Emerald Aisle by Ralph M. McInerny

been made from the hide of polar bears, the pictures on the wall outrageous denials that art imitates nature. There were no books in evidence, other than one shelf filled with travel guides and cruise brochures.
    Bianca was an imposing woman, and at first, even at second, glance it was hard to believe that she was the same age as her husband. All the lesser surgical arts had been enlisted to stave off the effects of time on her flesh. The skin of her face was taut, any sag beneath her jaw had been removed. The general smoothness of her countenance, lightly brushed with cosmetics, and the glistening blue eyes framed by darkened lashes artfully suggested a woman in her late twenties, decades having been skimmed away. But it was a face that needed to be seen in flattering light.
    When she stepped dramatically backward into her apartment after opening the door to the Knights, she might have been on a stage with carefully selected lighting.

    â€œSo you are the detectives.”
    â€œIt’s good of you to see us.”
    â€œIt would be difficult not to,” she said, looking significantly at Roger, who laughed at this allusion to his avoirdupois.
    â€œI may be seen through but never overlooked.”
    Roger was given the couch after being steered away from a divan their hostess apparently thought inadequate to the task of supporting him.
    â€œNow what is all this about Joseph’s toys?”
    Phil let Roger explain about the missing items. “As you must know, your husband’s collection contains priceless items.”
    â€œBelieve me, I know.”
    â€œYour husband has asked us to locate the missing materials.”
    Her elongated nails were blood red and their length made extracting a cigarette from a package difficult. When she had managed it, Phil rose to light it for her. She looked up at him through a cloud of exhaled smoke. “Joseph thinks I am responsible for the theft.”
    â€œAre you?”
    â€œIf I had my way, all that mildewed mumbo jumbo would go there.” A long nail pointed to the fireplace. “Have you any idea what it is like to be married to a man who made a fortune in business but wants to pretend he is a scholar?”
    â€œHe hired us to look into the theft,” Phil said, regaining his seat.
    â€œAnd so you have come here.”
    â€œDo you have any idea who might have done it?”
    She made a gesture with the hand that held the cigarette and ashes scattered over the rug. “Joseph himself could have done it.”
    â€œJoseph!”
    â€œTo get my attention. To bring about this visit. To annoy me. But he knows I will never again live in that library he has turned our house into.”

    â€œYou don’t share his interests?” Phil asked.
    â€œMy interest in books is probably on the same level as your own. Look around and you will see how different a setting I have made for myself. Only one small shelf of travel books.”
    â€œWhat about Waldo Hermes?” Roger asked.
    â€œThe hairy ape? He was the last straw. Imagine having a live-in librarian in your home.”
    No need to admit it to Roger, but Phil felt sympathy with the woman. She had her troubles. She and her husband had money; she wanted a life of leisure, travel, diversion. Not the wickedest of goals. Wasn’t the collecting of priceless books self-indulgence of another kind? Why couldn’t the Primeros compromise?
    Bianca sighed. “Joseph must be devastated.” She drew on her cigarette. “Those books are his children.”
    â€œI wonder who the kidnapper is,” Phil said. “Any ideas?”
    â€œYou must know that Joseph and I have not lived together for years.”
    There was in her manner the suggestion that she was holding back something she might have told them.
    Phil might have been flattered when Primero vetoed notifying the police. “I don’t want publicity. I have every confidence in your ability to retrieve what has been