Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,79
them to comb through the brick room and around the mantel with a fine-toothed comb.
“So,” he said, eyes focused on Addie, “what made you think of using the tip of the feather pen as a lever to open the hidden chamber door?”
“Because the pen was on the desk the morning I discovered the body. But when I came back earlier today—”
Marc’s brows shot to his hairline.
Well, when one steps into a pile of doo-doo, there’s no wiping it off to cover it up, so she had to at least make it look good. “I came back this morning to see Blake, but he was busy with the police. I was concerned about the books in the library, because . . .” She brushed some hairs from her eyes, buying time until she remembered the reason aside from her insatiable curiosity. “I saw smoke in the hallway.” She was on a roll now. “Jerry came in to check the room with me. That’s when I noticed the pen wasn’t in the inkwell, and I asked him why the police took it.” She flicked a glance at Jerry and decided to not count the bulging veins on Marc’s forehead. “He said it hadn’t been taken in evidence and had no idea where it went.”
Marc shot Jerry a piercing glare. Jerry resumed dusting the mantel for prints; red blotches mottled his face.
Addie wove her fingers together then took them apart in front of her. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t escape her, but she knew Marc well enough to know it was best to ignore the tension between him and Jerry, even though she’d brought it on. Her calling attention to it would only hinder not help. She shifted her weight and forged ahead with her statement. “Later, Simon and I came in to have a look, because Blake told us there had been more thefts and asked me to check the table for any more missing first editions. I found the pen lying on the floor in front of the fireplace.”
Without looking up, Marc scribbled in his notebook. “What then?”
“It seemed odd that it wasn’t here earlier then suddenly it was. So it made me think that the pen must mean something. I took another look at the scrollwork on the mantel edge and noticed one of the decorative holes had some fine scratch marks around it. On a hunch, I picked up the pen.” She hitched her hands on her hips. “Don’t go getting your boxers in a bunch. I had a glove on. Anyway, where was I?”
“Picked up the pen,” Simon offered, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“That’s right. I stabbed the pen into the center of the hole.” She waved her hand toward the open hearth. “And this is what we discovered.”
“Simon, can you corroborate this?”
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “It happened exactly as she said.”
“Now”—Addie didn’t care that her voice possessed an edge of defiance—“will you consider my theory that Charlotte’s death and the book thefts are related?”
“How so?”
“Obviously the killer was hiding in here to wait for her to leave. Maybe he or she got tired of waiting and decided to rush things along?”
With no acknowledgment of her sharpened tone, Marc directed his focus on Simon. “Have you completed the autopsy yet?”
“No, I’m still running a few tests.”
“There you go, Addie. No proof of a murder, and unless there is, all I can do is investigate a grand larceny case.” His voice sounded strangled.
“All done in there, Chief.” Steve emerged from the chamber. “There’s nothing. No prints, no fibers. It’s as clean as a whistle.”
“Even on the step stool?”
“No, Chief. I’d say our thief is a pro.”
“What about the wood ash dragged into the chamber opening by someone? Any usable footprints there?”
“No, there wasn’t enough ash for a good mold. Only partials, nothing conclusive.”
“Pack it up, then. I guess we’re done. At least this is a lead on where the merchandise was likely stashed until it could be moved out. We only have to try and figure out who knew about this hidden room.”
“That could be one of over twenty people.” Jerry pressed the pen nib into the hole Addie had shown them earlier. The back of the hearth slid back into place.
“Can we go now, Marc?” Addie asked. “It’s late, and neither of us has eaten.”
Marc glanced at his watch. “You’re right, and I’m late for a dinner date.” He snapped his notebook closed. “That’s all for now, but I may have more questions—”