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“What sort of book was this?”
Pickering shrugged. “Just a reproduction of an old book on pirates. The book itself is of little value. I have several on the floor. I can show you.” He walked out, retrieved one from the bookshelf, and set it on the desk.
“The box it was kept in, then? Did that have any value?”
“Not much. No.”
“Why was it locked up, then?”
“I suppose in hopes that if someone thinks something is valuable, he’ll ignore what really is?”
“Mr. Pickering,” Sergeant Fauth said, looking at his notebook, then at the bookseller. “Any reason at all you can think of that this man targeted your store?”
He wiped a sheen of perspiration from his brow, his hand shaking slightly. The robbery had clearly taken its toll on him. “It may have something to do with a rumor that started about an original of this book being here. Why or who, I don’t know. But really, page for page, the book that was stolen is the same book as this copy. A reproduction only.” He patted the volume of The History of Pyrates and Privateers that he’d taken from the shelf.
The sergeant thanked him, then tucked his notebook into the breast pocket of his suit coat. CSIs arrived to dust for prints and photos. Once that process had started, the investigator handed his business card to both men. “If anything comes up—questions, something you remember—you have my number.” He started to walk out, then turned toward Pickering. “Anyone you want me to call? Family member? Friend? Maybe come by, help you out?”
“No one. I’ll be fine now.”
He left, nodding at Remi on his way out the door.
Sam glanced over at the CSIs, then at Mr. Pickering, concerned about his being here by himself. “Are you sure we can’t do anything for you?”
“No. Thank you, Mr. Fargo. I think after they’re done here, I may just go upstairs and take a long nap.”
Remi walked up to Pickering, giving him a hug. “I’m very sorry for what happened.”
He took a deep breath and smiled at her. “I can’t thank you enough. Your bold action may have saved our lives.”
Sam picked up Remi’s purse and handed it to her, wanting to speed their departure. “Ready?” he said, holding the door.
“Definitely.”
“Wait,” Mr. Pickering called out. “Your package. It would be a shame to have gone through all that and leave it behind.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the parcel from him, then handing it to Sam as soon as they were outside.
“I take it this isn’t a cookbook?” Sam asked.
“It’s not even the book I came for. It’s more a didn’t-want-to-go-home-empty-handed book. I think it’ll look nice on the table in your office.”
“We’ll certainly appreciate the backstory.”
They crossed the street, walking uphill toward the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. They’d been in tough scrapes before—and they would be again. And even though he had every confidence in his wife’s ability to take care of herself, he was never going to stop worrying about her.
It was this last thought that caught him each and every time. He reached over, took her hand in his, and she leaned her head into his shoulder. “You okay?” Sam asked after a bit.
“Me? Fine. I’m not the one bleeding.”
“Superficial cut. It’s already stopped.”
She looked over at him. “We’ll see when we’re back at the hotel.”
“Did you notice those gold coins in Pickering’s safe?”
“Odd, isn’t it? That the robber ignored the gold for a book in a box that he hadn’t even seen?”
“A book that’s supposed to be nothing but a reproduction.”
