Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,20

auction tip cards she’d printed and painstakingly tucked into the top of each book had all been removed. There was no system now. There was no way the auctioneer would be able to sort the lesser-valued ones from the higher-priced editions, like the four-book Holmes collection, not to mention the valuable copy of Beeton’s Christmas Annual. Which were now mixed in with—Where are they?

Frantic, she flipped up books and scanned spine titles, sorted through the stacks, and stopped when she spotted the cover for The Hound of the Baskervilles on the far back corner of the table. Her heart thudded as she opened the cover to the title page. It was just as she feared when the aged but still glossy cover caught her eye. This was a book-club replica. A few years back a publisher had released a series of classic novels reprinted to look like the originals. She had this same set in her store and knew they weren’t worth much more than the publisher’s suggested retail price. She flipped open the cover of the next book in the pile. The Sign of the Four. It was the same. As were the copies of A Study in Scarlet and The Valley of Fear.

Realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She threw her hands up, as not to touch anything else, and danced a step backward from the table. Addie looked over at Charlotte’s body slumped in the chair and then back at the Holmes books. This was a crime scene after all.

Chapter 7

Addie couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched. It was as though the walls in the library had eyes of their own. In her logical mind, she knew that she was completely alone in the room—well, except for poor Charlotte—so she tried to tell herself the feeling was simply her overactive imagination playing tricks. After all, whose nerves wouldn’t be on edge when trapped in a room over thirty minutes with a dead body, right?

Her phone vibrated in her front pocket. Her arms flailed, sending an antique Tiffany lamp crashing to the floor. The glass shade exploded into shimmering rainbow shards around her feet. “Oh no!”

Somewhere in the horror of what had just happened, she knew someone was speaking to her, but the words were shrouded in fog and floated in and out of her mind until a calloused hand gripped hers. “I said, are you okay, Addie? You’re as white as a ghost. Maybe you should sit down?”

“No . . . I’m . . . I’m fine, Jerry, but boy, am I glad to see you. You aren’t going to believe what I found out.”

“You mean there’s more than a dead body and this broken lamp? Or are you saying the body is dead because of this lamp?”

“Well, no, I broke the lamp and as far as I know it has nothing to do with the body—I don’t think—but there’s more. There’s also a set of rare Sherlock Holmes books missing from this room.”

“Of course, there is.” Jerry, a burly, broad-chested man, fidgeted with the handcuffs on his utility belt. “But tell me, how is it whenever you’re involved, a book is missing and a body is discovered?”

“Coincidence?” She winced.

Jerry slid her a look and yanked his notebook from his chest pocket as he concentrated on the desk chair. “I’ll get the details later about the books. Right now, I’m pretty sure the chief would want me to focus on the most obvious mystery in this room.”

“The chief? But isn’t that still you?” He shook his head. “Okay then, he’s going to love this, because not only are the books missing but they were replaced with copies. Is that mysterious enough?”

“Miss Greyborne.” Marc Chandler, Chief of Police, bellowed his greeting over the noise of the eruption of the police presence in the library. “Why am I not surprised to see you in a room with a dead body?”

“I . . . umm . . .” Addie was torn by his clipped tone and the breathtaking sight of the lock of sun-kissed chestnut hair dangling over his tanned forehead. “I was just telling Jerry here that—”

“Save it. I’ll get back to your statement later. In the meantime, have a seat.” He pointed at two reading chairs in the far back corner of the room. “Stay there until I’m ready to question you, and,” he added mumbling, “in heaven’s name, please don’t interfere.”

A hot flush spread up her neck to her cheeks. She swallowed to