“I’ll be there soon, okay? Go next door.” I hung up and flagged a taxi.
I went back to my apartment instead of the Emporium. Sidetracked by my argument with Calvin and the brief period of self-loathing that followed, I’d overlooked the fact that the books from the estate sale in my shop were not the complete inventory.
I still had several boxes sitting in my living room that I hadn’t even gone through.
If our mysterious, Poe-obsessed killer was anything to go by, there was a thirteenth copy ofTamerlanein existence that they were hell-bent on finding, and the way it played out to me was that it was part of my estate winnings. But the joke was on them, because it was starting to look like I did have it.
A book thought not to exist—just sitting in my apartment.
I raced up the stairs, my stomach making nervous flips. I was excited, like I were opening an ancient tomb only to find that grave robbers had never looted it and all of the mysterious and rich artifacts were still intact.
What sort of condition would the book be in? Poor? Fine?Very fine?
My fingers shook as I tried to unlock my door.
That book would have been around when Edgar Allan Poe was alive. For all I knew, he could have touched it—held it.
God, that rush of excitement I got from treasure hunting was back.
I shoved open my door and stopped dead.
My apartment was a mess.
The boxes were all open and tipped over, books strewn across the floor without worry or care to their condition. My personal books had been pulled from the bookcase against the wall, mystery novels tiling the wooden floor.
Someone broke into my home.
As if it was hard to guess who.
I looked down at the doorknob before crouching to examine the lock. The door had been securely fastened—how had they gotten inside? Pick the lock? How were they managing to get in and out of both my shop and apartment without breaking locks or tripping alarms?
They couldn’t have had a key. The only people who had a key to both were Neil and me.
I cursed loudly and walked inside. I started scanning the covers and spines of the books thrown around, hunting forTamerlane, but I didn’t find it. I didn’t find any Poe. I checked under the couch, the coffee table, everywhere in the house to make sure I didn’t miss something amongst the disarray. If I had had it in a box without knowing it, I sure as fuck didn’t have it now.
But if the creep found it and had it, in theory, people were safe now.
“No,” I said out loud. He couldn’t get away with this. He couldn’t get away with robbery, assault,murder.
I sat on the couch and pulled out my phone. I had intended on calling Calvin, but paused. I couldn’t keep defaulting to him. It was sort of pathetic. Of course, he was the detective leading this case, but fuck it. I could handle this without having to call the cops and get tied up in bullshit for the rest of the day.
I opened the Internet browser on my phone and pulled up the New York Public Library. After a short read about the rare books collection, I filled out the online form to get permission to see their copy of Poe’sTamerlanefor myself. I had to choose a time for the next morning, due to them being closed on Sunday. I submitted the form, and tomorrow would just need to flash my ID and library card and I’d be able to get a glimpse of this rare book for myself. I hoped to discuss the value and history of the book with the curator while I was there.
I left the mess as it was and ran out the door to get back to the Emporium.
Chapter Eleven
“SEBASTIAN!” BETHsaid as I walked into Good Books. She was standing near a table display in the middle of the shop, talking with Max and a very tall stranger, who had dark, long hair for a man.
“I came to fetch my wayward assistant,” I stated.
Beth hurried over instead, wearing her usual bedazzled spectacles and yet another cat skirt I hadn’t seen before. She threw her arms around me, nearly knocking the air from my lungs. “You brave, stupid man!”
“Beth, you’re sweet, but I definitely prefer men,” I managed to wheeze out.
She pulled back with a scoff and hit my chest. “Don’t joke. I’m being serious.”
I rubbed the spot, making a face. “Sorry?”
