The Mystery of the Curiosities Read online

  “I have footage of someone in the shop. Well, I have footage of the cameras being blacked out. By someone.”

  “I understand, Mr. Snow,” the man replied. “But your system looks to be working fine. There are no malfunctions, and there were no indications of someone entering the store last night. My date stamp from yesterday is the alarm being activated at 6:23—”

  “Yes, that was me leaving.”

  “And this morning it was disabled at 9:19.”

  “Me again.”

  The man was quiet for a beat, and I could hear the muted sound of keys typing away. “I have nothing else recorded.”

  “If no one broke in… I mean, someone had to have disabled the alarm.”

  “There’s nothing, sir.”

  “Then my system isn’t working like you think it is,” I said, starting to get rightfully pissed. “Someone was in here at four in the morning. My cameras were blacked out and the entire shop is full of bricks!”

  “Full of what?”

  “Not the point!” I shouted.

  “I understand you’re upset, Mr. Snow. If you can wait on the line, I’m going to—”

  “Forget it. I need to call the cops and have something actually done.” I hung up, cussing loudly.

  “Wow,” Max said, still standing in the office doorway. “I’ve never seen you get angry like that.”

  “Advice Line says nothing happened,” I snapped. “How can they say that? Look at this place. If someone had the time to do this, and the motion sensors never went off, what the hell kind of service am I paying for?”

  Max nodded obediently.

  So I called the cops.

  Again.

  And it turned out to be the same officers from yesterday.

  Their coats and hats were wet when they entered the shop, both hesitating at stepping into the sea of bricks.

  “Good morning, officers,” I said, making my way toward them.

  The woman took her hat off. “Mr. Snow. Should we put your shop on our list of routine check-ins?”

  God, I hoped she was joking.

  “Ha….” I cleared my throat and squinted in the harsh lighting to read her badge.

  Bridge? No, Brigg.

  That’s right. I recalled her name now from Christmas.

  “What seems to be… happening here?” Brigg asked.

  “I wish I knew,” I answered, motioning vaguely at the area around us. “When I got here this morning, there was a brick outside the front door. And as you can see, the shop was full of them when I opened up. But the doors were locked, the alarms never went off, and the gate was down.”

  She put her hands on her belt. “I see.”

  “I have footage of my cameras getting blacked out just after four this morning. Someone, I think from out of the frame, spray-painted the lenses. They must have come in through the back, but my alarm company is insistent that they never received any indication of trouble.”

  The officers looked at each other.

  “And I’m inclined to believe it wasn’t a ghost,” I added dryly.

  “Do you have anything to report as missing?” Brigg asked.

  “No, nothing,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Can you show us the back door?” Lowry asked.

  “Sure.” I turned and carefully made my way through the aisles toward the back of the building. I unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal the chilly but mostly dry alley I shared with Beth Harrison of Good Books.

  I stepped out first, shivering. The alley was odd and connected our shops together, but it wasn’t insulated from the weather by any means. I looked up and down, hoping to find some obvious evidence as to who was trying to remodel my shop. Like footprints, or wheelbarrow tracks, or a signed and notarized letter from the guilty party….

  “Well,” Brigg started, examining the door’s lock. “Not broken, no sign of forced entry. Is your landlord doing any sort of work on the building?”

  I resisted the urge to be a smartass, and before coffee, it hurt like hell to keep the knee-jerk response to myself. “Uh, even if he was, don’t you think someone would have triggered the alarm?”

  She nodded absently, pondering the information available. “You’ve got a mystery on your hands, Mr. Snow.”

  “Looks like.”

  “We’ll file another report,” she continued. “Someone clearly has trespassed, but with no security footage and the fact that nothing was taken, there isn’t much for us to investigate, you understand.”

  I nodded and stuffed my hands into my pockets. I could have told them about the second note then. I should have told them. I should have given it to them to analyze. But I didn’t.

  This was personal.

  Curious?

  Damn right I was.

  “I suggest having all of the locks changed,” Brigg said. “New keys, new code for the alarm—maybe have a technician come out and make sure it’s not malfunctioning.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered automatically.

  I followed the officers back into the store, shutting and locking the door to the alley. I thanked them for their time, agreed to call if anything new came to light, and then saw them out. At the front door, I flicked off the overhead lights.

  “Hey!” Max called from the darkness. “I can’t see shit.”

  “You’re fine. Turn on the lamps,” I said back, watching the police get into their cruiser and pull away from the curb. Behind me, I heard the snap of an old bank lamp turning on, followed by the shifting sound of bricks under Max’s feet as he walked around the shop.

  “So what now?” Max asked.

  “I’m going next door.”

  “Why?”

  “To check in with Beth.”

  “She does seem a likely suspect,” Max said in a thoughtful tone.

  I snorted at the image of plump little Beth, with her big glasses and gray hair and wearing clothing with cats on them, busily covering the Emporium floor space in bricks. Yeah, she was at the top of my persons-of-interest list. I rolled my eyes, pushed up my sunglasses, and walked out the door.

