Chapter 3 #2
His deep voice and direct stare were too much to handle and I felt myself get flustered, which, for the record, never happened to me. I turned away from him to study my surroundings and get my bearings.
Across the landing was an enormous portrait of a man and a woman sitting on a settee with a cocker spaniel at their feet.
Judging by their Gilded Age clothing—an off-the-shoulder gown trimmed with lace for her and a black jacket and white shirt, collar points up, held securely by a white bow tie for him—I assumed they must be Thomas and Mabel Stewart.
They gazed at each other with such devotion.
I found myself wondering if it was true love or if the artist had manufactured their look of affection.
“Mabel was the love of Thomas’s life and she was his,” Jasper said as he moved to stand beside me.
“I was just wondering if the artist had purposefully enhanced that look between them,” I said.
“He had no need to. By all accounts, theirs was a genuine love story.” I turned to find a very tall, very curvy, blond woman approaching us. I knew from the pictures I’d seen online with her bio that this was the museum director. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Claire Carpenter.”
“Zoe Ziakas.” I clasped her hand briefly and let go.
Claire’s hair was up in a neat French twist, accentuating her cheekbones and long neck.
She wore a dark gray pencil skirt, spiky black heels, and a flattering silk blouse in a shade of blue that perfectly matched her eyes.
If I lived a thousand lifetimes, I would never possess her effortless style.
“Welcome to the museum,” she said. “I see you’ve met Jasper.”
“He was kind enough to escort me here.” I turned to him. “Thank you.”
“It was a…pleasure.” Jasper looked me up and down as if trying to figure me out. Then he smiled. “I’ll look forward to hearing more about your secret mission, Zoe.”
Claire glanced between us and I felt my face grow warm. Why was this awkward? There was no reason to feel weird just because this incredibly hot guy was a little flirty with me. He was probably like that with everyone, which made the heat in my face even more mortifying.
“See you at this afternoon’s meeting, Claire.” He nodded at her and then turned and strode down the hallway.
“Nice to meet you, Zoe.” Claire smiled and it lit her eyes, making it feel genuine. “Agatha has told me so much about you.”
Quite intentionally, after an exhausting and overly dramatic childhood, I’d chosen to live a very quiet life, preferring the company of books to people and my home to social events.
Given that, I couldn’t imagine what Agatha would have told Claire about me that could be longer than a sentence or two, and even that could only be managed if Agatha was embellishing.
I assumed Claire was being polite, so I returned her smile.
“Agatha is all the family I have, so she might be a tad biased.”
“That doesn’t make her wrong.” Claire gestured toward the end of the hallway. “Shall we talk in my office? You can show me the book there.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s perfect.”
I walked beside her. She was several inches taller than me and she glided down the hallway with a confident stride.
Since I only wore my spiky heels for annual library board meetings, my gait was not nearly so smooth.
More like the galumphing of a seal on land, to be honest, but I did try to step lightly with marginal success.
The double doors we approached were antique paneled glass.
One stood open and we entered an anteroom with more decorative plaster and a chandelier overhead.
Judging by the second set of fancy doors on the far side of the room, we were in an assistant’s office.
The desk was vacant, but the space was extremely tidy.
“My assistant, Sebastian, went to fetch us some refreshments,” Claire said.
She led me through the second set of doors into the coolest office I’d ever seen.
It was massive, with arched windows that overlooked the lawn and gardens below, the reservoir and park to the west, and all of Midtown to the south.
Built-in bookshelves lined the other windowless walls, and they were packed. An immense mahogany desk was on the far side of the room while a seating area with a couch and two armchairs was in front of a cold fireplace.
There were two people already there and they stood when we entered.
They were both tall like Claire, but where she was robust, they were on the lithe side.
The man had untamed pure-white hair, which seemed even more so against his tanned complexion and gave him a mad-scientist vibe.
He completed the look with wire-framed glasses, a brown cardigan over a blue-plaid shirt, and khaki pants.
The woman was strikingly pale and dressed all in black, from her turtleneck sweater to her wool pants and pointy suede shoes, which didn’t help her unnatural pallor at all.
