Abe and I bent close, breath frozen.
“I think that man is Jim Dahl.”
Abe’s fingers tightened on the phone. “The fake intern who stole the George Sand letters?”
“We all studied his picture the day Sam and Freya went to tail him,” Henry said. “And it was bothering me, why I couldn’t place him. I pulled up our old emails from Francisco, with Jim’s employee photo and compared it to pictures of Peter Markham online. Same height, same face shape, same eye-color. He’s dyed his hair and added a beard.”
“That’s why,” Abe said swiftly. “I knew we knew him. We’re coming. I’ll call Freya and send Delilah your way. For god’s sake, don’t let him out of your sight.”
Abe grabbed my wrist as we started sprinting toward the street where the cabs were.
“Dahl the forger, right?” I said, thinking back to that day in Bernard’s office when Abe had explained the many characters of The Empty House case.
Abe hailed a cab, face lit up with every emotion under the sun. “I assumed Bernard used Dahl as one of his many thieves. Maybe he’s his forger.”
“An expert forger is exactly what Bernard would need to ensure he was never caught,” I said. “The letters of authentication, for one thing. And Henry’s signature on those documents, right?”
He looked at me like I’d just presented him with a rare first edition of his favorite book. “Right,” he said, in awe. “You’re absolutely right.”
We jumped in the first cab and Abe had the driver speed toward Adler’s. While I sent Delilah a text ordering her to meet us, Abe called Freya.
“What’s up?” she whispered. “Sam and I are literally hiding behind a Dumpster.”
“Henry saw Peter Markham in person, and he thinks he’s Jim Dahl in disguise.”
“Fuck a duck,” Freya swore. Muffled, she repeated the same thing to Sam, who had a similarly crude reaction.
“Do you see the resemblance too?” Abe asked.
More muffled speaking before Freya got back on the line. “We’re accessing a picture of Peter Markham from his website. Let me look at it again.”
We could only stare at each other and wait. My heart was in my throat with every second.
“Abe, we think it’s him,” Freya said grimly. “I can’t believe this. Sam and I got pretty close the day we tailed him to the book festival. He was never apprehended, same as Julian and Birdie.”
“Have Sam call his dad and get him to send help your way to the parking lot. I’m sure the authorities will want Julian and Birdie arrested once we tie them in with Dahl and Bernard,” Abe said, face pressed to the window.
“Got it.” Freya hung up, and Abe reached for my hand in the darkness. We sat, hands entwined, for five jittery minutes until the cab braked to a fast stop in front of Mycroft’s Pub.
Abe and I snuck inside as soon as we could, giving us a perfect view of the bookstore windows—hopefully without Peter noticing the two private detectives dashing down the street. Henry motioned us to his small table in the corner.
“He’s in the bookstore, no other signs of movement,” he said.
Delilah strode in a second later—looking glamorous in a floor-length gown—reaching for her fiancé’s hand.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Henry pointed at the store. “We need to get in there.”
“Did those papers really go for six million dollars?” I whispered to Delilah.
“Yes, and Eudora seemed edgy—she jumped a mile in her seat when the auctioneer hit the gavel. James Patrick seemed about ready to puke.”
“And Humphrey?” I asked. I’d seen the very dregs of human nature, knew the universe wasn’t always a pattern of just good people and bad people. But I desperately wanted Humphrey and Reggie to be plain old good people.
“They were sad. They were…” Delilah bit her lip. “They appeared devastated to see it bid on like that. Reggie kept patting Humphrey on the back and telling him he was going to be okay.”
Sudden movement in the bookstore had all of us ducking to the side, peering out cautiously. There was Peter, cleaning up a few books, writing on a sheet of paper. Everything appeared innocent as hell, but all four of us knew how easily that façade could be built.
“Sam slipped me this,” Delilah said, exposing a tool I recognized.
“To pick locks?” I asked, surprised.
Abe pocketed it immediately. “I have a little experience with this. Sloane, do you think you can get Peter to the door while the three of us find the closest side door?”
I smoothed my palms down my dress. Nodded through a long breath. “How long would you need?”
“A minute,” Delilah said. “Maybe two. Also, because Freya’s not here, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that our extremely ethical boss, Abe Royal, is about to break into a bookstore without cause or a warrant.”
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Henry mused.
Abe lifted a shoulder, cast a sly grin at my questioning look. “Told you I could be fun.”
44
Sloane
I wouldn’t have much time to grab Peter’s attention and get him to trust me. The last time Peter Markham had seen me, I’d been throwing a drink in Eudora’s face after being accused of being a private detective. I didn’t need much time, though. I only needed him to doubt his perception of me for a minute while distracting him from Abe breaking into his bookstore.
I strode as confidently as I could across the street while Abe, Henry, and Delilah snuck around the back. Peter was shoving a book back onto a shelf when I knocked on the window. It startled the shit out of him, which was good. Fear weakened our defenses.
The second he turned, confused, I waved and flashed him my most charming smile. I tracked the few seconds it took for him to recognize who I was—but when he did, the panic that overtook his body felt like taking a jumper cable straight to the heart. Because as much as I’d hoped we were on the right path, there were enough what ifs about tonight to rattle my certainty. Yet his raw reaction at the sight of me felt like a blazing, neon sign that declared ‘trouble is afoot.’
Peter took a step back, already turning, when I pressed my face to the glass and said, “Didn’t we once meet at Reichenbach Falls?”
He froze. Spun back around, face a mixture of intrigue and anxiety. He was still silent, still frozen in place.
“Peter, I’m not who Eudora says I am,” I called through the glass. “I’m here in London because I’ve come into possession of something. A big something.” I paused, noted the slight drop in his shoulders. “A big something that could use your special and unique skillset.”
“Leave or I’m calling the police,” he said, slowly backing away. His head whipped around, toward the back, so I tapped on the glass again.
“But I can pay,” I said. “Whatever amount you received for your last job, double it, and that’s where I’d start.”
Peter was a thief, after all. And so, like many con artists before him, he took a reluctant step forward toward the person offering him money. Which was when I saw Abe, Delilah, and Henry slipping out from behind the cash register.