The Beastly Island Murder. Carol W. HazelwoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
matter? She folded her notes and put them in her wallet.
If there’d been a letter or a document of Einstein’s in the book, then his words could have been worth a great deal. Enough to kill for? What did the paper with Einstein’s signature say and where was it now? Had Carla known about it? Surely, she would have said something if she had.
Alex said he’d gotten a look at the book and the author’s signature. Had he seen more than that? Had he known about an inserted document? Had he taken it? Impossible. Carla had stood next to Alex, and knowing her, she never would have allowed him to remove anything.
After Carla had acquired the book, she’d acted aloof, even mysterious. The family had shrugged, believing Carla was in one of her moods, something that seemed to occur every time she became involved with another man.
Now that Jennifer had at last found the book, continuing her task with the remaining books became a grinding task. Her thoughts roamed. Her head ached. She picked up the letter Wedgeworth had left for her and reread it. “My books have been sorted by their acquisition date.”
If she could find out the dates of the book in front of The Big Sleep and the one behind it, she’d have an approximate date of when he’d acquired it. She turned back to the shelf. A 1925 signed edition of Goethe’s Faust came before Chandler’s book and it was followed by an edition of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hounds of the Baskerville. She noted the order on a sheet of paper. She guessed from the conditions of both that Doyle’s book was probably worth more than Goethe’s Faust in the present market.
Wedgeworth must have a ledger with the data about his acquisitions. She slid the chair back and pulled out the top desk drawer finding the usual office pens, notepads and other paraphernalia. She closed it and tried the other drawers—locked. She sighed. It galled her that she’d have to wait until she could speak to Wedgeworth to find out more information.
Trying to set aside her emotions over her find, she returned to the mundane task of cataloguing the remaining books. She had set aside Chandler’s book and was loathe to return it to the shelf, yet she had no choice. The desire to take it was overwhelming, but her things were going to be searched when she left. Maybe she’d be able to come back. She pushed the intercom button and told Harold she was ready to leave.
“I’ll be right there,” he said. True to his word he came after a few minutes. As he inspected her things and took back the key to the bookcase, she said. “I might have to return for additional information. Shall I call the house number?”
“No, you’ll have to call me at my cottage. It’s located on the estate.” He wrote the number on a card and handed it to her. “I’ll have to get authorization to allow you to return. I’m sorry for all the security, but those are Mr. Wedgeworth’s orders.”
He escorted her down the long hall and waited in the doorway as she got into her car. The rain had abated as Harold had predicted, but heavy clouds blotted out the moon. Her headlights stabbed through the blackness as she drove down the private drive. The gate swung open and she left the estate behind. She turned the heat on high and concentrated on the winding road. After she was on the main highway to Brandon, her thoughts turned toward the Einstein signature.
“I know I’m onto something,” she said. “But what?”
She itched to get started on researching Einstein to find out what would connect him to a book owned by Helen Jacobi. She’d already researched Helen Jacobi, knowing that’s who donated Carla’s book to the library and had found nothing of import. She’d review her notes and inquire anew.
She blinked at oncoming headlights and realized she’d been driving in a trance-like state. She sat up straighter, opened the side window and concentrated on the road. But her thoughts continued to swirl back to the strange afternoon she’d spent at the Wedgeworth house. He must have had the rest of his collection catalogued and appraised for insurance purposes. Those in the small case were recent acquisitions. She thought of the clown painting juxtaposed against the antique setting. What kind of a man was he? More important—when had he purchased this book and from whom? Had he gotten it by some nefarious means?
When she returned to Brandon, she drove into the alley behind Books & Tea and parked. Emma Mae had already closed up, leaving the back room light on. Lydia’s bark welcomed her arrival and the cats circled Jennifer, rubbing up against her legs. Although they were used to being left alone at night, they liked company during their night forays through the store. When Jennifer snapped on Lydia’s leash, the cats skulked off. Their long-suffering playmate was being taken away.
Upon returning home, despite the late hour, she changed clothes and jogged with Lydia at her heels through the dimly lit streets. The exercise calmed her and she returned with a fresh outlook. She took a hot shower then poured herself a glass of merlot and nibbled on crackers spread with hummus. Excitement dulled her appetite. As Lydia lay by the front door, she put her massive head between her paws and eyed her mistress.
“Different routine tonight,” Jennifer told her dog. Bundled in a flannel robe and wool socks, she made a list of possible leads on a yellow pad, then went to her desk and turned on her computer.
On the Internet, she searched for Einstein on Sotheby’s web site, thinking a book or papers might have recently come up for auction. Nothing. She googled the name Jacobi and found several. Just as she’d found earlier there was no data on a Helen Jacobi. But she found a Lotti Jacobi, 1896 to 1990, well-known photographer, born in Berlin immigrated to the United States in 1930. She was famous for her casual photos of Robert Frost, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Albert Einstein.
Jennifer leaned back and rubbed her hands together. If Helen Jacobi was related to Lotti Jacobi, a realistic probability, then the impressions left in the book from some documents may have related to Einstein. If so, who had taken it and what did it say? And how much was it worth?
“Carla, I’m getting closer,” she said to the quiet room.
Chapter 6
The following day while Emma Mae worked in the front of the store, Jennifer ensconced herself in the office on the pretext of doing paper work. She didn’t want to deceive her aunt, but thought it best to keep her recent discovery private, at least for now. Her concentration splintered between appraising Wedgeworth’s books, researching Lotti Jacobi, and learning more about Rick Carlson.
Her first call was to Ronald Arnett, the executor of Helen Jacobi’s estate. A year and a half ago when she’d discovered her sister’s book had come from a donation by the Jacobi estate, she’d questioned him at such length that he’d become exasperated with her. Now when she phoned him, she heard the exasperation in his voice.
“Yes, I remember you, Miss Frost,” he said.
“Mr. Arnett, since I last talked to you, I’ve become a rare book dealer. I have a client who bought a few books that the Jacobi estate had donated to the library, and he’s interested in their provenance.”
“Miss Frost,” he said in a high tenor voice, “the books were donated. The estate has been settled, the heir has no claim on them.”
“I should have asked you back then who sent them to the library.”
“Miss Abby Gardner, Helen Jacobi’s housekeeper gathered all of her mistresses things and meted them out to various charities. I saw no reason to interfere. There was little of value in the estate other than the house. It’s been sold and the funds turned over to the only living heir.”
“Yes. I remember you said he lived in Israel. Do you happen to know if Helen Jacobi was related, however distantly, to the famous photographer, Lotti Jacobi?”
“There had been some talk of a famous relative, but I have no facts to back up the rumor.”
“Could you give me the names of anyone close to Helen Jacobi? Perhaps I could contact the heir.”
There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “You are most persistent, Miss Frost, a characteristic that would do you well in the practice of law. However,