The Librarian and the Spy
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The Librarian and the Spy
SUSAN MANN
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Susan Mann
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-4330-0
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4333-1
eISBN-10: 1-4201-4333-6
VD1_1
Table of Contents
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Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A COVERT AFFAIR Teaser
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
To my husband,
Ken,
and our daughter,
Sarah,
the loves of my life
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am so very grateful to those who have helped this book come to be. My agent, Rena Rossner of the Deborah Harris Agency, is superhuman. I thank her for her tireless efforts in getting the manuscript into shape and working her agent magic. I am forever grateful for her love of “quirky.” Thank you to the entire team at Kensington Publishing and especially my editor, Esi Sogah, whose enthusiasm for card catalogs knows no bounds. Working with her is an absolute joy, and together we made this story shine. My friends, led by fellow author Lexie Dunne, hold a special place in my heart. If not for them telling me I should write novels, this story wouldn’t be. I am also indebted to those who read and provided invaluable feedback on various drafts: Erica, Michael, Russ, Neil, and Kate. I also must thank Authoress, who gets the words of newbies like me in front of agents. Finally, thank you to my family: my husband, Ken, for his constant and unwavering support in everything I do; our daughter, Sarah, who truly is my pride and joy; and my parents, for always, always, always being there.
Chapter One
Quinn’s grandfather always said being a librarian is a lot like being a secret agent. Like a good spy, a librarian has to be quick thinking, resourceful, and tenacious. Chester Ellington assured her he knew about such things since he’d read just about every spy novel ever published.
Quinn Ellington appreciated his elevated opinion of those in her chosen profession. To her, though, the comparison was more than a little over the top. She liked to believe she was quick thinking, resourceful, and tenacious, especially since she was known to follow bits of bibliographic data like a bloodhound after a rabbit. But she knew being just a librarian would never fully quench the thirst for adventure she inherited from her spy-novel-loving grandfather. As it stood right now, the likelihood of her being called upon to disable a death ray pointed at the White House from space by a maniacal villain bent on world domination was pretty low.
She snipped off another strip of red book repair tape from a roll and used it to attach the swag of fake green garland and colored twinkle lights to the front of her metal desk. She smiled when she thought of how her grandfather would approve of her unconventional use of library supplies, as tame as they might be.
The trimming secured, she crawled under the desk most likely manufactured during the Eisenhower administration and plugged the lights into the power strip. She grunted when her head banged against one side of the desk and a hollow bong reverberated around her as she backed out from the tiny space. Good thing for her skull it sounded worse than it felt.
Clear of the desk, she scrambled to her feet and stepped around to the front again. She folded her arms across her chest, tipped her head to one side, and turned a critical eye on the trimmings. Martha Stewart she wasn’t.
She glanced up at the clock attached to the wall of the Bullpen, the large office that housed the desks of the reference librarians at Westside Library, and realized it was time for her to cover her duties at the desk. Any additional decorating would have to wait. After draining the last of the barely warm Earl Grey from a mug with the Dewey decimal number for tea emblazoned on the side, she snagged a book review magazine to peruse in case it was slow at the desk and left the office.
She walked behind the main library counter—a monument to wood laminates that stood at the center of the main reading room—and climbed up onto the high bar stool–like seat. She had just set the magazine down when she looked up to see a thirtyish-year-old man, briefcase in hand, striding toward the desk.
He stopped in front of her and Quinn gave him a smile. In her best librarian voice, she said, “Good morning. What can I do for you?”
“Hello. I’m hoping you can help me,” he replied in a BBC news anchor accent that made her heart skip a beat.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I need to find out the history and value of a brooch.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “A brooch?”
“Am I not the brooch type?” he asked with a crooked smile.
“Well, as long as it matches your tie,” she said, nodding at the
red vintage convertible sports car repeated over the tie’s black background. She also noticed his jeans and brown leather jacket, her favorite look on a man. “You do seem a little too young and male to wear a brooch.”
Delight flashed in his sky blue eyes. “Well, for what it’s worth, you seem a little young and, ah”—he paused and he squinted at her—“denim wearing to be a librarian.”
