Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,28

to beat around the bush. As many of you know.” There were a few chuckles. “So I’m going to come right out and say it. The coyotes are at the door. Our community is being threatened at every level. Rare book theft is occurring at a rate never seen before. Forgeries, counterfeits, whole collections slipping through our fingers. Thieves are everywhere.”

Thomas and Cora wore matching martyred expressions. Roy appeared disinterested, scrolling through his phone.

“We have built this community of history buffs from the ground up. But that means we must be vigilant with who we trust. Vigilant with who we let into our stores and into our booths. Second-guess everything and trust nothing that you can’t personally verify. The great masterpieces of our time are being traded on the black market like playing cards. That’s on us. Which means it’s all on us to stop it. My hope this weekend is that coming together will be a rallying cry against the liars and the cheats in our midst.”

Maybe this would be easier than we thought. Maybe all we needed to do was tell this Bradley guy that we were hunting the George Sand letters, and he’d haul the perpetrator out of hiding for us.

“Y’all know I’m a cowboy. I might live in a penthouse instead of a ranch, but I’m of rancher’s blood. Growing up, my father used to drag me out of bed before dawn and tell me to load my shotgun.”

Sam’s hand landed back on my shoulder again.

The liars and the cheats in our midst. This time I didn’t move it.

“Because we had coyotes too. Sneaky, deceptive things. They attacked us every night, stealing our chickens. Our cows. Ruining the land we grew our crops on. They were a threat to our livelihood—just like these thieves are a threat to our way of life. And I think y’all know what my father and I did to our coyotes.” Bradley let a long, dramatic pause linger before leaning into the microphone. “We shot ’em.”

“Jesus,” Sam muttered beneath his breath. The audience reacted with stilted applause. I caught a few nervous glances. The Alexanders looked even more smug as they clapped enthusiastically. Maybe these ‘empty house’ people weren’t thieves at all? Maybe they were gun-toting book vigilantes?

Thomas turned around and winked at me.

Was Birdie a gun-toting book vigilante?

“We must redefine our values as antiquarian experts; redefine our boundaries and expectations of our relationships with each other. I hate having to work with the authorities as much as any other book dealer. Having police meddling in our personal business feels invasive, I know. But they’ll continue to be sniffing in our business if we don’t crack down on black market theft. This weekend should be a celebration of all that is antique and beautiful in this world. Let’s keep it that way. I refuse to lead a community that is more well-known for its shady underbelly than its pure and golden heart. Because that’s not what we’re about, now is it?”

A chorus of no’s throughout the room, plus stomping and clapping.

“Let’s make the next three days an antiquarian celebration, filled with hope for our future.” Bradley lowered his voice, cultivating the drama of this hushed, candle-lit room. “And I meant what I said about those damn coyotes.”

13

Sam

An awkward, heavy silence followed in the wake of Dr. Ward’s speech. People whispered to each other, shifting back and forth on their feet. A polite murmur became a soft clap, punctuated with cheers that grew louder. Dr. Ward seemed unfazed by the confusing reaction to his veiled threats of violence in the middle of a goddamn book festival. I watched the Alexanders with a careful eye—they clapped for the man with a dignified air.

Roy, however, glared like he held a personal vendetta against Ward.

Dr. Ward bowed and exited the stage—immediately, the booths surrounding us sprang to life. The curtains were pulled back, light streaming in. A visible wave of relief moved through me, dislodging the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding during the speech.

“The three of us need to talk to Bradley for a moment,” Cora said to Freya and me. “But we’d be honored to host the two of you for brunch on The Grand Dame balcony. Say twenty minutes?”

“We can continue our conversation from the other day,” Thomas chimed in.

“We’d be the honored ones.” Freya’s hand landed on her chest. “Come find us when you’re ready. Julian and I will browse the goods.”

The Alexanders bid their farewells, dragging Roy behind them