  I ducked under her awning and opened the door to the bookshop. It was much more brightly lit than my store, although crammed with enough second-hand books to make me feel right at home amongst the organized chaos. The radio overhead was playing sappy, poppy love songs in lieu of Valentine’s Day this coming Sunday.

  Shit. Was it really this Sunday?

  Standing on the welcome mat in Good Books wasn’t the best place for it to occur to me that I wasn’t entirely certain if Calvin and I would celebrate Valentine’s Day. I mean, sure we were dating, and it was a lovey-dovey, couples-centric holiday, but did Calvin like that sort of stuff?

  Did I, for that matter?

  Sort of.

  Not that I’d admit it to anyone.

  “What are you doing here so early, Sebby?”

  I pushed the poorly timed thoughts out of mind and turned to the counter. Beth stood at the register with an expectant look, eyeing me through her thick glasses. What did we have today? I squinted. A sweater with a big cat face. The eyes were made of buttons and the cat had a bow on its head. It was actually kind of terrifying.

  “Beth.” I looked around, spotting a few customers already perusing her aisles. I walked to the counter and leaned over. “Has anything strange happened over here in the past day or so?”

  She quirked a brow. “Strange? I’ve sold all of my tofu cookbooks. I’ve been wondering if there’s a new health fad happening. Is there? With tofu?”

  “What? No. I mean, I’ve no idea. Listen. Yesterday someone smashed one of my windows.”

  “Son of a bitch!” she shouted. “I was wondering what was up with the plywood when I walked by this morning.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, this morning when I opened the Emporium, the entire shop was full of bricks.”

  “Come again?”

  “Bricks,” I repeated.

  “Like, for building?” Beth asked, confused.

/>   “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish I could tell you.” I leaned a bit closer. “Someone broke in. They must have disabled my security system somehow. I wanted to make sure nothing odd has happened here.”

  Beth scoffed and waved a hand. “Here? Come on, I don’t piss folks off.”

  “No? You might. You curse like a drunken sailor, Beth.”

  “You’re the one who dated a crazy person.”

  “I did not date him,” I clarified while holding a finger up. “Duncan thought he was dating me. Big difference.”

  Beth shrugged. “No one’s put bricks in here. Sorry, Sebby. Do you need help cleaning?”

  “There’s too many.”

  “I’m not some old granny who can’t pick up a few bricks!”

  I pulled my cell out, opened up a photo I had taken before the police arrived, and turned the screen around to show her.

  Beth snorted. “Better hire a moving company.”

  “Or construction. How much do you think I can sell these for?” I asked, putting my phone away.

  “I’d say you’d make enough to buy you and your hunky guy a nice dinner.”

  LUTHER RETURNED for the second time in two days, which was twice as many times as I wanted to see my landlord. He patted his big belly while eyeing the shop, took a step forward, but when the bricks wiggled under his unsteady footing, he stopped. “What did you do? I said I was fixing the window!”

  “I didn’t do this,” I exclaimed. Trying to explain the situation to him was like debating with a—well, a brick wall.

  I hated my landlord for many reasons. But mostly because he’s an idiot.

  “The police advised me to get new locks,” I said. “I know they didn’t come through the front door, so the gate is fine. It’s the alley. I need better security on the back door.”

  “How do you even know that if the cameras were blacked out?”

  I heard Max make a noise behind me from the counter, and I rubbed my unshaven chin in agitation. “Someone took out the cameras from the inside, without being seen, Mr. North. If they came through the back, moved along the walls, and approached the camera from behind—”

  As I explained to him how it must have happened, it was like an explosion of fireworks going off in my head.

  In order to do that, to know where the cameras couldn’t pick someone up, they would have to be familiar with the layout of the Emporium. So this dude with the brick fetish must have come in before as a customer. Just like with Duncan Andrews.

  Had I mistakenly placed a newspaper ad that encouraged psychopaths to visit my shop?

  Luther humphed loudly. “And?”

  “I, uh—so I need new locks.”

  “I guess I can see about getting some installed over the weekend.”

  “I’m open on the weekend. I’m only closed on Monday, and I’m not waiting until next week. If this isn’t dealt with today, who knows what could happen. Do I need to remind you how much my Victrola is worth?” I turned to point at the large furniture on one side of the room.

  Luther waved a meaty hand at me, speaking over the shop phone ringing. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll have my guys come by during lunch. They’ll deal with the locks and the window.”

  “And the bricks?”

  “Put them in the alley and I’ll see that they’re removed.”

  “By myself?” I retorted.

  “Seb?” Max called.

  “Not now,” I answered. “There’s like two hundred bricks in here.”

  “I’m not paying my guys to—”

  “I’m not going to break my back picking them all up,” I said over Luther.

  “Seb!” Max called again.

  “What?” I asked, aggravated, as I turned around.

  He waved the phone. “It’s Quinn Lancaster.”

  My heart stopped. I felt a weird sort of fear wash over my body, where I was hot and cold at the same time, breathing fast but not getting air to my lungs. Why would Calvin’s partner call me for any reason other than something happening to him? With the current rift between him and his family, I was all Calvin had.

  Did that make me his emergency contact?