“I get that a lot.” Feeling cheeky, she swung her legs to the side and lifted a foot, showing off her high-heeled leather boot. “You’ll also note I’m not wearing sensible shoes today, nor is my hair in a bun.” While she occasionally wore her blond hair in a ponytail, today, as usual, it was loose around her shoulders.
“Duly noted.”
She lowered her foot and faced forward again. “Now, about this brooch. I have to warn you up front that unless you’re talking about tracking down the value of one that’s already been appraised, I can’t tell you how much it’s worth. I’m not qualified. I can help you get a list together of local appraisers if you’d like.”
“I understand. That’s not what I’m looking for. Can you help me learn more about its history?”
“Again, unless it’s a well-known piece, I doubt we’ll find much. You’d be better off taking it to a jeweler.” But her curiosity was getting the better of her and before her brain could stop her mouth, she found herself saying, “But since you’re already here, I guess it couldn’t hurt to take a quick look.”
“Brilliant,” he said. He lifted his briefcase and laid it flat on the counter.
“You have it with you?”
“No, not the brooch itself. I have a photograph of it.” He rummaged through the papers in his briefcase.
Quinn tried not to be too obvious as she studied his features. He was extremely handsome, with a wide brow and strong jaw that tapered to a pointed chin. His nose was slightly crooked and sported a small bump. She supposed it had been broken at some point in his life. Still, it in no way detracted from his good looks—if anything, it added character to his face.
“Ah, here it is.” He handed her an eight-by-ten.
She blew out a low whistle. “This isn’t what I was expecting at all. I thought we were talking gold flowers or gem-encrusted bumblebees. You know, like the brooches Queen Elizabeth wears.”
“Yes, well, this is very different than the ones worn by Her Majesty.”
She brought the picture close to her face and examined the intricate details of the round, flat ring. Absently, she said, “I read recently that forty-two thousand schoolchildren in Southern Rhodesia donated pocket money toward a diamond brooch to give to then Princess Elizabeth as a present for her twenty-first birthday. It was presented to her when she visited with her parents and sister in 1947. It’s called the Flame Lily brooch and apparently it’s one of her favorites.” She looked up and when she saw the mixture of amusement and bemusement on his face, she cleared her throat and squinted at the paper again.
“I’m no expert, but my guess is this is Celtic. And old.” It reminded Quinn a little bit of a belt buckle, only rounder. The flat ring was inlaid with panels of intricately patterned silver. A long, thick pin was attached to the top half of the hoop and appeared to be able to move around the ring. There were a number of empty settings dotting the silver where Quinn assumed gemstones had once adorned the brooch. “Maybe Anglo-Saxon.” She looked up and asked, “What makes you call it a brooch?”
“That’s what the inventory calls it.”
“Inventory?”
“I work for the insurance company that will be covering it.”
“So you need to figure out if it’s worth what the client says it’s worth? And not something you can buy for twenty bucks on eBay?”
“Or has MADE IN CHINA stamped on the back.”
She sighed. “I’d love to dig into this, but like I said before, this is really a job for an appraiser.” Her eyebrows lowered when she inspected the photo again. “Or a professor of archaeology, if this thing is authentic.” She set the picture on the counter and looked at him. “Doesn’t your insurance company have people who do stuff like this?”
He shuffled some of his papers, clearly ordering his thoughts. “It’s a bit complicated, with client confidentiality and all. For what it’s worth, I can assure you a professional appraiser is already in the process of evaluating this piece.” He shrugged. “I want to do my own due diligence.”
“You want to see if what they come back with is the same as what you found out on your own?”
“If not the same, at least close. I tried to do some Internet research myself, but almost everything I ran across was new, and for sale on Etsy.” His gaze remained unwavering as he considered her. “I need the help of a professional.”
A thrill buzzed through her. This wasn’t exactly as pulse-pounding as stopping a death ray, but it was by far the most interesting thing she’d been asked to research in a long time. How could she say no? She dipped her head almost imperceptibly and said in a soft voice, “Okay.”
