I shook my head and sighed. “Go ahead and mock me, but I’ve had a bad day.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, her tone friendly again.
“You won’t find any fingerprints,” Derek said tightly.
Lee gave a philosophical shrug. “Let’s give it a shot anyway.”
As predicted, the police didn’t find any fingerprints in Derek’s hotel room, so Naomi was safe from imprisonment. For now.
After my class, Derek and I went out to a marvelous Italian restaurant near Nob Hill. Over tender short ribs in a Barolo reduction with sweet potato ravioli, accompanied by a stunning Bartolo Mascarello, Derek shared what he’d learned during his evening at the police station. He’d spent half the night there with Inspector Lee. Suspect or not, he still had that British commander vibe going for him and the San Francisco cops loved him. Hell, who didn’t?
On the night of Layla’s death, the police had confiscated her computer. What they found among her personal and business records were several bank accounts to which large deposits were made on a regular basis. A separate ledger with three different entries noted down payments of twenty thousand dollars each, for the books listed, with the merchandise scheduled to be turned over that very week.
“Down payments? Of twenty thousand dollars? For each book?” I mentally picked my jaw up off the floor. “Was there a list of the books being sold?”
“Yes,” Derek said, then tasted the deep red wine.
“Well?” I waited, but he was intent on torturing me as he swirled the wineglass, then took another sip. “Derek, swallow the damn wine and tell me what books they were.”
“Patience, darling. Your father wouldn’t approve of my drinking something this exquisite any other way.”
“You’re right,” I grumbled, and slumped back against the booth. “Just tell me if one of the books was an Oliver Twist?”
His eyes sparkled as he set down his glass. “I think you’ve already guessed.”
“It was,” I whispered, then tried to put the pieces together. “I thought it was being saved for the silent auction, but the real reason Naomi didn’t want to sell me the book was because it was already promised to another buyer.”
The wine steward poured more lovely red liquid into my glass. When he left, I looked at Derek. “There’s no way that Oliver Twist is worth twenty thousand dollars, and that’s just the down payment. I mean, I did a damn good job of restoring it, but how much did Layla expect to get paid? Whatever it was, it’s a completely fraudulent deal.”
“Yes,” he said, and bit into a succulent piece of beef. “And where does Naomi fit in?”
“I don’t know.” I cut into a pillowy ravioli square.
“Well, I can tell you that the police went by to speak with Naomi Monday night.”
“I saw them come in.” I swallowed the bite and almost swooned. The buttery ravioli sauce was extraordinary. “Oh, my, I need a moment.”
“It’s rather good, isn’t it?”
“It’s heaven.” I took a sip of wine, then exhaled softly. “Ah. Where was I? Oh, yes, the police showed up during the wake, just as the crowd was thinning out. Inspector Lee had Naomi in her sights and it looked as if they were going to arrest her. But she was back at work last night, free as a bird.”
“They merely confiscated her computer,” Derek revealed. “They’ve combed through it. It appears she knew nothing about these prepayments.”
“Oh, she knew,” I said, absently pointing my fork at him. “She’s hiding something. Why else would she be so nervous when I asked her about the Oliver Twist?”
“And this was the same Oliver Twist that Layla mentioned she was auctioning off at the Twisted festival?”
I considered the answer as I munched on a perfectly prepared haricot vert. “I thought so, but now I’m not sure. If it’s listed as a presale, how can they be auctioning it off?”
“Are there two Oliver Twists, perhaps?”
“I have no idea,” I said, grabbing my wineglass.
“I believe we should pay another visit to Naomi.”
As we drove away from the restaurant, I called Inspector Lee to explain the situation. I described Naomi’s reaction when I’d mentioned I wanted to buy the Oliver Twist.
“I’m willing to swear she knew about Layla’s prepayments,” I said. “I’m going to confront her, with or without a police presence.”
“With,” Inspector Lee barked into the phone. “You’ll wait for me.”
“Gladly,” I said, and winked at Derek. He’d already bet she wouldn’t miss it for the world.
“And just so you know,” Lee said. “We gave her back that Oliver Twist book a few days ago.”
I stared at Derek.
“The plot thickens,” he murmured.