Chapter 7 - The Bookstore on Halsted
Marlowe Books opened at ten every morning.
At 9:55 the next day, Grace stood across the street staring at the dark green awning.
She had worked there for four years.
It was the safest place she knew.
Which meant Marcus would eventually use it.
Adrian wanted her to stay away.
Grace went anyway.
He arrived three minutes later.
“You said this was your operation,” he said.
“It is.”
“And your first decision is ignoring obvious danger?”
“My first decision is keeping my job.”
“You have fourteen dollars in your checking account.”
Grace slowly turned.
Adrian’s face changed.
“That sounded worse aloud.”
“You checked my bank account?”
“During the investigation.”
“I am going to hit you with a hardcover.”
“I deserve that.”
“An enormous hardcover.”
“I’ll purchase one for you.”
Grace stared at him.
Then against every reasonable instinct, laughed.
Adrian’s mouth curved slightly.
It was the first time she had seen him smile.
It transformed his face.
That annoyed her too.
“Stop being charming.”
“I wasn’t trying.”
“That may be worse.”
They entered the bookstore.
Her manager, Mr. Kaplan, looked up.
“Grace! Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You called out yesterday.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Forget the shift. I meant are you all right?”
Grace softened.
“I will be.”
Mr. Kaplan noticed Adrian.
Then noticed him again.
Recognition dawned.
“Oh.”
Adrian nodded politely.
“Mr. Kaplan.”
The older man blinked.
“You know my name?”
Grace muttered, “He knows everyone’s name.”
Adrian gave her a look.
Mr. Kaplan pointed toward the café.
“Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Grace went behind the counter.
Normality lasted forty-three minutes.
Then a delivery arrived.
No sender.
A rectangular box.
Grace stared at it.
Nora, working the register, whispered, “Do not open murder packages.”
“It’s probably flowers.”
“Flowers can contain murder.”
Adrian stepped from the biography aisle.
He had been pretending to browse for nearly an hour.
Grace folded her arms.
“I told you not to hover.”
“I’m reading.”
“You’ve been holding the same book upside down.”
Adrian looked at it.
It was upside down.
Nora covered a laugh.
Grace pointed to the box.
Adrian’s humor disappeared.
He checked the label.
No return address.
“Back.”
Grace hated the command.
But she obeyed.
Adrian opened the box carefully.
Inside was a first edition of Jane Eyre.
Grace stopped breathing.
A note lay on top.
Some stories should stay buried.
Nora whispered, “Okay. I officially hate whoever sent that.”
Adrian lifted the book.
Something rattled inside.
A key.
Small.
Brass.
Number engraved:
214.
Grace stared.
“Storage?”
“Maybe,” Adrian said.
Mr. Kaplan approached from behind the counter.
His face drained when he saw the key.
Grace noticed.
“Mr. Kaplan?”
He shook his head too quickly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You recognize it.”
“No.”
Adrian’s voice sharpened.
“Mr. Kaplan.”
The older man looked terrified.
Grace stepped between them.
“Don’t.”
Adrian stopped.
Grace faced her manager.
“Please.”
Mr. Kaplan sat.
For four years Grace had known him as a gentle widower who hated e-books and kept peppermint candies beside the register.
Now his hands shook.
“Six years ago,” he said, “a young man came here looking for you.”
Grace’s throat tightened.
“Daniel?”
“I didn’t know his name.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“What did he look like?”
Mr. Kaplan described him.
It was Daniel.
“He asked whether Grace worked here,” Mr. Kaplan said. “She didn’t then. I told him no.”
Grace frowned.
“I lived in Milwaukee six years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why come here?”
Mr. Kaplan looked at her.
“Because your mother worked here.”
Grace’s breath caught.
Before cancer, before hospital rooms, before Grace moved to Chicago—her mother had worked part-time at Marlowe Books.
“She never told me.”
“He asked her to keep something.”
The brass key.
Mr. Kaplan nodded.
“Your mother gave it to me shortly before she died. Told me if anyone came asking questions, I should forget it existed.”
Grace’s eyes filled.
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“She told me not to.”
“Why?”
Mr. Kaplan looked toward Adrian.
“She said Grace would know when she was ready.”
A furious ache opened inside Grace.
Her mother had known.
Maybe not everything.
But something.
“214,” Adrian said. “What does it open?”
Mr. Kaplan stood.
He walked to a locked cabinet behind the register.
From the bottom drawer, he removed an envelope.
Inside was an address.
Union Station.
Private luggage lockers.
Grace looked at Adrian.
“When did they stop using those?”
“Most public lockers disappeared years ago.”
Mr. Kaplan shook his head.
“These aren’t public.”
At noon they entered a private storage facility beneath a building two blocks from Union Station.
Locker 214 sat in a narrow corridor.
Grace inserted the key.
Her hand shook.
Adrian stood behind her.
Not touching.
Not directing.
Simply there.
Grace opened the door.
Inside was a single leather briefcase.
Adrian’s face changed.
“What?”
“I know that case.”
“Daniel’s?”
“Yes.”
Grace removed it.
The combination lock required four digits.
She tried Daniel’s death year.
Nothing.
Adrian tried their mother’s birthday.
Nothing.
Grace stared.
Then she remembered the hollowed Jane Eyre.
The emergency money.
The night she fled Marcus.
“May fourteenth,” she whispered.
The date on the photograph.
514.
Click.
The case opened.
Inside were paper ledgers.
Not digital.
Names.
Payments.
Dates.
And one sealed envelope.
GRACE.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
The letter was from her mother.
My darling girl,
If you are reading this, then I owe you an apology.
Grace stopped.
Adrian turned away, giving her privacy.
She continued.
The young man named Daniel told me what Marcus had done with your identity. He told me he was trying to stop it. I wanted to tell you immediately, but you had only just begun sleeping through the night again. I was afraid the truth would drag you back.
Tears blurred the page.
Daniel promised me he would fix it without involving you.
I believed him.
That was my mistake.
Grace pressed a hand against her mouth.
The letter continued.
There is something else.
Marcus came to see me before I got sick.
Grace’s heart stopped.
He told me if you ever contacted him, I was to tell him.
I told him I would rather die.
Grace laughed through tears.
That sounded exactly like her mother.
Then the last paragraph.
Daniel believed Marcus answered to someone named Vincent.
Adrian stepped around.
“Vincent?”
Grace nodded.
She read the final line aloud.
He said Vincent was close enough to Adrian Vale to sit at his table.
Adrian went still.
Grace looked up.
“Who is Vincent?”
Adrian’s expression became colder than she had ever seen it.
“My uncle.”
And suddenly the danger was no longer somewhere outside Adrian Vale’s world.
May you like
It was sitting at his family table.
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