Breathing Space (Ellis McFadden Mysteries #1)

Chapter 5

I left the lights off so no one mistook the library for being open. I could see well enough with the light coming through the glass frontage. I went straight to the breakroom and the printer. As straight as I could manage, considering the cider was hitting me pretty hard.

The book had finished printing, and it was big. Not quite a coffee table edition but large enough. Thick, too.

I peered through the printer’s glass door. The book was bound in aged brown leather, the gilt printing of the title nearly worn off the cover, the gilt on the page edging almost transparent with time. That wasn’t a flaw. The printing program was designed to replicate books in as close to the original state as possible to provide the experience of what reading the original would have been like.

As the original had been obviously very old, the reproduction looked that way now.

Before I took the book out of the printer, I got a cup of water and drank it down, then I had a second one. I could not afford to be hungover tomorrow.

I hoped I hadn’t made a fool of myself in front of Frank. The next time I talked to him, I’d explain that I really never drank. Hopefully, he’d understand. I did not need him thinking I was some kind of good-time girl.

Water finished, I took the book out of the printer and brought it to the front desk. I almost tripped over my own foot in the process. I’d only had the two glasses of cider. How strong was that stuff? I was never drinking again, and this time, I meant it.

Then a thought came to me. Despite drinking that water, there was a very real chance I’d still be hungover tomorrow morning. Even adding vitamins to my vapor shower wasn’t likely to help. Did I really want to deal with Andrew Woolsey with a throbbing head and an iffy tummy?

With a sigh, I admitted to myself that I did not. A solution came to me.

I glanced at the book. He had asked for it to be delivered. Curiosity got the best of me, and I opened it. The words looked … odd. Immediately, I frowned. How drunk was I? I blinked a few times and realized it was written in Latin.

I knew a little but not enough to translate. So much for that. I closed the book and frowned. I’d had the chance to study the language once, but I’d chosen a fiber arts class instead. Not very useful, in my opinion. The Latin, not the fiber arts class. I’d made a lovely wall hanging.

Maybe I should have another glass of water.

Did Andrew know Latin? I supposed he did, being a botanist and all. Plants had Latin names. Made sense. But I was getting off track.

Focusing on my plan once again, I went back to my office, grabbed the reusable tote I kept on the hook on my door, and took it to the front desk, where I put the book into it. The thing had to weigh close to ten pounds. In my current state, the last thing I needed was to drop it and accidentally pop the cover off or bend pages, so the tote was my insurance.

I touched the screen at the front desk to turn it on and typed in Andrew’s name so I could pull up his information. Deck 9, Corridor H, Number 918. I brought my wristband to my mouth. “Deck 9, Number 918.”

I doubted I’d had enough cider to warrant using the mapping system to guide me to his quarters, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Not with Andrew being the intended recipient.

I hoisted the tote onto my shoulder, made sure to lock up behind me, and found the nearest elevator bank to Deck 9.

Besides the elevators, there were stairs as well as centrally located escalators that connected every floor. Not only did stairs seem like a bad idea, but I wanted this to take as little time as possible, so the elevator it was. Besides, the cruisers used the escalators a lot, and I was not in the mood to be chatty. I pushed the call button and leaned on the wall so I didn’t have to concentrate on staying upright.

The soft blue lighting in the corridors was soothing. The lighting changed color with the time, replicating sunrise, daylight, sunset, and nighttime. It helped with the circadian rhythm, but it also helped everyone on board keep track of time.

Without a horizon visible through the viewing windows, it was easy to lose track of things like day and night. There was such a thing as space sickness, too. Not as common as seasickness, but for some, it was debilitating.

The elevator car’s arrival was announced with a gentle ping and the opening of the doors. I stepped on, pressed the button for Deck 9 and prayed I didn’t run into anyone I knew. I was not in the shape for small-talk.

The elevator arrived on Deck 9. I stepped out and glanced at my wristband. Following the directions, I turned right. Thankfully, this corridor of the Athos remained blissfully quiet and empty.

Andrew’s quarters weren’t too far down. I double-checked that I was at the right place, then pressed the button on the keypad to announce myself.

I waited, but there was no answer. How could he not be home? He had to be up early to do the news report tomorrow. Had he already gone to bed? The door chime should wake him. Or was he one of those people who didn’t need sleep? Those people were so annoying. I pressed the button again. And again.

I watched the time. Sixty seconds ticked by and still no Andrew. I shifted the straps of my tote because they were digging into my shoulder. I really did not want to take this book back to the library. And I certainly wasn’t going to take it back to my place.

There was one other option.

It maybe was something I shouldn’t do. My cider-happy brain reminded me again that Andrew had asked for the book to be delivered, so this wasn’t something he should complain about.

I glanced in both directions. I was still alone in the corridor. There was a soft, metallic clink and a vuum exited his quarters, startling me.

I stepped back as the little robotic vacuum zipped down the hall to the next apartment.

Inhaling deeply, I thought a little more about what to do. Only one answer kept coming to me, along with the fact that he had asked for the book to be delivered.

I tapped my code into the keypad just under the printlock touchscreen. Nine nine zero nine nine zero nine nine.

His door whooshed open. I’d been issued the code in my packet of information that detailed my duties and compensation. Because the starliner was essentially run by the military, the civilian crew was ranked in a similar manner. Being head librarian meant I was the equivalent of a GS-9. Hazel had attempted to explain it to me once, but the military stuff seemed like a second language.

