Pirate Page 5

  “No worries,” Remi said. “I love Arizona in the autumn.” She turned toward Sam. “This isn’t going to interrupt your plans too much, is it?”

  “The beauty of my plans is their flexibility.”

  “You don’t have any, do you?”

  “Playing it by ear, Remi. So where is this mysterious book?” he asked Selma.

  “Locked in your safe.”

  “I’ll go have a look.”

  “Bring it up,” Remi said. “We can look at it together.”

  He retrieved the book, still in its FedEx box. He wasn’t sure why Selma bothered locking it up except, perhaps, because it was connected to the robbery and then the death of Mr. Pickering, the bookseller.

  When he returned with the package, Remi was looking out the window—apparently at Selma as she and Zoltán walked down the drive. “Now that she’s in the sun, I do believe her hair matches her shirt. Pink and blue streaks.”

  He glanced out the window and saw Remi was right. A very subtle highlighting that hadn’t been there before. “Not like the old Selma to fuss over her appearance. You think—?”

  “Lazlo?” Remi finished.

  They watched her until she and the dog disappeared from sight. Returning his attention to the book, he slipped it from the FedEx box onto the kitchen table, then unwrapped the brown paper, exposing the leather cover with the gold-tooled title. He could see why Remi had been drawn to it. “This is quite the find.”

  She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of sparkling water. “They went to a lot of trouble to make it look like an antique. They’re printed in China to keep the cost down.”

  “Mr. Pickering said this was a copy?”

  She poured two glasses. “One of several. Why?”

  He looked over at her, saying, “You might want to rethink that.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I mean, around the book.” He stood aside so that she could see. “No way is this some made in China copy, Remi. It’s the real deal.”

  Six

  Remi stared for several seconds, noticing the worn leather binding, the gold-tooled markings, gilded pages, and the inked typeset lettering that could never be mistaken for modern-day laser print. “This is not the same book he showed me.”

  “Then how did you end up with it?”

  “I don’t know. I only paid forty-nine dollars plus tax. I—” Remi reached out and touched it, then pulled her hand back. “We should be wearing gloves.”

  “Back up there, Remi. What do you mean you only paid forty-nine dollars for this? Or did you forget a few zeroes before that decimal point?”

  “No. But when that gunman walked in, Mr. Pickering grabbed the reproduction from me and said he’d wrap it up. The book he took from me was not this one.”

  “Do you think he switched it with the book from the safe?”

  “He must have. He must have known that man’s intent when he saw him walk into the store.” She glanced down at the volume on the table, still unable to believe what she was seeing. “We should probably let the police know about this.”

  “Undoubtedly. But if we do that, they’re going to want to see it. And, right now, I’d like to know what’s so important about this particular volume.”

  “So we take it to the expert in Phoenix first?”

  “Definitely. Then we inform the police.”

  They flew to Phoenix the following morning, meeting with Professor Ian Hopkins, whose studies focused on sixteenth- and seventeenth-century English literature. He also repaired antique books, a hobby he’d taken up after his retirement, and was working on one when they walked in. He looked at them over the rims of his dark-framed glasses. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Fargo.”

  “We are,” Sam replied. “But call us Sam and Remi.”

  “Ian,” he said, standing. He reached out and shook hands with them both. “So. My friend Lazlo tells me you have a decent copy of The History of Pyrates and Privateers.”

  Remi pulled the carefully wrapped book from her tote and set it on the counter. “We weren’t aware that it was supposed to be particularly valuable, but it seems someone believes it is.”

  “Let’s have a look.” He donned white gloves, then examined the book, turning it over in his hands. “Full leather binding and spine in good shape. The gold-tooled geometric pattern on front and back still visible . . . Gilding on the page edges apparent, not worn . . .” He set the book on the table, then opened the cover. “This,” he said, running his gloved hand on the front endpaper, illustrated with a map, then flipping the book over and opening the back of the cover, also illustrated with a map, “is where the value lies in copies of this particular book. The endpapers have been removed from most of the copies I’ve seen. You’ll notice that the maps aren’t the same? The front differs from the back? No one realized that for quite some time.”

  “Why,” Remi asked, “would someone remove them?”

  “I believe they’re copies of actual pirate maps that are described in the book. But since the same maps appear in the endpapers of later editions, including current reproductions, it’s more likely that someone thought the older illustrated endpapers would make a nice framed decoration. That’s the speculation from the author of an article on the recent endpaper theft from a copy contained at the British Library last year. A rather daring burglary, considering the cameras and such.” He touched the edge of the back map along the bottom of the cover and the endpaper lifted slightly. “Not that they would have been all that difficult to remove. You can see the glue is no longer holding on to this copy.”

  Sam figured that was the minor damage Selma and Lazlo had mentioned. “With the endpapers intact,” Sam said, “would that increase the value so much that someone would be willing to kill over it?”

  The professor looked over at Sam, a bit surprised. “Not in my opinion. There are certainly far more valuable books out there. That being said, this is an excellent copy. I suppose it’s possible someone would want it to add to a collection.”

  “How much?” Remi asked. “Assuming you were a collector and wanted this?”

