in a poncho and rain hat, smiling beatifically. Hard to place this innocent-looking cat lady as the same lady Humphrey said would bury your body beneath her floorboards if you crossed her.
With narrowed eyes, Abe brought the picture closer. “Well you don’t say. That is our favorite president. I wasn’t aware Eudora Green was an official member of The Empty House. Maybe this wasn’t specifically a trip for the secret society but a trip for the Sherlock Society.”
I squinted at two men off to the side, slightly blurred. One man held the hand of a little boy. “Then who are they, and whose kid is that?”
He shook his head. Examined the scrawled notation on the back again. “Peter, Nick, and James.”
I pulled out my phone, typed in James Patrick, Kensley Auction House. The first picture returned was the man in that photo, just aged by twenty years.
“So, this young boy must be Peter; the older man, his grandfather Nick. The bookstore owners.”
“The Sherlock Society. Adler’s. Kensley,” I added. “That’s our net, our radius. Those are our suspects.”
He held the picture close, squinting. “Can you find a current picture of Peter Markham?”
“I think I saw him the other night,” I mentioned. “Leading a discussion at Adler’s. This is him.” I found a picture on their website. He was a younger white man with red hair and a beard. Abe stared at it for a long time.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Something about his face is jogging my memory, and I don’t know why,” he said. “Which is infuriating.”
“Like you recognize him?”
He rubbed his brow. “Yes. I’m just not sure how. He’s a London bookstore owner, and unless he’s committed a crime in the States, I’d have no reason to recognize him. Right?”
I shrugged. “You and I both know our field is built upon a system of hunches. Don’t discount it. Maybe let it sit for a while.”
“True,” he said. “Hopefully you won’t be offended when I take this picture, by the way.”
“I saw nothing,” I winked. Stalked back to the pile of calendars I’d been sifting through.
“Speaking of hunches, one of Bernard’s weekly appointments is bugging me,” I said, scooping down to flip one open. Abe followed, looking over my shoulder. His breath sailed along the curve of my neck, igniting more fluttery feelings. More longing.
“This one,” I said, steeling my voice. “Every Wednesday night last year it says 7:00, Midnight Apothecary with E. I’m thinking Eudora, right? Illegal or not, they would have had plenty of Sherlock Society business to talk about given their roles in the organization.”
“Likely it’s her,” he said. “And tonight is Wednesday oddly enough. Do you think she still keeps her appointment?”
“With Bernard?” I asked, disbelieving.
“That would be extremely risky, and that man is anything but,” he said. “If anything, Eudora might still go there, and we could happen upon her. Use it as an excuse to work her for info.”
I tapped my phone against my mouth, thinking. Liking this plan. “I had a rather boozy brunch with Gertrude, the office secretary for the Sherlock Society. She liked me.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Abe said.
I winked at him. “Let me follow a feeling.”
I called Gertrude’s number in my phone, remembered that she adored chocolate and biscuits.
“Sherlock Society for Civilized Scholars,” came Gertrude’s bouncy English accent.
“Gertrude?” I said, tentative. “It’s Devon Atwood.”
“Oh Devon, what a nice surprise, love,” she gushed. “I was thinking about you last week actually. We must do lunch again before you head back to America.”
“I’d love it,” I swore. “Can I bribe you with biscuits for top-secret information?”
A sweet, tittering laugh came through the phone. I placed her on speaker, looked away from Abe’s face before I got too distracted. “You know me too well! Ask away, bribe away.”
I bit my lip. “It’s Eudora.”
“What about her, love?” An edge to her tone that hadn’t been there before.
“You’re going to think I’m an airhead, but she and I made plans tonight, and now I can’t get a hold of her, and I can’t remember where we’re meeting. She didn’t mention anything to you, did she?” I made the mistake of catching Abe’s slow grin at my acting. Took a step back.
“For tonight? No that can’t be right,” Gertrude said. “Every Wednesday night she’s at Midnight Apothecary, blocked off. She never goes anywhere else.”
Abe’s grin transformed into an intense focus.
“I see,” I replied. “Well, I must have gotten the dates wrong. I’m sure we’re meeting tomorrow night instead. Since I’m in town, is Midnight Apothecary a place I should