Chapter 27
Celia and Daphne were still staring at each other when the Arcadia door swung open and Joshua Starling stepped in, accompanied
by Max Lienhardt.
Celia didn’t know whether to be alarmed or relieved.
It didn’t matter. Neither man paid any attention to the two sisters but scanned the store.
“Damn!” Joshua mumbled enigmatically. He turned to Celia. “We saw him come in. But he didn’t come out the front door.”
“Where is Olivia?” Max demanded. He didn’t wait for an answer. He bounded toward the stairs and took them three at a time,
his long lean legs moving faster than Celia thought possible. Joshua was right behind him.
Olivia’s grip tightened convulsively around Jane, whose claws dug into Olivia’s skin. Olivia immediately loosened her hold;
she was amazingly calm.
“I don’t know who you are or what you want.
. . .” Of course she did. If she hadn’t before, the appearance of Joshua Starling and the clandestine meetings of Celia would have given her a clue.
“But your society colleagues have been carted off to jail, and I suggest you hurry away before the same thing happens to you.”
“I’m going nowhere until you return the package I left in your book box.”
“That box is for throwaways. It’s free to anyone who would like it. It’s long gone, I’m afraid.”
“Get up. And turn on a light so I can see you.”
The man moved, though she could only see his shadow. She eased out of her chair, keeping a firm hold on Jane with one hand
and reaching for the desk lamp with the other. The light flickered on, casting a yellow oval on her desk.
“Where is it?”
“I told you. It’s long gone, probably discarded.”
“I doubt that. Take me to your safe. All you people have them, the one for the high-end stuff.”
He moved suddenly, and the light caught the reflection off a pair of spectacles and something much more ominous: the flick
of a knife blade.
“Move. Now. I don’t have much time.”
Olivia moved very slowly from behind the desk. She caught a low echo of sound. Footsteps bounding up the stairs. Too late
to help her if she remained this close to her assailant.
“All right. Stay calm. I’ll take you.”
She walked past him and toward the front of the building.
Away from the entrance to the safe. She noticed that he wasn’t much taller than she was, but he had a knife, and unfortunately Olivia had never been schooled in the martial arts.
She had no idea what she would do when they reached the parlor end of the floor.
She just hoped whoever was running up the stairs was Officer O’Halloran or Sullivan.
And would get here in time to stop the man.
She didn’t hold out much hope.
But if her fate was to die saving a manuscript, it should be for Sappho. The idea gave her a surge of confidence. And then
the realization that he might come back after her sisters brought her back to earth.
“Speed it up.” The man sounded nervous, frightened maybe.
They had reached the end of the workshop. Ahead of them the streetlights outlined the parlor furniture at the far end of the
floor. Sofa, chairs, tables.
“There’s no safe.”
He was standing behind her now, and he yanked her to face him. “There must be a safe.”
The action of his arm loosened her grip on Jane. And Jane, bless her, seeing her escape, leaped away—right into the man’s
face. And in the spirit of Jane Eyre, Jane Austen, and Jane Addams, she clung to him. He whirled around, grabbing her with
both hands, and flung her across the room.
Jane let out a howl.
“You devil!” cried Olivia, and threw out her arms to lunge at him, just as a tall black figure swept past her and knocked
her assailant backward.
The thief staggered briefly, and before he could act a fist smashed into his jaw, knocking him down completely.
He didn’t get up. Suddenly, the parlor was crowded with others, most of them out of breath.
Olivia stood looking down at the man on the floor. And the man who had put him there.
“Max?”
Max heaved a sigh and shrugged.
Her sisters surrounded her, hugging and crying, and she really wished they would give her some room. Suddenly, she was having
a hard time breathing.
“Max?” It seemed the only important thing right now.
He held out his hand, and she brushed her sisters away. “Your hand? Is it all right.”
“Good God, Olivia, is that all you can think about?”
There was a lot she could think about, that she would think about, but right now, she was safe. “Thank you.” And she stepped
into his arms.
“Well, you didn’t exactly catch him with the goods,” Celia said to Joshua when he returned from giving Officer O’Halloran
instructions for the incarceration of the man with the glasses, whose name turned out to be Gilbert Custler.
They’d left Olivia and Max upstairs to “sort out” the workshop, which looked perfectly normal to Celia, but she expected they
had other things to sort out. They’d had to drag Daphne back downstairs, where she promptly fell asleep in one of the new
chairs.