She had a thick mass of dark hair held in a clip at the nape of her neck, and her features were handsome rather than pretty, with a square jaw, high cheekbones, and dark eyes framed by arching eyebrows, one of which had a small scar severing it in two.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Claire said to me. “I invited our head of Special Collections and one of his staff to join us.”
“Not at all,” I said. This wasn’t entirely accurate, as I found the intense gaze of the woman in black to be unsettling.
“Zoe Ziakas, this is Miles Lowenstein and Olive Prendergast,” Claire introduced me.
“Nice to meet you.” I shook each of their hands. Miles’s long fingers were gentle and Olive’s grip was surprisingly warm.
Miles returned my smile with a small one of his own, but Olive’s face remained impassive. Okay, then.
“Beverages and snacks have arrived.” A man entered the room, pushing a cart with an assortment of food and drink on it.
Shorter than everyone else in the room, including me, he had a deep brown complexion and close-cropped black hair and was dressed in a vibrantly purple-and-aqua-patterned shirt, navy pants, and pointy-toed brown loafers.
He parked the cart and Claire introduced us. His full name was Sebastian Hanover, and according to Claire, she couldn’t function without him. He smiled, displaying a slash of white teeth, and left us to our meeting, closing the door behind himself.
“All right, let’s see the book,” Olive said. She glanced at her wristwatch as if she was running late for another meeting.
“Or we could offer our guest a refreshment first,” Claire suggested.
“If we must.” Olive sank back against the couch.
“We must.” Claire turned to me. “Zoe, would you like coffee, tea, or water? We have sparkling and plain.”
“Coffee, please.” I wasn’t thirsty and didn’t need more caffeine, but it would give me something to do.
Claire lifted a silver carafe and poured me a cup. She handed it to me, indicating that I should help myself to cream and sugar. She then poured tea for Miles and coffee for Olive, which I noted Olive took black. Of course she did.
Claire poured herself a tall glass of water and leaned back in her chair. “Agatha told me the book was sent to you at your place of work and then appeared at your house?”
“Yes, it arrived in a padded envelope stamped Personal and had my name and the library’s address handwritten on it, but there were no stamps or anything that indicated it came through the post office.
” I picked up the tiny pitcher of milk and added some to my coffee.
“My colleague Bill said it was discovered on the circulation desk, but no one saw who dropped it off.”
“And then?” Olive gestured with an elegant hand for me to continue.
“It arrived on my doorstep later that day. I heard a noise and went outside to check, and there it was. I didn’t see anyone out there, just the book in the envelope it had been delivered in.”
“Do you still have the envelope?” Miles asked.
“No,” I said. I thought about the green fire that had engulfed it in seconds. How crazy would I sound to these people if I told them about that? I swiftly glanced at their faces, pausing on Olive’s. Her barely concealed contempt convinced me to keep that little tidbit to myself for now.
“I asked my colleague about it the next day, but he swore that he didn’t drop it off at my house,” I said.
“I thought he might be pranking me, but that really isn’t his style.
” I set my coffee on a coaster on the low glass table in front of me and opened my shoulder bag.
I took the mysterious book out and set it on the center of the table.
As one, they leaned forward to study the book, but no one touched it, which I found odd. How could they inspect it if they didn’t pick it up and examine it?
“How did you hurt yourself?” Olive asked.
I didn’t want to admit that I’d woken up in my kitchen again last night.
This time, I’d nicked my finger with a kitchen knife.
Just like the first time, I’d found the book on the counter beneath my hand even though I knew I hadn’t left it there.
My fresh Mickey Mouse Band-Aid made it impossible to hide the injury.
Olive’s dark gaze held mine. The eyebrow with the slice through it arched ever so slightly and I knew there was no way I could prevaricate. She’d read the truth on my face as easily as the time on a clock.
“I nicked my finger with a knife.” I cleared my throat. “More accurately, while I was asleep, I heard strange whispers in my dreams. Whispers that I believe came from the book, instructing me to do it.”