that case dominated my every waking thought. Not much time to tend to our relationship.”
There was a bizarre feeling in my belly at the thought of Abe in a relationship. “When did the two of you break up?” I asked.
“About five years ago. She’s married now and has a baby. Which makes me happy. I felt guilt for a long time knowing she spent a year of her life with a man who wouldn’t give her what she needed.”
I brushed a few strands of hair behind my ear, tilted my head. “Have you ever dated anyone that distracted you from work?”
Abe stared at me. “No. Not yet. Although my mother and Jeanette beg me to find her so they can finally become grandparents.”
“Your moms sound like smart ladies,” I said. “You must be Philadelphia’s most eligible bachelor. There are a lot of women who would kill to date a man who cared so deeply about righting the wrongs of the world.” While looking that hot in a suit.
He didn’t respond to my observation. Instead, he countered with, “And how many hearts are you breaking in New York City right now? Ten? Twenty?”
I laughed, surprised. “Not a heartbreaker,” I said. “That would imply I stayed around long enough for them to learn the language of my heart.”
His throat worked behind his collar. “Has anyone learned that language?”
“Not yet.”
To avoid bursting into flames, I re-focused on that picture of Bernard and Victoria. Thought about vulnerabilities, the soft spots and weaknesses of a con artist. For my parents, my best guess was their marriage was one of criminal convenience, a distorted partnership that bound them together through years of lies and thievery. I stood up, tugged at the deerstalker hat hanging from the end of the floor lamp.
“I take back what I said about vulnerabilities. It’s not only greed.”
“It’s Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle,” Abe said softly. “Bernard’s one emotional obsession.”
“The private papers from Doyle that he lost the first time they were made available was also the first time he’d ever been denied. Been told no and had it mean something,” I continued.
He nodded along, then scrubbed his hands down his face. It’d been a long two hours, and I could feel my scratchy eyes and aching back. “Everything here, all of these books, have something to do with Sherlock Holmes or Doyle. It’s like a kind of shrine.”
He grabbed the last book on the shelf and opened it.
A photo fell.
He snatched it up as it hit the ground. “Sloane.”
I was there in an instant. And there was a fluttering in my belly caused by Abe’s firmly speaking my name. Not Devon or Ms. Atwood or Ms. Argento or any other teasing moniker. Abe flipped the picture around and tapped it with his fingers. “That’s Bernard. And these are the members of The Empty House that Sam and Freya got arrested.”
I took the picture, looked at Abe. “I only know about The Empty House from the articles written about the case in the newspaper.”
He pointed to a white man with an Indiana Jones-style hat on. “That is Dr. Bradley Ward, the head of The Empty House and formerly a well-known academic and professor.” He indicated an elegant-looking white couple. “Thomas and Cora Alexander, also in the secret society and close with Ward. We believe Bernard had the Alexanders steal a first edition of Don Quixote from Ward. And we believe Bernard also had them steal the George Sand love letters that Sam and Freya ultimately recovered. Thomas and Cora admitted to my agents on multiple occasions that Bernard was stirring the pot, potentially destabilizing the group without concern for anyone other than himself.”
“That matches his personality,” I said grimly. “Were the Alexanders the thieves themselves? Or did they use someone?”
Abe grimaced slightly. “We think they used a librarian intern named Jim Dahl. Dahl was working at The Franklin Museum in Philadelphia for six months prior to them receiving the Sand letters. He stole them and forged additional copies to sell. He was never caught, so we can’t be sure, but our guess was always that he was the thief used to steal from Dr. Ward too.”
“He’s still on the run?” I asked.
“No sign of him,” he answered. “I’m sure he’s one thief of many that Bernard has used throughout the years.” He flipped the photo over, frowned. “Apparently this picture was taken during an annual trip to Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland.”
“Interesting,” I drawled. “Look there’s our friend Eudora.” She was dressed