“When I was returning the Saxton Atlas back to the strongroom...” She opened her eyes, looking pained and scared. “I asked her about the library’s security, what safeguards were in place, as if I might be scouting the place.”
Archie sighed heavily, clearly having given up on breakfast. “If so, then we knowwhothe police’s person of interest must be.”
Naomi grimaced. “And not just Sharyn.”
“What do you mean?” Tag asked.
Naomi explained. “In a search of our flat, they’ll undoubtedly discover the body of our caretaker, Mrs. Kenworthy. I wager the murder weapon will be found at our place. The same type of handgun used to kill the two at the Lemmy.”
Duncan nodded. “If the enemy traced you three to the club via CCTV, the police will eventually do so, too.” He swept his gaze across the trio. “You’re the common thread to all those deaths.”
Tag swallowed. “Then what do we do? If we go to the police, they’ll never believe all those murders are tied to some old text.”
“Even if we brought up the book,” Sharyn said, “they’d only suspect we stole it. When I was in the strongroom, Ms. Peele was present when Professor Wright warned us that the new cache of books held several priceless volumes.”
“Then we’re doomed.” Naomi ticked off on her fingertips. “Motive, opportunity, and means. The perfect trifecta.”
Sharyn swallowed hard. “They’re making it impossible for us to go to the authorities. Forcing us to remain at large. Where it will be easier for them to hunt us down.”
Duncan suddenly wondered if this slumber party was such a good idea. He and Archie would surely be implicated, too. If not for the murders, then for failing to report a crime, for leaving the scene, for harboring fugitives.
As he struggled with all of this, a vibration thrummed against his thigh. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. He checked the incoming number and bit back a groan.
“Who is it?” Archie asked.
Duncan held the phone toward Sharyn. “It’s for you.”
14
9:19 a.m.
Sharyn took the phone and noted the number on the screen. It matched the one written on Wright’s business card. She feared answering it, but she knew she had no choice.
Someone must have finally noted the missed calls.
“Put it on speaker,” Duncan urged.
She nodded as she answered, holding the phone toward the group. “Hello?” she said hoarsely, then tried again more firmly. “Who is this?”
A stern male voice replied, the accent French. “I have the same question,mademoiselle. How did you get this number?”
Sharyn glanced to the others and got a smattering of shrugs and nods. She decided to stick with the truth.
“From a professor at the University of Exeter,” she said. “Julian Wright. He told me to call this number.”
The speaker remained silent before snapping harshly. “Merde...” Then he could be heard faintly speaking to someone else in French.
Sharyn turned to Archie, remembering what Duncan had told her about his friend’s fluency in many languages. She mouthed quietly to him, “Can you make out what they’re saying?”
Archie shook his head. “Too muffled. But the guy is pissed.”
The speaker returned, his voice low and urgent. “Do you have the book? Saint-Germain’s journal?”
She glanced to the dining table, where the text still sat. She recalled Professor Wright mentioning how the strange volume was an account by some alchemist.
Could it be this Saint-Germain?
“I haveabook,” she admitted. “Bound in copper with an embedded crystal. But I don’t know what it is. Only that it was given to me by Professor Wright yesterday. He asked me to hide it. He thought it wasn’t safe at the library.”