  “Assuming the rest of the book is in pristine condition and nothing is missing . . . four, five thousand.”

  “That’s it?” Sam asked.

  “It’s not a particularly rare book. Just old, and with a subject matter that makes it highly appealing to the maritime collector and anyone interested in pirates. So, yes. No more than five thousand, I’d think. And that’s due to the endpapers being intact.”

  “Still,” Remi said, her brows arching, “that’s a pretty penny, considering I paid less than fifty dollars for it. Unfortunately, I think we need to turn this volume over to the police.”

  “For what reason?” he asked her. “If you paid for it, legally it’s yours.”

  She explained how the book came into her possession.

  Professor Hopkins ran his gloved fingers along the leather cover. “Quite the interesting history for this little volume.”

  “Exactly,” Remi said. “Which makes me wonder if we’re not overlooking something.”

  “We are,” Sam replied. “The two thugs in our hotel room who were asking if we’d found a key of some sort.”

  The professor glanced up from the page he’d been examining. “A key? For what?”

  “That,” Sam said, “is part of what we’re hoping you might discover. Is there something different about this book in comparison to the others? Invisible writing? Pages that might differ from other copies?”

  “I’d be glad to take a closer look for you. Examine it under different lighting. Photograph each page so that you can make the comparisons later. Of course, there is a fee. And one other appraisal ahead of yours.”

  Sam pulled out his wallet. “And what’s your standard fee?”

  “One twenty-five an hour. With only the one
small volume, I don’t expect it will take much over an hour, maybe two at the most.”

  Sam took five hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. “Would that cover moving it to the head of the line?”

  “I’ll give my client a call and let him know his appraisal will be late.”

  “We’d appreciate it.” Sam looked at his watch, saw it was half past eleven, and asked Remi, “Lunch while we’re waiting?”

  “Definitely,” she said. Then to Professor Hopkins, “Any recommendations?”

  “There’s an excellent Italian restaurant a couple of miles from here. Marcellino Ristorante. Highly recommended. In fact, if you prefer, I can bring the book to you there when I finish looking it over. The client I have to visit is actually very near there.”

  “Perfect,” Remi said. “We’ll see you then.”

  The restaurant was located in an open-air plaza that backed up to the waterfront in Old Town Scottsdale. Sam opened the wrought-iron gate for Remi and then the glass door. The sound—and scent—of sizzling garlic and fresh herbs wafted toward them as a charming woman introduced herself as Sima, warmly welcomed them and led them to their seats, wishing them a “Buon appetito.”

  There were two empty tables near the window overlooking the patio. She sat them at the table to the right, since the one in the corner on the left held a small placard stating it was Reserved for Authors and Muses. After looking at the menu, Remi started with insalata caprese of fresh mozzarella, garden tomatoes, red pepper, and basil, followed by cozze in bianco—mussels sautéed in white wine. Sam opted for the carpaccio, with raw ahi tuna on a bed of arugula, and grilled salmon, and, for the table, a bottle of sparkling white wine, Falanghina Nudo Eroico.

  When the wine was served, Remi lifted her glass to Sam’s. “Here’s to hoping Professor Hopkins finds this mysterious key.”

  “Agreed.”

  They had just finished their meal when Chef Marcellino approached their table, greeting them, his Italian accent very evident. “You have met my beautiful wife,” he said as he nodded to Sima. “I hope you enjoyed your lunch. And perhaps saved room for dessert?”

  “The food,” Remi said, “was wonderful. Dessert . . . ?” She looked over at Sam.

  “I’m always a sucker for sharing tiramisu with a beautiful woman.”

  “Well, then,” she said, turning toward Chef Marcellino, “I believe we’ll be sharing an order.”

  “At once,” he replied with a slight bow, his dark eyes sparkling. He returned shortly with the tiramisu, telling them to enjoy it.

  Remi took the first bite, deciding it was the perfect balance of espresso-soaked savoiardi, creamy marscarpone, and a dusting of unsweetened cocoa. “This is the next-best thing to being in Italy.”

  “It can’t possibly be as good as the tiramisu we had in Rome last month at Domus Magnanimi.” He slipped the spoonful into his mouth, closed his eyes as though tasting a fine wine. After a moment, he said, “Then again, maybe we should have ordered two servings.”

  Remi was about to take a second bite when she saw Professor Hopkins enter the restaurant, the wrapped book tucked under his arm. He looked around, saw them, and walked over. “My apologies for interrupting your lunch.”

  “Sit, please,” Sam said. “We’re actually done, but couldn’t resist trying the tiramisu.”

  “Exquisite here, isn’t it?” He pulled out a chair and sat.

  “Very. So . . .” Sam eyed the package that the professor had set on the table in front of them. “Did you find anything?”

  “At first, nothing. The volume is in amazing shape. Of course I examined each page, looking at it under oblique lighting, black lights, various wavelengths. Nothing on any of the pages that would make me think of this key. That’s what you said they were looking for?”

  Remi and Sam nodded.

