Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,8

to the glass case.

“I think this lock up here at the top, acts like the master. One key should unlock all six of the double doors. It’s a small keyhole, so try that one.” Addie pointed to a small brass key.

The locks clicked. “Smarty-pants.” Kalea grinned when the doors opened.

Addie crinkled up her nose and chuckled. “By the look of all the books in there, I’d better text Paige—she’s my shop assistant—and tell her I might be longer than I thought.”

When she finished sending the text, she crouched down beside Kalea and pulled on her gloves, nudging her cousin to do the same. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Addie slipped a worn novel from the bottom shelf and whistled. “It’s an 1888 first edition of A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle. Did you know that this was the first Sherlock Holmes book he wrote?”

Kalea peered over her shoulder. “What’s it worth?”

“This copy is about twenty-three thousand, but if this is what I think it is . . .” She pulled a plastic enclosed journal from its place beside where the book had sat on the shelf, carefully removed it from its protective covering, and gasped. “This . . . is the first ever published copy of the story that appeared in this 1887 edition of Beeton’s Christmas Annual. It was like the original printed proof of the story that was published in book form the following year.” She stroked the cover. “Out of all of Doyle’s books, this was always my favorite. Because it was the reader’s first introduction into how the genius of Sherlock Holmes’s deductive mind worked. Basically, Doyle started a revolution with Holmes. His character raised the bar for every other author and all the detective novels that followed. I can’t believe this is a copy of the proof.”

“What’s a proof?”

“It’s a typeset edition of a book for proofreading and correction before publication. Although this wasn’t intended as an actual proof, it served as one because a few minor changes were made to the book edition a year later.” Addie traced her gloved finger over the words A Study in Scarlet on the front page of the magazine. “A copy of this sold a few years ago for over one hundred and fifty-six thousand.”

“Say what?” Kalea stole the journal from Addie. “Wow, no wonder Nolan wanted me to stop by here on my way to meet him.”

“What do you mean he wanted you to stop by here?” Addie fixed her gaze on her cousin. “Didn’t you say you came to visit me and then just stopped in here after you saw the flyer?”

“I meant”—Kalea’s cheeks burned with a fiery glow—“he’ll be so glad I stopped at the auction after I saw the flyer.” She added, dropping her voice, “before I went to meet up with you and then him next week.”

Addie was taken aback. Had Kalea simply misspoken now or were her earlier words about visiting her only an effort to save face when Addie spotted her in the library? It made Addie wonder if her cousin even knew she lived in Greyborne Harbor in the first place or whether her arrival here on the same day as the auction preview was—as she let on—purely a coincidence.

Addie eyed her cousin warily, rose to her feet and walked toward the desk. Her mind replayed what Kalea said now versus when they greeted each other. Maybe she’d better keep Kalea close, just so she could keep an eye on her. Something about this whole visit wasn’t sitting right with Addie because obviously there was more going on with Kalea’s newfound interest than she first let on. Addie glanced down at the rare magazine in her hand and then back at her cousin, in time to witness her finishing off a text message and tossing her phone into her handbag.

Chapter 4

The hairs on Addie’s arms prickled. She squirmed on her chair with the uneasiness of being watched and glanced toward the doorway expecting to see Charlotte monitoring them. When she didn’t, her eyes darted over to her cousin sitting cross-legged on the floor, scribbling furiously on a pad of paper, surrounded by books from the barrister’s case. Her wedge sandals and suede jacket, discarded hours ago, lay in a heap at her side. The contents of her oversized handbag—granola-bar wrappers, tissues, and cell phone—were haphazardly scattered everywhere.

Addie puffed out a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time today she’d had the feeling of being watched. She’d