We trailed in after Francisco and down a long hallway lit with glowing lights nestled in the floorboards. Rooms opened up on the left and right—empty exhibits, glass cases standing like guards, looking eerie in the absence of patrons. My detective instincts were intrigued at the shadowy corners, the darkened hiding spots.
Next to me, Freya mimed running her hands over every object until I had to stifle a laugh.
“In here,” Francisco said, opening the door marked Francisco Abila, Executive Director. “Let me go get the kettle.”
Inside the cozy office, Abe perched on the edge of the director’s desk while Freya found a small couch. Henry and I both moved for the same chair at the same time—bumping each other clumsily.
“Oh, sorry, do you —”
“No, not at all,” he said. “I insist.”
“I can stand,” I said hastily.
“Delilah,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice. “Sit. Please.”
I did—but not without wondering how on earth Victoria Whitney had assumed Henry Finch and I were newlyweds.
I sat and Henry leaned his back against the wall next to me, which made him appear even taller in the narrow space. All four of us were silent—but Abe’s fingers tapped rapidly against the desk.
“I’m not even going to bother with many pleasantries,” Francisco said, coming back in with mugs of tea for each of us. It was hot and soothing—but it couldn’t quell the spiky adrenaline still coursing through my veins. “I’m assuming you all work for Abe?”
Abe waved his hand at us absent-mindedly. “Freya Evandale. Delilah Barrett. Henry Finch.”
Francisco glanced up sharply. “Henry Finch? You’re the special collections librarian from Oxford, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Henry replied, surprised. “Or, I was, rather. I work for Codex now. Have we met before?”
“No,” Francisco said, “but your name is rather familiar in certain circles, I’m sure you know. Because of Bernard Allerton.”
It was unclear what Francisco meant—and I knew enough from Abe to understand that Bernard’s current situation wasn’t entirely public. But Francisco was already moving on. “And I haven’t seen Abraham in years. Has it been more than five?”
“I was still with the FBI, leading a team that recovered a stolen Gutenberg Bible that had been taken from the museum during a burglary,” Abe added.
I looked up at Henry.
“There are only forty-nine surviving copies left. It’s extremely rare,” Henry explained.
“It was absolutely horrible when it was taken,” Francisco said. “And agonizing during the search and recovery. But Abraham got it back. It had been stolen by a trio of thieves who’d broken in through our air conditioning ducts.” On cue, we all stared up at the ceiling. “Which are now protected against that kind of thing. They’d been able to sell the book to the highest bidder—privately—within fifteen hours.”
“Did the bidder know it had been stolen?” Henry asked.
“Yes, he most certainly did,” Francisco replied.
I noted Henry’s shocked reaction at that. Which was strange, given what I knew had happened to him before he’d come to Codex. But maybe he’d been less aware of theft and fraud than I realized.
“I’ve heard great things about the upcoming Copernicus exhibit,” Abe said, directing our conversation to the potential crisis at hand.
For a split second, Francisco’s expression wavered. Then he plastered on a conciliatory smile. “We’re truly excited. It’s one of the highest honors that’s ever been bestowed upon this museum.”
“Hit any snags? Any issues with the planning of it?”
“Not at all,” Francisco said smoothly. “It’s been clear sailing.”
Abe tapped his fingers again and held the other man’s stare. I could feel Abe turning the situation over in his mind, searching for holes. “We’ve come into some information that I thought you needed to be made aware of immediately, which is why we’re visiting you at such an odd hour. It’s about the Copernicus exhibit.”
“Go on,” Francisco said.
“Henry and Delilah were working a case at the Smith Sampson art gallery opening this evening, and they had a very intriguing conversation with Victoria Whitney, your board member.”
“I’m well aware of our most famous and beloved board member,” Francisco sniffed. “What about her?”
Abe let another silence linger until Francisco fidgeted. “We suspect she might be planning on stealing the Copernicus manuscript before the exhibit in three weeks.”
“That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard.” Francisco looked down at the floor. “You mean the Victoria Whitney?”
“If you haven’t already, you need to find an even better way to secure it,” Abe said softly. “Believe me, we know it sounds absurd.”
Francisco was still looking away, nostrils flared.
“Francisco,” Abe continued, “certainly stranger things have happened in the time that we’ve known each other. I can have Freya and Delilah consult on your security system if you’d like, make sure there are systems in place to ensure a person like Victoria can’t gain special access to it.”
“She’s president of the board. Of course, she has special access,” Francisco replied. “She’s had special access this entire time.”
His face was turning a sickening green right in front of our eyes. And my heart leapt at the phrase special access.
Abe arched an eyebrow at Freya and me. I sat forward, tugged by that pesky voice in my subconscious. With a nod, I mouthed do it.
“Of course,” Abe began, “this would be an entirely different conversation if the book had already been stolen.”
That sentence landed like a grenade in the quiet room.
“Abraham, if the Franklin Museum had been the victim of a theft of that magnitude, don’t you think you would be aware of it?” Francisco’s voice held a tremor that hadn’t been there before.
Abe didn’t answer. His body language was sharp but knowing. Francisco’s was fearful. I peered up at Henry to see if he was watching—evaluating the many ways the body can expose a lie was good training for a new private detective.
But Henry was watching me.
“If the museum has been a victim of theft, don’t you think Codex would be able to help?”
Francisco sipped his tea angrily. Grumbled beneath his breath. An intense stare-down occurred between the two men—one that I imagined contained years of working history and professional respect.
“You know I’m always right,” Abe finally said.
Francisco’s cup clattered onto the saucer.
“Our first edition of On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres was stolen two weeks ago, the day that it arrived from England.”
All the air left my lungs. Next to me, Henry stood up straight, as if primed to run.
Abe, meanwhile, sat still as a statue. “Who’s working the case, Francisco?”
“The local police. The FBI. They’ve been sworn to secrecy so there isn’t a media spectacle but they—” He ran a palm over his head. “They can’t seem to find it and they’re running low on suspects. It’s an absolute mess.” Unburdened, he sank back in his chair and held his hands up, as if in apology. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”