The patron asking about penguins was a writer of geography books who often worked out of the library, and Sadie was happy to help. Behind him, another patron in an officious-looking dark suit began to speak, but Sadie cut him off with a curt “I’ll be with you in a moment.” She came out from around the desk and led the penguin patron to one of the many card catalogs that stood on the perimeter of the wall. The drawer gave an efficient swoosh as she opened it, and she worked her way through the index cards, speaking aloud the pertinent call numbers and titles as he wrote them down on call slips.
Back at the desk, she fed the call slips into the pneumatic tube. “You can pick the books up in the Reading Room,” she said. “My guess is that the correct answer is the Danger Islands. I believe approximately one and a half million penguins reside there, and are kept safe from human interference by heavy ice floes that make landing boats a dangerous undertaking.”
With a hearty “Thanks,” he was on his way.
“Wow.” The man who’d been waiting in line stepped up to the desk. “How do you know all that stuff about the penguins?” He spoke out of the side of his mouth, like he was being sarcastic.
“It’s my job.”
“Now I know who to turn to if I see a penguin waddling around.”
“I assure you they prefer to stay south of Fourteenth Street.”
He laughed, which drew nasty stares from the other patrons but gave Sadie a small thrill. She wasn’t known around the library for her sense of humor. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“I’m Nick Adriano. Dr. Hooper brought me in as a consultant regarding the theft.”
She knew that the director was hiring more security, but she hadn’t realized it would involve a consultant. He looked to be in his early fifties, his hair completely gone on the top of his head, thinning around the sides but cut close, like he didn’t dispute the fact that battle was almost over. The curve of his pate was balanced by a square jaw.
She caught his eye and realized he was probably sizing her up the same way. Not that it mattered, but she’d put on her favorite dress today, featuring giant magnolia blooms over a bright pink background, knowing that she’d be stopping by the donor cocktail party at five o’clock. She glanced up at her watch. It was quarter after—she really should be there by now. She lowered her voice. “I assume you’re investigating the theft of the diary?”
“I am. Do you have a moment?” he asked.
“I’m done here, but on my way downstairs. If you like, we can talk as we walk.” She joined Mr. Adriano on the other side of the desk.
“I heard you were called ‘No Stumpin’ Sadie,’ and now I see why.”
She hated that name, like something from an old Broadway musical. “It’s just a matter of knowing where to start, which I assume is very similar to what you do in your job.”
“Like right now, where I’m starting with you.”
“As you should. What questions can I answer for you?”
“This book, it was in the cage in the stacks?”
“It was a notebook, not a book. And yes, that’s where we keep a majority of the Berg Collection, as we’ve outgrown our current space and new locked bookcases aren’t to be installed in the third-floor space until later this year. I’ll be very relieved once it’s all under our aegis, as obviously the stacks are not safe.”
“Obviously. But first, we have to look closely at those who have access to the collection, as you can imagine. When did you discover it missing?”
“Exactly one week ago. On the thirtieth of March.”
“What made you go look for it?”
“It was to be included in our upcoming exhibit, Evergreen. I was planning to begin working on the description of the diary for the catalog. My job, as temporary curator, is to ensure that the preparations go smoothly, and make sure there are no surprises.”
“What kind of surprises?”
“Any damage, anything out of place. But it was nowhere to be found.” The memory of not finding it in its box brought back a muted panic.
“When did anyone from the Berg last see it?”
“My coworker Claude had taken it out a few weeks before it went missing. He says he put it back right after.”
“And you and Claude were the only ones who had access to the locked cage?”
“Along with Marlene and the director, yes. Have you talked to Claude yet?”
“I did, earlier today.”
So he hadn’t started with her, as he’d stated previously. She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. What if Claude had thrown some kind of suspicion on her? She wouldn’t put it past him, especially after he’d been skipped over for the curator position. “What did he say?”
“He was helpful.”
She hated not knowing what was going on. “I’m assuming that in cases like these, the staff has a tendency to turn on each other. I assure you that I will do no such thing. Claude is a fine man, but I hope you take whatever he says with a grain or two of salt.”
Had she said too much? It had been some time since a man had looked at her so intently—since Claude and, before that, Phillip—and Mr. Adriano’s interest, even if it was professional, unnerved her.
“And why is that, exactly?”
“We dated, briefly. Well, not really. No. Never mind.” The words came out with a faint English accent, much to Sadie’s horror. Her mother used to do the same whenever she was nervous, and the affectation always irritated Sadie. Yet here she was doing the same thing.
She’d never hear Pearl’s voice again. The thought made her eyes burn.
“Ms. Donovan, are you all right?”
She pulled herself together. “Last week, I got a promotion—although it’s only temporary—and he did not, and I would not be surprised if he were less than generous in his description of me. I assure you, the library is paramount to me. I would never harm it in any way.”
God, she sounded like an idiot. Protesting too much, and all of that.
They’d reached the door to the room where the cocktail party was being held. Dr. Hooper was probably wondering where she was. “I’ve arrived at my destination, Mr. Adriano, and I’m afraid I have other business to attend to. Of course, if you need anything else, you can find me in the Berg during business hours.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” The side of his mouth rose up again, like he was amused. Like this was all a joke.
“Not at all, but I must make an appearance. It’s a cocktail party for donors and trustees, and I promised Dr. Hooper I’d attend.”