so massive that a ladder had been placed next to several pieces, including the eight-foot-high
couch, in case any guests were interested in testing it for comfort.
I left the room humming an old Jefferson Airplane song about some pills making you larger or smaller.
A few yards down the hall was another cozy sitting room filled with normal, comfortable-looking furniture and a wide-screen television. I wasn’t sure if anyone ever used the room, but I had the strongest urge to lie down on the couch and take a nap.
And yet there was no way I would sleep in this room, because in one of the corners a full suit of armor was staring at me. I stood next to it, amazed to discover that medieval warriors weren’t very tall. At least the original owner of this fine suit wasn’t, because I towered over it by a full three inches.
It was silly to feel chilled. There wasn’t anyone hiding inside the armor, right? But then again, there could be spirits lingering. Maybe the suit’s owner died while wearing the armor. Or maybe he killed a bunch of his enemies while he wore it. Those spirits could’ve followed the armor. But even if that was all baloney, I still wouldn’t be able to relax with
him
staring at me.
I’d had a hard enough time using the powder room downstairs after discovering another suit of armor in there the first time I ever visited Grace.
“I didn’t know anyone was using this room.”
I jumped a foot before realizing it wasn’t the suit of armor speaking to me. Spinning, I saw Harrison Crawford standing in the open doorway.
I patted my chest, catching my breath. “Hello, Mr. Crawford.”
“Hello, Brooklyn,” he said, sauntering into the room. “Please call me Harrison. I was just looking for a place to watch some TV and take a nap.”
“I’m not staying, so you’re welcome to use this room. I was just taking a tour and came upon this awesome suit of armor.”
“There’s a lot that’s awesome around this house,” he said. “It could keep you busy for a long time.”
“I know. Grace is an amazing collector.” I looked back at the shiny suit of armor. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep with that guy staring at you?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem.” He chuckled. “My wife accuses me of being able to fall asleep anywhere.”
It figured that Madge would hold something as benign as that against him. “Is your wife going to join you in here?”
“Oh, hell, no,” he said in a rush. “She’s gone off for a walk in the woods. Said she wanted to do some bird watching. She’s perfectly happy trudging about on her own.”
Harrison was such a nice man. I was still trying to figure out what he saw in his unpleasant wife. I hated to be so negative—I was, after all, still trying to be a beacon of positivity—but I couldn’t seem to help it when it came to Madge. “Well, Harrison, I’ll leave you to your nap.”
“Ah, I’ll probably just watch the stock market returns.” He plopped on the couch, grabbed the remote control, and spread the newspaper out before him on the coffee table.
As I headed for the door, I took one last look around the room. That’s when I spied a messy pile of books on a console partially hidden by the open door.
“Wow,” I whispered. The books were classic noir fiction. “Pulp fiction.” I counted twenty-two of them. They were all paperbacks from the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s, by mystery authors like Agatha Christie, Mickey Spillane, Raymond Chandler, Erle Stanley Gardner, Dashiell Hammett, and others. They had the most fabulous, lurid covers imaginable, with scantily clad blondes and screaming redheads, bulging eyeballs, spilled cocktails, and black dial telephones.
The titles were wonderful, too, with some more suggestive than others.
Terror on the Train, Kiss Me at Midnight,
Blondes Tell No Lies, Her Lips Were Blood Red, Call Me Wanton
.
One of the Agatha Christies,
4:50 from Paddington
, showed a woman’s body flying from a train. It was so delightfully graphic, I almost giggled aloud. Most of the books were originally priced at twenty-five to thirty-five cents, but now they could be worth hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars. Especially as a collection.
“What’s that you’ve got?” Harrison said.
“Some fantastic books.” I carefully scooped up all twenty-two of the little jewels. “I’m taking them to the library for some special attention.”
“That’s nice,” he said absently, and went back to his paper.
“See you later.” I left the room and almost rammed into Kiki out in the hall.
“Have you seen my dad?” she asked.
“Yes, he’s in there.” I jerked my head toward the sitting room where I’d left Harrison.
“Oh.” She glanced toward the door of the room. Then she frowned, but didn’t make a move to go in and see her father. “Do you need help with that stack?”
“That’s okay. I’m perfectly balanced right now.”
She smiled. “Okay, catch you later.”
I watched her walk into the room.
“Dad, we have to talk about Mom,” she said.
“I wish you girls would try to get along.”
“How can I when she’s trying to kill—”
That’s when Kiki closed the door.
What?
Damn! How was I supposed to eavesdrop on people if they closed the doors on me? I figured Kiki was just being an overly dramatic daughter talking about her mother, but my ears definitely perked up when I heard anyone mention the word
kill
. At this point, the ears-perking tendency had become part of my DNA.
I sighed, then fumbled with the books in my arms but
managed to steady them. I walked carefully through the hall and watched every step I took as I descended the grand stairway.
I pushed the door to the library open and greeted Nathan. “Wait till you see what I found.”
He instantly shut his laptop screen and followed me across the room to my desk. I lowered the stack of books carefully onto the surface and took a breath.
“Wow, these are fantastic,” he said, picking up the book at the top of the pile.
“Aren’t they? Be careful. Some of them are falling apart.”
“I can see that.” He turned the book over, then frowned as he opened the cover. “This one’s in pretty bad shape. But still great. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
“I know. I can’t do much except clean them up and check for any really bad tears. We should put them in archival plastic cases to protect them for the long haul.”
“Good idea.”
Finding the noir collection had made me wonder again if Grace might be interested in donating some of her books to the Covington. The paperbacks weren’t really good for reading anymore; they were too brittle. But the covers were fabulous representations of the jazzy pulp art of a bygone era. They would make for a fun exhibit for the library.
Nathan grinned and held out the cover of the book he was holding. It was the terrorized redhead with her eyes bulging at the shadow of a knife above her. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She really is.” I reached for the Mickey Spillane paperback. Its cover was fragile with age and barely hanging on to the yellowed text block. “I’ll order a box of archival covers while I’m here.”
“Good idea. They won’t arrive until next week, so I’ll take care of slipping the books into them.”
“Thanks.” I placed the Spillane back on the stack. “I’ll
bet there’s more of these around the house. I thought I might put together a separate catalog for them. I think they would make a fascinating exhibit for the Covington Library, if Grace agrees to it.”
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t.” He walked back to his desk and pulled the rolltop down. I watched as he locked the desk and wondered if he wasn’t going a little overboard with the security. But I couldn’t really blame him. Like most people, he probably had his entire life on his computer.
He turned and said, “I’m heading out. Are you ready for the séance?”
I looked up. “What time is it?”
“Almost six.”
“Are you kidding?” I frowned. “I must’ve lost track of time. I have to go get dressed.”
He looked me up and down. “You’re already dressed.”
“I mean, for the evening. Don’t want to look like a slob.”