Annabelle started packing her bag. Sorry, Jonathan.

• • •

When Caleb returned to his condo later that night, he found someone waiting for him out in the parking lot.

“Mr. Pearl, what are you doing here?”

Vincent Pearl didn’t look like Professor Dumbledore this evening, principally because he wasn’t wearing a long lavender robe. He had on a two–piece suit, open–collared shirt, shiny shoes, and his long thick hair and beard were carefully combed. He looked thinner in the suit than he had in the robe. The chubby Caleb made a mental note never to start dressing in robes. Pearl’s spectacles were halfway down his nose as he silently studied Caleb with such a condescending look that the librarian started getting a little perturbed.

“Well?” Caleb finally asked.

In a deep, offended voice Pearl said, “You haven’t returned my calls. I thought a personal appearance would help remind you of my interest in the Psalm Book.”

“Right, I see.”

Pearl looked around. “A parking lot seems hardly appropriate to engage in conversation about one of the world’s most important books.”

Caleb sighed. “Very well, come on up.”

They rode the elevator to Caleb’s floor. The two men sat across from each other in the small living room.

“I was afraid that you’d decided to go straight to Sotheby’s or Christie’s with the Psalm Book.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I haven’t even been back to the house after you were there. I didn’t call you because I’m still thinking.”

Pearl looked very relieved by this statement. “At the very least it would behoove us to obtain definitive tests on the Psalm Book. I know several firms with impeccable reputations that can do this. And I see no need to wait.”

“Well,” Caleb said hesitantly.

“The longer you procrastinate, the less control you have over the public learning about the existence of a twelfth Psalm Book.”

“What do you mean by that?” Caleb said sharply as he sat forward.

“I’m not sure you adequately realize the significance of this discovery, Shaw.”

“On the contrary, I realize very clearly the enormity of it.”

“I mean that there might be leaks.”

“How? I’ve certainly told no one.”

“Your friends?”

“They’re completely trustworthy.”

“I see. Well, pardon me if I don’t share your confidence. But if there is a leak, people might start making accusations. Jonathan’s reputation may suffer considerably.”

“What sort of accusations?”

“Oh, for heaven sakes, man, let me just spell it out for you: accusations that the book was stolen.”

Caleb’s thoughts leaped to his own theory about the library’s Psalm Book being a forgery. Yet he said as earnestly as he could, “Stolen? Who would believe such a thing?”

Pearl took a deep breath. “No other owner of one of those treasures in the long and celebrated history of book collecting has ever kept it a secret. Until now.”

“And you think it’s because Jonathan stole it? Preposterous. He’s as much a thief as I am.” Please, please, let that be true.

“But he might have purchased it from someone who had stolen it, perhaps unwittingly, perhaps not. At least he might have had a suspicion, which would explain the secrecy he kept about owning the book.”

“And where exactly would the book have been stolen from? You said you checked with the other places that own one.”

“What the hell would you expect them to say?” Pearl snapped. “Do you think they would admit it to me if their Psalm Book had been stolen? And maybe they don’t even know. What if a very clever forgery was left in its place? It’s not like these places check their literary treasures daily to assure their authenticity.” He added, “Did you find any paperwork relating to the book? A bill of sale? Anything to show where it came from?”

“No,” Caleb admitted, his heart sinking. “But I haven’t looked through Jonathan’s personal papers. My work was limited to the book collection.”

“No, your work extends to all evidence of ownership of his books. Do you really think that Christie’s or Sotheby’s will put a Psalm Book up for auction without being absolutely certain of both its authenticity and the legal authority under which Jonathan DeHaven’s estate will be selling the book?”

“Of course, I was aware that they would need to know that.”

“Well, Shaw, if I were you, I would set about immediately to find that evidence. But if you can’t, the clear impression will be that Jonathan came by it through means that are not verifiable. And in the rare book field that is tantamount to saying that he stole it himself or knowingly purchased it from someone who did.”

“I suppose I could ask his attorneys if I could search through his papers. Or perhaps they could do it if I told them what to look for.”

“If you go that route, they will want to know why. And when you tell them, you will have most certainly lost control of the situation.”

“Do you expect me to look all by myself?”

“Yes! You’re his literary executor, start acting like it.”

“I don’t care to be talked to in that manner,” Caleb said angrily.

“Are you paid a percentage of the sale price of auction?”

“I don’t have to answer that,” Caleb retorted.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well, if you try to auction this Psalm Book off without finding ironclad proof that DeHaven came by it honestly and it’s later found that he didn’t, it won’t only be his reputation down the toilet, will it? When a great deal of money is involved, people always assume the worst.”

Caleb didn’t say anything as this slowly sank in. As repugnant as he found Pearl’s remarks, the man had a point. It was devastating to think that his deceased friend’s reputation would suffer a shipwreck, but Caleb certainly didn’t want to sink to the bottom along with it.

“I suppose I could go through Jonathan’s things at his house.” He knew that Oliver and the others had already searched the house, but they hadn’t been looking for ownership documents for the book collection.

“Will you go tonight?”

“It’s late already.” And he’d given the key to Reuben.

“Well, tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“Very well. Please let me know what you find. Or don’t find.”

After Pearl had left, Caleb poured himself a glass of sherry and drank it while eating a bowl of greasy potato chips, one of his favorite snacks. He was under too much pressure to adhere to any sort of diet now. As he sat drinking, he ran his gaze over his own small collection of books he kept on a set of shelves in his den.

Who would’ve thought book collecting could get so damn complicated?

Chapter 42

Very early the next morning Reuben reported to Stone that nothing had happened the previous night at DeHaven’s; this was a repeat of the report he’d given the night before.

“Nothing?” Stone said skeptically.

“No action in the bedroom, if that’s what you’re implying. I saw Behan and his wife come home around midnight. But apparently, they don’t use that bedroom, because the light never came on. Maybe that venue’s reserved for the strippers.”

“Did you see anything else? The white van, for instance?”

“No, and I think I got in and out of the place without anyone seeing me the last two nights. A ten–foot hedge runs all the way around the rear area. There’s an alarm pad right inside the back door, so that was easy enough.”

“Are you sure you didn’t notice anything that could help us?”

Reuben looked uncertain. “Well, it might be nothing, but around one in the morning I thought I saw a glint of something in a window of the house across the street.”

“Maybe the owners were up and about.”

“That’s the thing. It doesn’t look like anybody’s living there. No car and no trash cans out front. And today’s trash day because all the other houses had them out on the curb last night.”