Emmer looked away, focusing on the stack of books piled on the table.
“Listen,” Noah said, “we don’t want to be here having this conversation any more than you do but I’m going to give you a bit of advice. It’s in your best interest to tell us the truth. If it comes out later that you lied to us, it makes you look awfully damn suspicious.”
When Emmer didn’t respond, Josie added, “If we got a warrant to search the contents of your phone, would your GPS show that you’d been to his place? The truth, Dr. Emmer.”
Emmer’s mouth moved, as if he were mumbling to himself, but the words were soundless.
“The sooner we get everything in the open,” Noah said, “the sooner we can get out of here, let you get back to your life. You’ve got classes today, probably.”
This seemed to penetrate whatever conversation Emmer was having with himself because he mumbled, “Yeah,” before checking his watch.
“We don’t want to keep you then,” Noah said. With a grimace, he looked around. “Hey, Doc. Mind if I use your bathroom? Too much coffee.”
“Sure,” Emmer said. “Through that hall, up the stairs, second door on the left.”
“Great.”
Alone with Emmer, Josie took a few steps closer to him, sending him shuffling behind the chair, putting it between them. He might trust Noah a little but he was still wary of her.
“The university website said you teach Victorian literature,” she said, wanting to get him comfortable again or at least keep him that way until Noah returned. People loved to talk about their jobs, their passions, the things they were most knowledgeable about. She pointed to a leatherbound book on the top of the stack, reading off the title. “The Gentleman’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness.”
“That’s a new edition,” Emmer said, sounding almost disappointed. “The original was published in 1860. I haven’t been able to track down a first edition.”
“May I?” asked Josie.
Emmer nodded and watched as she picked up the book and leafed through it. “You have an impressive library. You must have a lot of first editions.”
“Yes,” he said, a little less stiffly this time.
Josie was gratified when he turned and walked over to a glass-encased bookshelf and began pointing out his first editions. She went to put theBook of Etiquetteback on the stack of books but paused when she saw what lay beneath it. A small volume that looked as though it was well over a hundred years old. The cover was red, now faded to burnt orange and edged with light green. Two Victorian women stood on either side of a trellis that contained the title:The Language of Flowersby Kate Greenaway.
“What about this one?” she asked quickly.
Emmer turned, a frown forming on his face. He walked back over and picked it up. “This is a first edition. Not that valuable, though.”
Josie remembered seeing several books about the language of flowers online when she was researching the camellias that the killer had left at the Barnes crime scene. “Flowers were used to convey messages in Victorian England, is that right?”
Emmer nodded, clutching the book. “Yes. Women used to carry small bouquets called ‘tussie-mussies’ when they walked along the streets. They were meant to mask unpleasant smells, but their arrangement could deliver a very specific message which they might give to a potential suitor.”
“Every flower has a different meaning then?” Josie prompted. “Do you know them all?”
He glanced down at the book in his hand. It was so small and slim that it only just covered his palm. “Many of them, yes.”
“Camellias,” Josie said. “What message would they send?”
Emmer’s eyes burned into her and Josie had the disconcerting sensation like she was being watched. Not the kind that was happening in this room where they were face to face, having a conversation. No, this feeling was the sort one felt walking alone on the street or walking past a window in the house that had no blinds where all the fine hairs on your body stood. It was a tingle of awareness as your body prepared for fight, flight, or freeze.
“The redCamellia japonicameans ‘unpretending excellence,’ whereas the white means ‘perfected loveliness,’” he said. “But the symbolism has been…perverted over time. Now, you can search the internet and find a dozen different meanings for the same flower. You know, I teach a class on this. Victorian courtship and the use of floriography. It’s a bit of a ride, but you could audit it. I’d be happy to have you.”
Either this guy was dumb enough to flirt with her or dumb enough to subtly threaten her. Before she could respond, Noah returned. “So. Where were we?” Turning to Josie, he said, “Quinn?”
“We took a break from talking about police matters,” said Emmer without looking away from Josie. “To discuss more interesting topics.”
Noah must have picked up on the same unnerving vibe as Josie had because she felt him bristle at her side. It was a protective impulse that was usually only evoked when he watched her go toe to toe with a predator. Luckily, Emmer was too laser-focused on her to notice.
“Fascinating,” Josie said, playing along.
“Right,” said Noah. “Unfortunately, Doc, we need to wrap up our police matters and get on the road. I don’t believe you answered the last question. Do you know where Kyle Turner lives?”