  “I have a friend with a metal detector and he stopped by and placed it over the book, my thought being that perhaps if there were some key hidden in the binding, we might detect it that way. Nothing. And then it occurred to me that perhaps we weren’t talking about a metal key at all. It is a book on pirates and their maps. Why not a key to the map?”

  Remi said, “Makes perfect sense.”

  “So I went back over each page. And, as you asked, photographed each for direct comparison to another copy. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy on hand. I thought you might compare them yourself later using the digital copy I made for you. You might find something written in this edition that doesn’t appear in the others. Especially the pages that have maps on them. I also examined the ink to see if something had been added later . . .” He patted the box, taking a deep breath. “But, back to the key search. Once I realized what was right in front of me, I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me sooner.” He looked first at Remi, then Sam, saying nothing.

  Remi wanted to reach out and shake him. “Exactly what hadn’t occurred to you sooner?”

  “The reason why the endpapers were missing from all the other volumes. I know what they were looking for.”

  Seven

  Professor Hopkins opened the manila folder. “This,” he said. “It was hidden behind the endpapers.”

  “May I?” Sam asked, reaching for the folder.

  “Of course.”

  Sam took it in hand, holding it so that he and Remi could view it together. Inside was a piece of yellowed parchment almost as large as the book cover with something illustrated in black ink. A map of an island and, next to it, a circle with symbols, atop a square with letters beneath. The complete alphabet, he realized. “A cipher wheel?” he asked the professor.

  “An illustration of one,” Hopkins replied. “It has to be what they were searching for. Had it not been for all those thefts and reported damage to the endpapers, it might have gone unnoticed. Honestly, I was about to call to ask if you wanted me to glue the endpaper that had come loose. That’s when I saw it.”

  Remi leaned in for a closer look. “I wonder if Mr. Pickering was aware that this was in there when he gave it to me?”

  A very good question, Sam thought. But not one he wanted to go into right now. “We can’t thank you enough,” he told Professor Hopkins.

  “Since you’ve paid me twice over what I normally charge, I think you have. You’ve definitely got a fascinating mystery here.”

  The screen to Remi’s cell phone lit up. She glanced at it, then turned it facedown on the cloth. “We do appreciate your time.”

  The professor slid his chair back. “And I really do need to get to that next appointment.” He stood, shook hands with Sam, and smiled at Remi. “Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”

  The moment he left, Remi picked up her phone. “It’s a text from Bree.”

  “Saying what?” Sam asked.

  “To call her as soon as I can.”

  Sam asked for the check, and they finished their dessert while they waited. Once it came, he paid and left a generous tip, then they hurriedly walked to the rental car.

  Remi called, placing it on speakerphone. “Bree? Are you okay? We were so worried when we couldn’t get ahold of you.”

  “I’m fine. Now. I’m—I’m in North Carolina.”

  “North Carolina?”

  “To visit my cousin. To tell her about her father.”

  “We’re so very sorry.”

  “I know. Listen, I was wondering if—did my uncle give you the book when you were there? Pyrates and Privateers?”

  Remi glanced at Sam, hesitating the slightest of instances as she said, “I bought a copy from him. Why?”

  “My cousin—um, she’s pretty devastated. Apparently he promised it to her, and—and I was hoping I could give it to her. Something to remember her father by.”

  “After what happened to your uncle, Sam and I thought maybe we should turn it over to the police.”

  “No! Please . . .”r />
  “Bree? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m—yes. It’s just—you can imagine how devastating this has all been. And it would mean so much for her to have it. If you turn it in, it’ll only be tied up in probate. She’s too ill to travel, and—” Bree broke down crying. After several seconds, she said, “I’m sorry. This has all been so hard.”

  “What can we do to help?” Remi asked.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind mailing the book to her. To remember her father by.”

  “Of course we wouldn’t mind. But Sam and I will deliver it in person.”

  “No. I couldn’t ask that of you. It’s too much.”

  “We insist,” she said, eyeing Sam, who nodded in encouragement. “This book is too valuable to trust to the post office. Just text me the address and we’ll deliver it tomorrow.”

  “I will. Thank you . . .”

  They heard a quiet sob as Remi said, “We’ll see you tomorrow. And pass on our condolences to your cousin.”

  Sam pulled out of the parking garage and on into traffic. “She sounded pretty upset.”

  “Understandably,” Remi said. “First the robbery, then the heart attack. I can’t imagine what Pickering’s daughter must be going through. Not being able to travel. At least Bree’s there for her.”

  “About the book . . . ?”

  “I thought about that. And I think at the very least we should show it to Pickering’s daughter and let her make that decision. She is the next of kin, after all. At least this way we can explain in person why we feel it best to turn it in to the authorities.”

  He stopped at a red light, looked over at his wife, then back at the road. “I guess we’ll be filing a change in flight plans to North Carolina.”

  The advantage of having a private jet meant they could change plans at a moment’s notice. Selma made the arrangements for a hotel and rental car on their arrival, and after a decent night’s sleep and a hot breakfast, they drove to the location Bree had texted. Remi, of course, asked Selma to look into the address on the off chance something was wrong. Much to her relief, it came back to a Larayne Pickering-Smith, who Selma had determined was, in fact, Gerald Pickering’s daughter.