Remember the devil.
Did Abraham’s last words have anything to do with Goethe’s masterpiece? I kept forgetting to pick up a paperback copy, but in my defense, I’d had some distractions to deal with. I made a note to do it after my meeting with Enrico this afternoon.
For now, I concentrated on the foxing I’d seen on a number of the pages. Foxing referred to the small, reddish brown spots of mildew or dirt that appeared over time on the pages of old books. There were different techniques for removing the spots. Most of them involved solutions of bleach or peroxide or other chemicals that could ultimately damage the fibers in the paper. I couldn’t take that chance with the Faust, so I had decided to experiment with something I’d seen on one of my online loops.
I pulled a slice of white bread from the cheapest loaf I’d found at the market, then tore off the crusts and squished the slices together to make a ball.
The theory was that the bleached flour would help whiten the spots without damaging the paper itself. The e-mail poster had warned that the results wouldn’t be perfect but there would be some improvement.
After gently rubbing in a circular pattern, I was amazed to see the white ball of bread turning darker and crumbly. It was actually pulling the dirt out of the paper. The spots didn’t completely disappear, but they were much lighter than before.
“That was amazing,” I marveled as I tossed the used bread in the wastebasket and pulled out another slice. All this bread reminded me that I’d been going on two lattes and chocolate since I’d left home this morning. I was starving. I supposed I could munch on the white bread, but that seemed pathetic somehow. Maybe I’d grab a sandwich at the Covington tearoom.
I pushed the stool away from the table, stood and stretched. Without warning, my neck muscles cramped up.
“Loafing on the job as usual,” Minka said as she walked in. She wore leopard-skin leggings, a tight black turtleneck sweater and sparkly red heels. I don’t make this stuff up.
“Didn’t I warn you to stay out of my workroom?” I asked, dismissing any pretense of politeness as I rubbed away the kink in my neck caused by her proximity.
“What bug crawled up your ass?” she said, her nasal voice fraying my nerves.
“I’m busy, Minka.” I made a show of grabbing the white cloth and covering the book, afraid her cooties might infect it. Childish, but it worked for me.
She snorted. “If I’d just inherited a shitload of chaching, I’d be in a hell of a better mood than you are.”
My mouth fell open. How had she heard about Abraham’s will? I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. It was as if the woman had extrasensory psychosis.
She studied her half-inch-long fingernails, then nibbled at a hangnail. “I had a little talk with the police yesterday.”
“What a coincidence. So did I.”
Her brows knit together. “You did?”
“Yeah. Except in my case, I told the truth.”
“I don’t lie,” she said, offended.
“Yes, you do,” I said. “You lied about Abraham and me, remember? About us fighting the night he died? That was a lie.”
She cocked her head. “Really? My bad.”
It was probably unkind to despise someone so stupid, but I did. My bad.
She glanced at me through blue-mascara-caked eyelashes. “I bet the police would be interested to hear about all that money you got.”
I took a breath and counted to five. It wouldn’t do for another murder to occur at the Covington within a week of the first one.
“I’m sure they would,” I said. “That’s why I’m calling them this afternoon to tell them.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Whatever.” But her lip curled. I’d stolen her thunder.
“I should apologize, though,” I said. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t mentioned to the police that Abraham fired you from your job.”
Her eyes grew wide. “That had nothing to do with-”
“With murdering him?”
“You shut up.”
“They think that’s a great motive for murder.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Now, that’s the pot calling the kettle late for dinner.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I waved my hand at the table. “Go away, Minka. I’m busy here.”
She folded her arms tightly under her breasts and glowered at me. “You think you’re so smart.”
I thought about that. “I guess I do.”
“We’ll see who’s smarter when you’re standing in the unemployment line.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Maybe.”
“Fair enough.” I moved closer. “But if you say one more word about me to the police, I’ll make you sorry you ever crawled out from under that rock and started screwing with my life.”
“Is that a threat?” she mocked.
“Yeah, it is.”
“God, you’re such a bitch.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
She turned on her heel and stomped out, pushing Ian out of her way before he could move aside.