“There’s your answer,” Annabelle said.

“I’m not following you,” Stone replied. “We still have no access to those plans.”

She looked at Caleb. “Can you get me the name of the firm?”

“I believe so.”

“The only issue will be whether they’ll let us take pictures of the plans. I doubt they will, and copying them is probably out too.” As she was thinking out loud, the Camel Club stared at her mystified. She finally noted this and said, “I’ll get us into the architectural firm, but we need copies of the designs if we’re going to locate the fire room and HVAC in the building.”

Milton said, “I have a photographic memory. If I look at the plans once, I can memorize them.”

She looked at him skeptically. “I’ve heard people make that claim before, and it never quite works out.”

“I can assure you that it ‘works out’ with me,” Milton said indignantly.

She grabbed a book off the shelf, opened it to a page in the middle and held it up in front of Milton. “Okay, read the page to yourself.” He did so and nodded. Annabelle turned the book around and looked at the page. “All right, Mr. Photo, start regurgitating.”

Milton read the page from memory, including punctuation marks, without one misstep.

For the first time in their company Annabelle looked impressed. “You ever been to Vegas?” she asked. He shook his head. “You might want to try it sometime.”

“Isn’t card counting illegal?” Stone asked, quickly deducing what she was alluding to.

She answered, “No, so long as you don’t use a mechanical or computer device to do it.”

“Wow,” Milton exclaimed. “I could make a fortune.”

Annabelle said, “But before you get your hopes up, even though it’s not illegal if you’re just using your brain, if they catch you, they’ll beat the crap out of you.”

“Oh!” Milton said, horrified. “Never mind.”

She turned to Stone. “So how do you think Jonathan was killed? And no more doublespeak or I walk.”

Stone studied her and then made up his mind. “Caleb found Jonathan’s body. Right after that he fainted. At the hospital the nurse said that he was getting better and that his temperature was coming up, not down.”

“And your point is?” Annabelle said.

“The fire suppressant system at the library uses a substance called halon 1301,” Caleb said, taking up the explanation. “It starts as a liquid in the pipes but turns into a gas when it comes out of the nozzle. It puts out fires in part by eliminating oxygen in the atmosphere.”

“Meaning Jonathan might have suffocated to death! Good God, you mean the police didn’t stumble across that possibility and check to see whether the gas cylinder was empty?” Annabelle said angrily.

“There was no evidence that the system was even engaged,” Stone said. “The warning horn didn’t sound, and Caleb learned that it was operational, although it could have been disconnected and then reattached later. And the gas leaves no residue.”

“And on top of that, halon 1301 could not have killed Jonathan, not at the levels that are used to suppress fires at the library,” Caleb added. “I checked it. That’s why it’s used in spaces occupied by people.”

“So where is this leading?” Annabelle asked. “You seem to be saying two different things. It was the gas but it wasn’t the gas. Which is it?” she demanded.

Stone took up the discussion. “One element of the suppressant being engaged is the lowering of the temperature in the room. Caleb said he saw Jonathan’s body, got an immediate chill and fainted. I believe the chill came from the gas, which led to the nurse’s comment in the hospital about Caleb’s temperature coming up. And I think Caleb fainted because the oxygen levels in the room were low, but not low enough to kill him, because he’d come into the room about a half hour after Jonathan.”

Annabelle said, “So it obviously wasn’t this halon 1301 stuff. So something else?”

“Exactly. We just have to find out what.”

Annabelle stood. “Okay, I need to start doing some serious prep work.”

Stone rose and faced her. “Susan, before you really become involved, you need to know that there are some very dangerous people tied up in this. I’ve already had evidence of that personally. It could be very risky for you.”

“Oliver, let me put it this way. If it’s any more dangerous than what I was involved in last week, I’d be floored.”

Stone looked stunned by this comment and stepped back.

Annabelle hooked an arm through Milton’s. “Okay, Milton, we need to spend some time together.”

Reuben looked crushed. “Why Milton?”

“Because he’s my little Xerox machine.” She pinched Milton’s cheek and he immediately turned red. “But first, we have to get him the right clothes, the right style.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Milton said, looking down at his red sweater and jeans, both of which were impeccably cleaned and pressed.

“Absolutely nothing,” she said. “Except they’re all wrong for what I need.” She pointed at Caleb. “Call Milton with the name of the firm as soon as you get it.” She snapped her fingers. “Let’s go, Miltie.”

She strode out the door. A shocked Milton looked helplessly at the others and hissed, “Miltie?”

“Milton!” Annabelle called from outside the cottage. “Now!”

Milton shot out of the door. Reuben immediately whirled on Stone. “Are you just going to let her take him?”

“What exactly would you suggest I do, Reuben?” Stone said bluntly. “That woman is a hurricane and earthquake all rolled into one.”

“I don’t know, you could … I mean …” He plopped down in a chair and growled, “Damn it, why couldn’t I have a photographic memory!”

“Thank God you don’t,” Caleb exclaimed in a disgusted tone.

“What makes you say that?” Reuben demanded hotly.

“Because then she’d be calling you Ruby, and I’d have to be sick to my stomach.”

Chapter 32

Later that day at the library Caleb sent an e–mail to the administrative offices. An hour later he found out the name of the private architectural firm that had helped with the Jefferson Building’s renovation. He telephoned Milton with that information.

“How’s it going with that woman?” he said in a low voice.

Milton whispered back, “She just bought me a black suit and a really bright tie, and she wants to restyle my hair. You know, jazz me up.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“Not yet.” He paused, then added, “Caleb, she sort of scares me. She’s so, she’s so confident.” Milton had no way of knowing, but he had never uttered a truer statement.

“Well, you just hang in there, Miltie.” Caleb hung up, chuckling.

He next phoned Vincent Pearl, knowing that he would get the answering machine, since the rare book shop wasn’t open until later in the evening. The fact was he didn’t want to talk to the man because he hadn’t made up his mind what to do about the sale of Jonathan’s collection yet, but most of all he didn’t know what to do about the Psalm Book. When its existence was revealed, there would be a positive uproar in the rare book world. And he would be at the center of this maelstrom, a thought that terrified but also intrigued him. A little time in the spotlight wasn’t such a bad thing, particularly for a person used to operating in the obscurity of a library.

The only thing that stopped him from going full bore ahead was a nagging thought. What if Jonathan had gotten the Psalm Book somehow illegally? That might account for his secrecy about the book. Caleb didn’t want to do anything to besmirch his friend’s memory.

Caleb put these unsettling thoughts aside and walked over to speak to Jewell English, who, like the Hemingway lover, Norman Janklow, had been a regular in the reading room over the last few years.

As he walked toward her, Jewell took off her glasses, tucked her pages of carefully written notes inside a small manila folder and motioned for him to sit down next to her. When he did, she clutched his arm and said excitedly, “Caleb, I got a line on a mint Beadle. Maleska, the Indian Wife of the White Hunter. It’s a number one, Caleb.”