Fatal First Edition

1

How's the windy city?" Nancy Peyton asked.

Lindsey Norris glanced at the tiny faces of her friends on her phone. She was missing their weekly crafternoon meeting at the Briar Creek Public Library, where she was the director, and the group had just video called her to see how her archivist conference was going. They were all crammed together, peering into one phone.

"Windy is a very accurate description," she said. She was sitting in a conference room in a sectioned ballroom of the Chicago hotel where the Annual Archivists Convention was being held.

"Who plans a conference in January in Chicago?" Beth Barker asked. She was the children's librarian, and Lindsey could just make out the astronaut costume she was wearing, bubble helmet and all.

"Archivists choose to meet in the off-season so they can spend their money on rare books instead of conferences," Lindsey answered. "I assume outer space is the theme for story time this week?"

"You know it," Beth said. "On the story countdown, we've got Mousetronaut, by astronaut Mark Kelly; On the Launch Pad, by Michael Dahl; and Moon's First Friends, by Susanna Leonard Hill. It's going to be far-out."

The crafternooners behind her collectively groaned, and Lindsey laughed. Beth had been her roommate in library school, and her enthusiasm for children and reading hadn't waned one bit over the years.

"Where's that brother of mine?" Mary Murphy asked. She was squinting into the phone on their end.

"He's braving the mob at the coffee shop in the lobby," Lindsey said. Mike Sullivan, known to everyone in Briar Creek as Sully, was Mary's brother, but more importantly, to Lindsey at any rate, he was Lindsey's husband.

"Good man," Violet La Rue observed. She was a retired Broadway actress who now ran the local community theater and had been a crafternooner with her best friend Nancy Peyton since Lindsey had started the program several years before.

"Did I hear Violet talking about me?" Sully appeared, carrying two cups of coffee as he took the seat beside Lindsey.

Lindsey turned the phone so that their friends could see him. They all cried, "Hi, Sully!" and he toasted them with his coffee cup.

"What's the craft today?" Lindsey asked. Not being the crafty sort, this was the only part of the program that she didn't love, so she wasn't that upset about missing it, but she didn't want to be rude.

"We're working on coiled wire bookmarks," Paula Turner said. She held up a sample of her work in progress. It was the silhouette of a cat with a spiral for a belly. She deftly placed it on a page in the book of the week, which was A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles, and closed the book. It appeared as if the cat was sitting on top of the novel. It looked adorable but also complicated.

"That's amazing!" Lindsey wondered if her lack of enthusiasm was obvious.

"Right, I'll make one for you," Paula said. "I can try and make it look like your cat Zelda."

Lindsey grinned. It was clear she hadn't fooled Paula a bit.

"Not to give you a case of FOMO, but you're missing Violet's pulled pork sliders," Mary said. She held one up to the camera. It looked delicious on its fluffy bun, dripping with barbecue sauce and packed with shredded pork and coleslaw. Lindsey felt her stomach growl.

"Don't be a tease, Sis," Sully said. He grinned and added, "We're going to Monteverde for dinner tonight."

"Now who's the tease?" Mary chided him. "You know it's cruel to taunt a woman who owns a restaurant with the news that you are dining at one of the finest Italian restaurants in Chicago."

"Sorry not sorry," Sully said. Mary shook her head at him.

A man stepped onto the stage at the front of the room and Lindsey said, "We'd better go. The program is about to start. We leave on the train tomorrow, so we'll be home the day after!"

The crafternooners said good-bye and waved. Lindsey ended the call.

"Homesick?" Sully asked as he handed Lindsey her coffee.

"No . . . maybe just a little," she said.

"You're turning into a regular Creeker," he said. He looked pleased as he draped his arm around the back of her chair.

Creekers were what they called lifelong residents of their hometown, Briar Creek. Sully and his sister, Mary, had been raised on the Thumb Islands, an archipelago in the bay off the shoreline village in Connecticut. Lindsey had lived there for only a few years, but the quaint village had definitely become home sweet home to her.