Even as she agreed, her mind began to swirl with thoughts of how to best tackle the task at hand, the potential problems they might encounter, the amount of time the search might take, the fact that his cologne was more than a little distracting, and how nice his smile was. Since the last two musings were unprofessional—the bit of flirting she’d indulged in wasn’t terribly professional, either—she stuffed them in a crevasse in her brain and focused her attention on the brooch. “Technically, I’m only supposed to help you gather the materials. You need to come to your own conclusions.”
“Of course, Madam Librarian,” he said with a bow from the waist.
She suppressed a snort and held her hand out across the counter. “Please, call me Quinn.”
His handshake was firm. “It is a delight to make your acquaintance, Quinn. My name is James.”
“James.” She suddenly felt a little self-conscious. When he released her hand, she dropped her gaze to the picture on the counter and pushed her hair behind her ears. Her focus now restored, she said, “Is there a deadline we’re looking at? Because to be honest, I’m not sure how long this will take. We might find your answer in twenty minutes, but it could take several days if we need to get books from another library.”
“No, there’s no set deadline, but the sooner, the better.”
“Got it.” She couldn’t contain her excitement and fairly bounced in her chair. “You don’t have any information on it at all?”
“No. It’s part of a collection the owner bought at an estate sale. Some of the pieces had paperwork. A lot of them didn’t, including this one.”
“Okay, then,” she said, and rubbed her hands together. “Off we go into the wonderful world of brooches. First, we need some basic information.” She turned to the computer in front of her and found an appropriate entry in one of the library’s online encyclopedias. She angled the screen so they could both see it. They spent the next ten minutes learning about various brooch styles. After examining the photo again, they agreed it was clearly a Celtic pseudo-penannular brooch used to fasten cloaks.
Quinn went to the library’s online catalog and performed a subject browse search. She set her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her palm while she scanned the results on the screen. After a few more refining searches, the printer to her left whirred to life and spit out a piece of paper.
“Here’s the deal,” Quinn said. “We don’t have any books in this library specifically on Celtic brooches.” When she saw the disappointment on his face, she said, “No, no, no. We’re not giving up yet.”
Quinn jumped down from her stool, snatched the paper from the printer, and took off toward the nonfiction stacks. She stopped, spun around and, reassured he was following her, turned and started toward the stacks again.
Quinn zeroed in on the appropriate section of books like a laser-guided missile. She dodged around a cart filled with books to be shelved, and when she reached the correct aisle, she pivoted and hurried
down it, at one point hopping over a metal kick stool.
Despite her quick maneuvers, James managed to keep up. He was in full stride behind her, so when she came to a sudden stop, he crashed into her.
She lurched forward. The paper in her hand went flying. Had James not shot out a hand and gripped her arm to steady her, she would have executed an epic face plant. “Quinn, I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s my fault,” she said, thankful she hadn’t taken a swan dive in front of him. She swept the rogue strands of her hair back in place. “I stopped with no warning. I should have brake lights installed.” She was keenly aware of his hand resting on her arm.
He retrieved her paper from the floor. “What are you looking for? I thought you said the library didn’t have any books on brooches.”
“We don’t, but we do have some books on Celtic and Anglo-Saxon designs and their histories. What’s been found on stone crosses, illuminated manuscripts, stuff like that.” She consulted the paper he’d handed back to her to verify the call numbers. Tipping her head back, she scanned the spine labels. “I thought maybe if we found the design on the brooch in one of these books, you’d be able to figure out when they first appeared.”
“And we would know the brooch was made sometime after the first use of those designs,” he said as if clarifying the idea in his mind.
“That’s the theory anyway. You also might be able to figure out which region it’s from, you know, if it’s Scottish or Irish or Welsh.” When she found the books she was looking for, she said, “Here we go.” She slid one from the shelf, the protective dust jacket cover crinkling in her hands. She flipped it open to a photo of a stone Celtic cross on one page and a detailed drawing of its designs on the other.
James peered at the book from over her shoulder. She turned the page and he pointed at a picture. “That looks familiar.”