Chapter 16 #3
Here it was. Could she fudge her way through this without getting Yannis in trouble? “I had to drop something off at the Tellers’.
I went out the back way because it was faster.”
Olivia just looked at her.
Daphne frowned, then her expression changed. “Is that where you’ve been going when you sneak off like you do? To see Yannis
Teller?
“I just had to pick up some new figures—” Figures of the latest birth control methods printed on pamphlets that Celia had requested.
But Daphne didn’t let her finish. “With Yannis, of all people! And at night when the store is closed. Alone.” She gasped,
and her hand flew to her mouth. “How could you?”
Of all the reactions Celia had prepared for, it wasn’t this. Just tell them and get it over with. “I—” But it was safer to let them think the worst than to tell them the real reason she was there.
“Well, there goes your reputation,” Daphne said. “And ours, too. People will think because we have one fast sister, all three
of us are fast.”
“Oh, Daphne, do be quiet,” said Olivia.
Celia wanted to laugh. Being fast was the least of their worries. There was so much more at stake than reputations. But it
wasn’t fair to have them think the worst of Yannis.
“It isn’t like that at all. I told you I was helping with the books.”
“Late at night, alone with Yannis?”
“I didn’t say I was alone with Yannis.”
“You didn’t say you weren’t.”
Celia couldn’t answer. Sometimes it seemed like everything she touched became a colossal problem for everyone. But she wouldn’t
go back; she couldn’t. She had a cause to fight for, and if she wasn’t tied to the bookshop and her sisters, she would be
doing it out in the open. Or at least studying how to make wholesale changes, like Camille at the settlement had suggested.
A psychologist, a sociologist. Something useful. Something that would change more lives than just hers. But she’d have to
tell Yannis what Daphne thought. He was going to be really upset . . . again. One crisis averted, but he wouldn’t be happy
if he thought Daphne thought badly of him.
“Well?” Daphne jutted her chin toward Celia. “I’m sure Olivia will agree with me that this has to stop. Now.”
Olivia looked up at the sound of her name. “Are you certain you didn’t recognize him? Think!”
“Olivia!” exclaimed Daphne. “Haven’t you been listening? Celia is meeting Yannis. Yannis—” She stopped suddenly, her bottom
lip slipping into a pout.
Olivia blinked several times behind the thick lenses of her glasses. “Think back. Take your time. If it’s just a random thief,
we can warn the other owners about him. If it’s someone who is after something specific—”
“Oh no,” cried Daphne, Yannis forgotten. “He’s after those poems. I told you we should have gotten rid of them.”
Olivia looked at Celia for confirmation.
“I’m not sure. The night of the raid I briefly saw a man clutching a package in the window, possibly the one that ended up
in our throwaway box, but I can’t be sure. Then yesterday, the same man, at least I think it was he, was looking in our window,
and later he came into the shop. You remember him, Daphne, he was asking about the other floors. I’m not sure it was the same
man, but I thought he was acting suspiciously.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Daphne said. “He was kind of creepy. Like Uriah Heep.”
“He was,” agreed Celia.
“Not Mr. Starling?” asked Olivia. “We don’t really know anything about him.”
Just what Celia had been thinking earlier.
“Mr. Starling?” blurted Daphne. “He’s a gentleman, not a burglar. Was that why you’ve refused to shown him our best volumes?”
“It wasn’t Mr. Starling,” Celia said quickly, remembering his admonition. “Shorter and stockier. I wondered if it might be
the same man. But it all happened so fast.”
“It’s a blessing that he didn’t hurt you,” said Olivia.
Mr. Starling was the blessing, but Celia heeded his warning and kept that to herself. “I’m sorry to cause you distress. From
now on, I’ll use the front door for my dealings with Mr. Teller.” Not a total lie. She would do her financial business through the front, and she’d be a lot more careful for the other.
“We must be vigilant,” Olivia said. “And perhaps, Daphne,” she added matter-of-factly, “you could make two more signs. One
with information about the inventory on the second floor and an arrow or something pointing up the stairs. And another that
says ‘Private, Staff Only.’ Or some such.”
“I will,” Daphne said, suddenly looking less worried and a lot more gratified. “I’ll start right now.”
While Daphne arranged her art supplies, Olivia insisted on helping Celia clear away the tea things.
There was more that Celia wasn’t telling, and Olivia didn’t know whether it was because she didn’t want to alarm Daphne, or
because she was involved with more than the Tellers’ financial ledgers.
They didn’t speak until they were both standing at the sink, Celia washing, and Olivia with the drying cloth. It was clear
that Celia was conflicted but was not going to talk without help.
Finally, Olivia ventured. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Celia fumbled the teacup and barely managed to set it right.
“You’re not going to the knitting ladies’ meetings, are you? No, don’t bother to think up a fib, I know you aren’t. You can’t knit, you have the wrong yarn for socks, but I don’t think you’re running out to carry on with Yannis, either.”
“I would never. He’s in love with Daphne, though sometimes I wonder how he could be.” Celia grimaced. “And she just ignores
him.”
“Yannis is a dear, sweet boy. I think he could make Daphne quite happy,” Olivia said. “If she will just see what’s right in
front of her before it’s too late.”
Celia frowned at her sister. Olivia never expressed her feelings or even talked about feelings in the abstract. But tonight
she sounded as if she spoke from experience, an echo of sadness laced through her words. Olivia was twenty-four, almost twenty-five.
She’d never mentioned any interest in love. Was there a someone whom her sister loved? Had there ever been?
But before Celia could drum up the courage to ask, Olivia looked directly at her, her expression severe, yet not cold.
“You can keep your secrets for now, and I will keep mine.”