She made no move toward the tickets.
“I hope to see you there,” he added as he headed out.
She lifted a hand and made a noncommittal noise. She had no intention of going. In fact, if possible, she planned on making it an early night.
That’s if Tag and Naomi will let me.
And that was certainly a bigif.
4
5:02 p.m.
With Duncan gone, Sharyn carefully lifted the Saxton Atlas from its pillow and returned the large tome to its acid-free storage box. She then collected her things, shouldered her backpack, and drew the heavy box under both arms. Holding it aloft like a tea tray, she headed out of the reading room.
The research librarian noted Sharyn struggling with the door and came to help. As Sharyn exited, the older woman touched her arm. “I’m the last one here. Could I trouble you to carry the box to the strongroom for me? I can lead you there.”
Sharyn understood the reason behind this request. The Saxton’s atlas, large and unwieldy, weighed close to twenty pounds. The thin-limbed woman, while prim and tidy, would certainly struggle with the load.
Sharyn noted her nametag: Margaret Peele.
“Of course, Ms. Peele. Put me to use.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Actually, Sharyn needed little goading. She had always wanted to peek into one of the library’s many strongrooms. In those temperature-controlled chambers, the most valuable and rare collections were preserved and protected. Sharyn had already spent weeks searching through the library’s catalogs, retrieving material that she would never have access to back in the States.
She had spent days reviewing the library’s Syon Abbey Collection, which consisted of rare books and manuscripts gathered from a monastic order founded in the fifteenth century. Many richly illuminated books included gilded illustrations of the Virgin Mary. It surprised her to discover several pages showing examples of mirror writing, with the script written backward across a page. Such writing was both a crude means of encryption and a way to force a reader into a deeper introspection into what was written so challengingly.
She remembered Duncan’s treatise on coded texts.
Maybe I should let him know what I found...
Then again, maybe not.
She still recalled him thumping his chest in triumph when his team won the pub’s quiz match.
Putting such thoughts aside, she followed Ms. Peele, who paused to lock the front doors before continuing deeper into the library. Sharyn glanced to the exit. This deep into autumn, the sun had already set. Outside, lampposts glowed across a twilit park. A few figures rushed by on foot or bicycle, likely hurrying off to enjoy the start of the campus festivities.
Even inside the library, only a few lights illuminated the maze-like spread of rooms. The staff had squandered little time in shutting the place down. Sharyn glanced across the shadowy rows of shelves and spotted no other movement.
A shiver of misgiving shook through her. The night had always held a particular fear for her. A dread not born of superstition, but from real danger: the crash of a door in the dark, the stumble of heavy feet, the slurred burst of accusation, the sharper cry of the assaulted.
She pulled her box closer.
It didn’t help matters that they passed a cabinet displaying an Agatha Christie exhibit. Many items came from the library’s heritage collection, including letters and early drafts of the mystery writer’s work—where murder was only a page away.
As they continued deeper into the library, Sharyn studied Ms. Peele, taking a cue from the other’s calmness. The woman showed no twinge of discomfort as she headed off the main hall.
“The Rare Books strongroom lies this way.”
Sharyn kept close on her heels. “Who guards this place after hours? Is there a nightwatchman?”
Ms. Peele turned and peered over the top of her glasses. “This isn’t the British Museum, young lady. The building is alarmed, of course, and monitored by CCTV cameras. Plus, campus security regularly sweeps by and checks doors.” She squinted at Sharyn with an amused smile. “Aren’t planning on robbing us, are ya, miss?”
“Not on Halloween. Wouldn’t want to disturb any ghosts.”
“Wise. Especially as Exeter is the most haunted city in all the UK.”