Lindsey's friend Beth took the position of children's librarian in Briar Creek right after they graduated and had encouraged her to apply for the director's position when Lindsey lost her archivist job at the university in New Haven due to downsizing. It had taken some time and a lot of patience to get the small community to accept her. Marrying Sully, a native, had certainly helped.

"That might be one of the nicest things you've ever said to me," she whispered to him.

He smiled at her, and she marveled for the thousandth time that this man, with his reddish brown wavy hair and bright blue eyes, was her husband. They weren't a natural fit. He was a boat captain who ran tour boats and a water taxi in the bay around the islands, while she was petrified of water over her head, especially if she couldn't see the bottom. He was in his glory being outside all day battling the elements, whereas, other than walking their dog Heathcliff or bicycling to work and home, Lindsey preferred to be inside with a book. Still, somehow they clicked, and Lindsey couldn't imagine spending her life with anyone else.

"Good afternoon, everyone." The man on the stage spoke into the mic.

Lindsey recognized him right away. He was Henry Standish, the director of the archivist conference. Because her initial interest in a career in information science had been in preservation, Lindsey had known of him while in graduate school, as Henry Standish had been the curator of a very exclusive private collection on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

Shockingly, a few years ago, he'd been let go from his elite post amid rumors of fraud. It had been quite the scandal in academic circles, but nothing was ever proven. The taint of the accusation remained, however, ending Standish's curatorial career. Somehow, Standish had landed the coveted position of conference director for the archivist society and had been in charge of the annual meeting ever since.

Lindsey hadn't attended the conference in ages, but having just acquired a rare collection of first editions when a former resident of Briar Creek donated them to the public library, she had felt the need to get back in the game. Sully had been more than happy to join her and had spent most of his time looking up his old Navy buddies in the Chicago area while she sat in on panel discussions about preserving the past.

"I am thrilled to present one of the best book restoration specialists in the country," Henry continued. "She's certified in book arts, conservation and authentication. She's internationally acclaimed and has won the Grand Prize in the Lawton-McNamara Contest. Also, she's come all the way from San Francisco to speak with us, so please give a warm welcome to Brooklyn Wainwright." Henry held out his arm, gesturing to the left side of the stage. The packed room applauded as a pretty blonde on the tall side of medium climbed up the short staircase, leaving a ruggedly handsome, dark-haired man in a bespoke sports coat standing at the base of the steps.

Brooklyn waved as she crossed to the podium, carrying what appeared to be an archival box. She shook Henry's hand and moved to stand in front of the microphone.

"Hi," she greeted the room. The microphone screeched, and she winced and moved back. She cast an exasperated glance over her shoulder at the handsome man, who lifted one eyebrow at her and smiled. When she turned back to the room, she, too, was smiling. "Now that I've got your attention, let's talk book restoration."

Lindsey settled back in her seat. This had been in her top three talks to attend. Brooklyn Wainwright was not only an expert respected in the field but had also been tied to several high-profile murder investigations, which made Lindsey feel that Brooklyn was a kindred spirit, since Lindsey's own life in recent years had also been rife with dead bodies, which was not something a book restorer or a librarian typically dealt with.

Brooklyn was wearing white cotton gloves and holding up a book she had recently restored as an illustration of one that she had returned to its former glory. It was riveting, at least to Lindsey. Whoever was behind her was not nearly as interested. First they rammed the back of her chair. She shifted in her seat and refocused her attention on the stage. Then the person muttered and banged into Lindsey's chair again. She cast a glance at Sully, and he began to turn around, looking as if he was going to say something.

Lindsey put her hand on his arm. He glanced at her, and she shook her head. She didn't want to risk causing a scene during the talk. He sighed and turned back to the stage. Whoever was behind Lindsey knocked her chair one more time, and then she heard them stand up and leave. They actually left! Brooklyn was just getting to the best part, about how she put the books back together once she'd restored them. Well, it was that person's loss.

The lecture ended to enthusiastic applause, and Brooklyn stepped back from the podium. She put the book back in its archival box and stripped off her gloves. The man who'd been standing by the stage watching her now joined her and took the box out of her hands.