Long story short, I had a code that gave me a lot of access. I’d tried it once at Vashti’s, just to see if it worked. It had then, and clearly, it still did.

I slipped inside. The lights were on, but there was no sign of him.

The door closed behind me. Several of his commendations, awards, and certificates of academic achievement graced the foyer wall to the left. The wall to the right had a mélange of photos featuring Andrew with various dignitaries and celebrities.

My daughter was the vice-admiral of this starliner, but you didn’t see me advertising it.

With a roll of my eyes, I walked through the foyer and looked around. Andrew had clearly used most of his weight allowance on furnishings. The rug in particular stood out. How could it not?

The striking blues and reds of the Sha’rossi silk rug were impossible to miss. So was the small damp stain near the dining table, which had a bottle of whisky and a glass on it. Maybe it had splashed when Andrew was pouring? I supposed such things were inevitable. Rugs got dirty. But it was still beautiful. The Sha’rossi were a nomadic tribe from the desert planet Rygger, and they were renowned for their weaving.

The silk was produced by a three-foot-long caterpillar with a venomous sting and pincers capable of taking off a man’s finger. The Sha’rossi had perfected the delicate art of retrieving the discarded cocoons, unwinding the minuscule silk thread they were spun from, then using that thread to create the most amazing rugs and tapestries.

Most people agreed that the Sha’rossi’s sixth finger made their artistry possible.

I’d only read about the rugs. Seeing one in person wasn’t just unexpected, it was a little awe-inspiring. I had a Sha’rossi silk scarf, just a narrow slip of a thing. A dear gift from Ned a year before he’d passed. But the rugs were the crown jewel of the Sha’rossi craftsmen.

I had to touch it.

Using the edge of the wall that divided the foyer from the living area as a handhold, I carefully crouched down to caress the rug. I sucked in a breath at how soft it was. The rug was as silky as Harry. I’d be barefoot constantly if I had a rug like this. I couldn’t imagine how much it had cost. No wonder Andrew had brought it with him on the Athos .

How had he afforded it? Did botanists make that kind of money? I had no idea.

I got back to my feet, again using the wall to support myself.

Other than the furnishings, his quarters seemed identical to mine. The living room and small dining area were one big space. Above the chair beside the couch hung a pop-art portrait of his own face, four versions of it in different colors. Very Warhol. Also very narcissistic, but it tracked. He was in love with himself, so why not look at his own face as much as possible? Weird to me but obviously not to him.

The glass top of the coffee table was shaped like a kidney, supported by three triangular legs of wood and metal. The end table matched it and was lying on its side, proving my thought that neither looked sturdy enough to hold his book.

The overturned end table bothered me, so I righted it, moving it back into place beside the chair. I didn’t understand decorating for aesthetics over function, but this was Andrew’s place. If unreliable furniture made him happy, so be it.

One chair from his dining table was pulled out, and there was a bottle of whisky and a single glass on the tabletop, making it look as if he had been there just a moment ago.

“Andrew?”

I waited a moment, but no answer came.

I made a quick decision to prop the book up on the couch so that he’d see it as soon as he came in. I couldn’t imagine where he was. Hot date? Maybe he had a lady friend and he was sleeping at her quarters this evening.

Actually, that was even harder to imagine, but anything was possible. He was highly intelligent. That was a real turn-on for some women.

Personally, I liked my men a lot less annoying.

Wherever Andrew was, I wasn’t sticking around to find out. I set the tote on the couch, pulled the book out, and leaned it upright so it could easily be seen.

As tempting as it was to have a further look around, to take a peek in the bedroom, look through his medicine cabinet, I didn’t. I suppressed my natural nosiness (hey, at least I could admit it) and decided the best thing to do was leave.

Empty tote in hand, I slipped out. I was still a bit tipsy, but doubt had begun to sneak in and sober me up. Would Andrew be mad that I’d gone into his quarters?

He had asked for the book to be delivered. But as the effects of the cider leveled out, I could only hope that what I’d done wouldn’t create any more bad blood between us.

It was in his best interests to stay on my good side if he ever wanted another book printed. Which I was sure he would.

As I approached the elevators, one arrived. A woman with red-gold hair and a stern but pretty face stepped out. I couldn’t recall her name, but she’d been into the library, and I recognized her as one of the many scientists on board.

I checked the badge on her jumpsuit as she passed me. Sarah Fenchurch. I gave her a quick, friendly smile, but there was no acknowledgment. Her eyes were focused ahead, and the determined expression on her face never changed.

I stuck my hand between the elevator doors to keep them from closing but glanced over my shoulder before I stepped onto the car.

Sarah Fenchurch had stopped in front of Andrew’s door. As she reached out for the doorbell, I got on the elevator.

I wondered what she was so focused on. Was it a work thing? Were she and Andrew an item?

I had no idea, and I didn’t really care. Either way, it was their business. I yawned as I pressed the button for my deck. The cider was definitely wearing off, and all I could think about was getting into bed.

I really hoped I wouldn’t be hungover tomorrow. That would be no way to spend the day. What I needed was a nice, peaceful day in the library surrounded by happy, quiet patrons.

I smiled as the elevator reached my deck. The odds of that were looking up considering that delivering Andrew’s book meant I no longer had to see him tomorrow.