“No,” he said, definitely chagrined. “We didn’t expect him to make a move until after you were all safely back in your apartment.
And I didn’t take the three Janes into account. So much for meticulous planning.”
Celia grinned. “She earned her names tonight.”
“The cat and Olivia, too clever by half. Must be a family trait. And Max was damn fast for an academician. Best right hook I’ve seen in
years. Definitely learned his boxing at Oxford.”
“So what happens now?”
“Olivia will give a statement. Hopefully there’s something in it to connect Custler to the Sappho. As soon as the customs paperwork is in order, the Sappho will be taken off your hands to be stored at the Met until its return can be scheduled.”
Celia made a face. “He’ll have to fight Olivia for it.”
“I think he can handle himself. Besides, the British Museum might be interested in a loan to the Met. We’ll see where that
goes.”
“And your thief?”
“Once he’s processed, the proper authorities will transport Mr. Custler back to London for trial.”
“Not you?”
“Heaven’s no. I deal with art, not felons. Now I have a long night at the police station ahead of me.” He looked down at her;
she looked up at him. In that moment, the twinkle in his eyes turned to something else. Respect? He tapped her nose. “Do not
get in any more trouble while I’m gone.”
And he strode away without even looking back. Celia stayed listening to the sound of his footsteps until they ceased to exist.
Then she ran to the front window and pressed her nose to the glass to see if she could see him on the street, but there was
no sign that he’d ever been there or that anything out of the ordinary had happened at all.
They didn’t see Olivia that night, and she was gone when they woke up the next morning. She’d left a note: Have some things to do, should be back this afternoon. Not knowing quite what to think, Celia and Daphne went downstairs to open the shop.
Mr. Kirsch and Mr. Stammer sent their stock boys over to help clean up the residual mess.
Even the afternoon regulars pitched in to reshelve the books in some semblance of order, though they did tend to get distracted by books they hadn’t noticed before and by disagreements about whether authors whose names began with Mc came before or after authors whose names began with Ma.
True to his word, Yannis brought his mother over to discuss the new plans. They stayed for quite a while, but Celia didn’t
begrudge the time Daphne spent with them. She actually saw her sister smile several times. That had to be a good sign. And
when they left Daphne left with them.
“Mrs. Teller offered to make tea next door, if that’s okay. I won’t be long.”
“Fine with me,” said Celia; she had her own things to think about. First of which was where was Joshua Starling. Surely he
wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. After all that work, surely he wouldn’t leave without seeing the Sappho fragments safely
received by the Met.
But when Olivia returned later that afternoon, carrying several packages, she merely said she hadn’t seen Mr. Starling and
took herself upstairs.
Several other shop owners dropped by during the day. Even Mr. Kirsch, who volunteered that he hadn’t heard from Mr. Starling,
either.
By the time Daphne returned with a thermos of hot tea and a plate of homemade cookies from Mrs. Teller, Celia was beside herself
with impatience.
Celia called upstairs to see if Olivia would like to come down. “Or I can bring them up,” she volunteered when Olivia declined
the invitation. She declined that, too, and said she would see them at dinner.
So Celia and Daphne, feeling a little uneasy, took in the carts, pushed the throwaway box against the alcove, and closed the shop for the night.
They reached the apartment to the smells of . . . “Roast beef!” exclaimed Daphne. She and Celia hurried back to the kitchen.
It was a feast, though there wasn’t much conversation. The two younger sisters were so busy enjoying the beef and peas and
potatoes that they hardly noticed how little Olivia said or ate.
When the dishes were done, Olivia said, “Come into the parlor. We have some things to discuss.”
Caught unawares, Celia, at least, suspected the worst.
They followed Olivia down the hall to the parlor, where she sat in their mother’s winged-back chair, and the two of them took
their usual places on the couch. Though at the last-minute Celia changed her mind and pulled up one of the occasional chairs
and sat down. If this was some kind of decision-making meeting, she had a few decisions to make and she needed her space to
make them.
Olivia sat on the edge of the chair, looking even more serious than usual, and Celia’s stomach did a little flip-flop. She
felt, more that actually saw, Daphne cut her eyes in her direction. Please don’t let this be bad news, Celia thought.
Olivia cleared her throat. “I’ve come to a decision. A selfish one.”
Both her sisters shifted uncomfortably.