Gone But Knot Forgotten by Mary Marks

middle shelves. “Harriet majored in history at Brown. She collected Early Americana in general—wooden toys, watches, Native American baskets.”
    An hour later we had finished our search of the bookshelves and sat at one end of the library table while Carl worked quietly at the other.
    My heart sank. “A fortune in first editions is missing.”
    Carl glanced up from his computer. “What were those titles?” I showed him the list and he started typing. “Give me a minute.” He tapped at his computer and the three of us stared at him. He finally stopped. “Nothing with those titles has been submitted for authentication or sold in the last year through auction houses or any other legitimate venue.”
    â€œSo the perp must be hanging on to the goods unless he took them to a fence.” That was Birdie, bless her. “Shouldn’t we call this in?”
    Carl smiled and gazed down at his keyboard. “I’m going back to work.”
    The loss of such important books felt devastating. “This is just the first place we’ve explored. There are many other rooms to go through. Harriet might’ve kept them somewhere else in the house, somewhere not out in the open.”
    Lucy swept her hand toward the shelves. “So, what are you going to do with the rest of these? Your friend read everything from historical novels to books on spiritism. Looks like she was into the occult.”
    I shook my head. “It doesn’t sound like the practical and pragmatic Harriet I knew, but profound grief can do weird things to people.”
    A metal clink and a thwap came from the foyer. Carl stood and motioned for us to be quiet. He took a gun out of his leather laptop carrier and walked through the living room, both hands on the weapon. He reached the foyer, relaxed, and tucked the gun into the front of his waistband.
    Birdie whispered, “I sure hope he has the safety on.”
    â€œIt’s just the mail. Came in through the slot on the front door.” He returned to the library and handed me a couple of invitations to open Visa accounts and a flyer for Pepe’s Salvadorian restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard.
    Lucy stood and moved along the wall, tapping with her knuckles. “Maybe there’s a secret compartment in the library where she stashed the books.”
    Is Lucy serious? “I don’t think so. Three of these are outside walls and the fourth shares a two-sided fireplace with the living room. Just where would such a compartment be?”
    Lucy wouldn’t give up. “It’s true, the two outside walls with windows aren’t thick enough. But the wall at the end, the one covered in bookshelves, could be hiding something.” She pushed on the shelves and knuckled the dark paneling from one end to the other. After five minutes of knocking high and low, she gave up and shook her hand. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
    Birdie sat at the desk and checked the drawers, gathering all the papers for me to sort through at home. Lucy and I went into the living room to examine and catalog the five framed paintings.
    â€œAre these valuable?” Lucy asked.
    â€œI think I read none of them are worth more than ten thousand.”
    The paintings hung askew. I lifted the first painting; nothing hidden on the wall behind it. I reached to put the painting back and my finger caught on a sharp edge.
    â€œHoly crap, Lucy. Take a look at this. The paper seal on the back is slit open on the bottom edge.”
    Lucy helped me take down the rest of the art. “Someone tampered with all of them. What do you suppose was in there?”
    I looked at my friend. At this point she knew almost as much as I did. “Obama’s birth certificate?”

C HAPTER 7
    On the way to the maid’s room, Birdie picked up one of the candelabras from the table. “This is very old silver and very heavy. You can see it’s been around for a long time