  I swallowed the sour taste threatening to come up my throat, quickly scrambled across the uneven floor to the counter, and grabbed the phone from Max. “Hello? Quinn?”

  “Hi, Sebastian.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “What?”

  “Calvin.”

  “Sure he is. Why are you asking?”

  I rested my elbows on the counter and pressed a hand to my forehead. “I didn’t think—why are you calling?”

  After a beat, I heard Quinn sigh. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think this was official. But that’s sweet, your response.”

  “It’s not sweet. I nearly barfed.”

  “Calvin and I are getting a late breakfast. I thought it’d be nice if you joined us.”

  “Really?” I’d never been invited to see Calvin during work hours. He was simply too busy. And he didn’t usually eat while working. Something was wrong. “Isn’t he sort of swamped?”

  “No.”

  “I—oh.” I glanced back over my shoulder. Luther was busying himself by looking through a display of trinkets. “Slow day for murders, huh?”

  “It’s been fairly calm lately.”

  Since when? “I guess I assumed it was a heavy workload lately. I don’t see him that much,” I said quietly.

  She hummed in response. I got the distinct impression that Calvin or someone else she didn’t want hearing was close enough to listen to her call. “That’s why I thought it’d be nice to take a break. Cold cases can wait an hour.”

  I’m not sure what I was feeling at that moment. Confusion, for sure. I always suspected Calvin was swamped with big cases, based on how often I saw him, but was this not true? Was he working late into the night, not sleeping and eating right, because he was working on cold cases? I didn’t want to believe I was always his top priority—it seemed selfish because I knew how deeply he cared about his job—but still.

  Shouldn’t he have wanted to come home to me if he had the option?

  And what was Quinn trying to tell me? Was she concerned about his overworking? Not that I wasn’t, but she saw more of him than I did. Maybe she could see warning signs he hid from me. Calvin buried himself in work because when he was focused on a task, atrocities he saw during the war could be put out of mind.

  But what if they were starting to affect him during the day? Not just when he slept.

  Suddenly nothing else was important.

  “Where am I meeting you?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  SAUL’S DINER’S slogan was “Get stuffed.”

  But brunch was neither the time nor the place for that.

  Saul’s was an old place, midway between my shop and Calvin’s precinct. The food was good—not great, but good. And cheap. And it was open 24/7.

  I had reached the diner before Quinn and Calvin and chose a booth near the back, opposite of the windows lining the street-side wall. A waitress poured me a cup of coffee and let me be when I told her I was waiting for company.

  Pouring some cream into the mug, I stirred it before letting out a sigh and turned to stare out the windows. The rain was coming down hard now, the gray day easy on my eyes. There was something about heavy rain in an urban environment that I had always found kind of depressing. Not that I left the city all that often to compare it to rain in the country or suburbs, but it gave off a sort of isolated feeling.

  Everyone was in a rush to get out of the weather. No one mingled, chatted—it made it lonely. I wasn’t lonely, though. I definitely wasn’t. Not anymore. But I was worried, and the general gloom of the day was fraying my nerves.

  The worry had been directed toward my business and livelihood first. Vandalism and trespassing. Would it escalate? Would someone get hurt? Specifically, me. Those notes weren’t just anything. They were something.

&
nbsp; But then Quinn calling?

  Calvin hadn’t appeared to be getting worse to me. He still had nightmares, of course. He hadn’t magically gotten better by dating me. I’d been with him through a few more since Christmas, and to see him at his most vulnerable and exposed moments hurt my heart like nothing else. It was worse to think Quinn had noticed something to be concerned about and I hadn’t. Or that Calvin still didn’t trust me enough to talk about it.

  Maybe trust isn’t the right word.

  I put my head down on the table.

  I think Calvin was afraid to talk about what he had seen overseas. Words gave power, after all, and I guess he figured the memories would truly consume him if he gave them acknowledgment. I only wished there was a way to help him understand that he could find strength for himself in speaking about those events. But it wasn’t something I was comfortable pressing him with. Every time I even hesitantly approached the subject, he went on the defense.

  “Howdy, partner.”

  I raised my head to see Quinn standing at the booth, hands in her coat pockets, and grinning. “Morning.”

  She slid into the seat across from me. “Thanks for coming. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Oh, sure. Thanks. How’ve you been?”

  “Good.” Quinn picked up her napkin and wiped her hands on it absently. “Except that I haven’t had a smoke all morning and Calvin won’t let me in his car with a cigarillo.”

  “Maybe you aren’t asking nicely.”

  “They’re vanilla,” she protested, crumpling the napkin and setting it aside.

  “Calvin’s more of a cinnamon guy.”

  She made a face and picked up the plastic menu from the tabletop.

  “Speaking of,” I started. “Where is he?”

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  I startled and looked up again. Calvin was shaking off his wet coat as he approached the table. I smiled. He gave me butterflies whenever he addressed me by a pet name in public. “Hi.”

  He slid into the booth beside me. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I didn’t expect to be here.”

  He nodded, reaching to unbutton his cuffs and roll his sleeves back. “Is Max watching the Emporium?”