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“That once they got this map from it, they’d have everything they needed to find the key. If it was there, they’d get their money and they’d let me go.”
Bree nodded. “That’s what they told me, too. That they were going to let us go when they got the book and their money. But they were going to have to find the key somewhere. Honestly, my heart was beating so fast, I may have misunderstood.”
“The book,” Remi said to Larayne. “What made them think it was the book?”
“Bree knows more than I do about that.”
Clearly, Sam thought, they were missing some important detail regarding this book’s history. And the one man who might know what that could be was now dead. “What did your uncle have to say about it?”
“He said more research needed to be done. He was in the midst of doing that when Larayne first approached him about selling the book to Charles Avery.”
Charles Avery . . . The name seemed familiar to Sam, but he couldn’t place why. There were other factors that bothered him as well. The timing and location of this kidnapping. Why drag Bree all the way across the nation to get this book? Maybe it had more to do with the isolation of Larayne’s house, but that was another point that bothered him. “Larayne,” he said. “Is there any reason you can think of that you were singled out for this?”
“Of course. My father owned the book.”
“Beyond that, even. Did you speak with this Charles Avery personally?”
“I’ve never met him. He sent someone here to the house.”
“Has anyone else come to the house or contacted you about the book?”
She shook her head. “Why?”
“I just think it’s strange that all this happened here, of all places.”
“You don’t think that Charles Avery’s behind this?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. But it’s worth looking into.”
Larayne leaned back in her chair, then glanced at Bree. “Couldn’t it have been someone else that my father may have contacted? You were closer to him, Bree. Did he say anything to you?”
“Not about anyone in particular. He did mention that he’d found something. But he said he wanted to check into it some more.”
Sam looked out the window, saw headlights in the distance coming their direction. He glanced at Bree, then back out the window. “When was this?”
“Around the time those articles came out about the theft of the endpapers from other first editions.” She looked down at the water glass in her hand, turning it in her fingers. “But then the robbery happened, and—” She turned an apologetic smile toward Remi, saying, “I never meant for any of this to happen. Not to you. I would never have mentioned the book to you if I’d known. I swear.”
“Do not,” Remi said, “b
lame yourself for what happened.”
The detective arrived and took their statements. He seemed particularly interested in the man Sam had shot. Probably because the body was gone by the time they got to the warehouse. “You’re sure you shot someone?” he asked Sam.
“Positive.”
“Whoever’s involved in this didn’t want him identified.”
In the midst of all this, a CSI arrived, and Larayne, more nervous than ever, sipped at her vodka while she watched the woman dusting for prints. In Remi’s opinion, Larayne had had far too much to drink—not that anyone could blame her.
It was nearly five in the evening when the detective completed his investigation, then offered to give Sam and Remi a ride to their rental car since they were going to tow the SUV for evidence.
Sam accepted, and Remi turned to Bree, asking, “Would you like to fly back to California with us?”
Bree seemed torn as she eyed her cousin. “I don’t want to leave Larayne alone.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Larayne said. “I’m gonna have a friend come get me. Go. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