Lindsey turned to Sully. "Wasn't that fascinating?"

He raised his eyebrows and said, "I had no idea that a book from 1840 would be easier to mend than a book from 1940 because the quality of the paper was so much better before they started using wood pulp. She's a very interesting speaker."

"I thought so, too," Lindsey gushed. "I'd love to meet her, but I don't want to be a pest."

Lindsey reached down to grab her shoulder bag from where she'd tucked it under her seat and found the handles of a canvas conference tote bag instead. Her bag! She leaned forward and peered between her legs, pushing aside the long hank of curly blond hair that blocked her line of sight. Relieved, she spotted her shoulder bag under the conference tote that was given to everyone in attendance. She frowned. She was certain she'd left her tote bag in her hotel room. Who did this one belong to then?

She grabbed both bags and sat up. She opened her shoulder bag to check that all of her personal belongings were inside. They were. Phew. Then she examined the tote bag. It was beige canvas with the conference logo of an open book printed on the front in a bold shade of blue. The zippered front pocket was empty, but there was an item in the main compartment of the bag. Lindsey glanced behind her to see if whoever was sitting behind her had accidentally pushed their bag under her chair.

The seats were empty; in fact, the entire row was vacant. She wondered if the person who had knocked into her seat had dropped their bag. She glanced around the room to see if anyone appeared to be distressed. The remaining people in the room were chatting and laughing. Hmm. She unzipped the tote and looked inside to see if she could find something to identify the owner.

The only item was a book. Not an extraordinary find, given that she was at an archivist conference that dealt primarily with books and other primary source materials. Lindsey took it out of the bag and examined it. It was a copy of Patricia Highsmith's Strangers on a Train. The dust jacket looked vintage with dark colors and haunting portraits of an anguished-looking man and woman. The paper felt fragile, so she carefully opened the book.

"Did you buy a book?" Sully asked.

"No," Lindsey said. "I found it under my seat."

Sully glanced at the chairs surrounding them and then at the people lingering in the room, just as Lindsey had.

Lindsey carefully opened it to the title page. It took her a moment to decipher the handwriting. Then she gasped. "I think this is signed from Patricia Highsmith to Alfred Hitchcock."

"Really?" Sully leaned closer to see. He studied the inscription and said, "I think you're right."

Lindsey glanced back at the spidery writing. It read:

For Hitch, It was a pleasure. Warmly, Pat

"If it's genuine, this book has to be worth a fortune," Lindsey said. She pulled out her cell phone and took a picture of the cover and the inscription. The crafternooners would love this! She closed the book and put it back in the bag. "I'm going to ask the speaker what she thinks."

She glanced up at the stage, where Brooklyn Wainwright was talking with Henry Standish while her handsome companion looked on.

"Good idea. Maybe someone brought it to show her and forgot it," Sully said. "Although, that seems highly unlikely."

They rose from their seats and made their way to the dais. The room had thinned out as the panel attendees scattered, hurrying to the next talk on their schedules.

Lindsey tried not to be nervous as she approached the famed book restorer. She'd read articles about Brooklyn Wainwright and watched online videos where she discussed her various projects. She was everything Lindsey had hoped to be when she'd been in library school, studying to be an archivist.

"Excuse me, Ms. Wainwright," she said.

Brooklyn turned away from Standish and gave Lindsey her full attention. "Hi, how can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I have a book here that I was hoping you'd take a look at?" Lindsey used upspeak, turning it into a question so that she didn't sound demanding. She held out the bag and the man beside Brooklyn took it before Brooklyn could.

"Really, Derek?" Brooklyn asked the man, but he ignored her and opened the bag, peeking inside.

"Yes, really, darling," he said. Lindsey noted his British accent and immediately warmed to him as he reminded her of their friend Robbie Vine, also a Brit, back home in Briar Creek. "If I've learned one thing whilst being married to you, it's that books can kill."

Sully turned to Lindsey with his eyebrows raised. "He's not wrong."