All About Love (Cynster 6)

Having everyone so steadily occupied calmed Appleby. "Yes, in a way. But they showed me how-he and his father. The night before the last battle, letters were brought around. I never had any, of course, so, thinking to be kind, Jerry Sherring read his aloud. His father had filled his library with expensive books and his gallery with valuable paintings.

"His heir, Jerry's older brother, cared not a fig for anything but hard coin. The old man was in failing health, but, almost on his deathbed, he'd made a fantastic discovery. He'd stumbled on a miniature by an old master. He was sure it was genuine, but wasn't strong enough to follow it up. He didn't want his heir to know of it and sell it off cheaply, so he hid it until Jerry, who felt as he did, could return from the war and help him."

"So he hid the painting in the book?" Lucifer glanced around briefly.

"Yes." Appleby stood directly behind Sweetie. Although clearly swept back into the past, he was too close to the chair for Lucifer to attempt to overpower him. "It was all there in the letter. The old man even warned Jerry to tell no one of it. Jerry didn't consider that he'd read the letter to me."

"He trusted you."

"He was a fool-he trusted everyone."

"So he died."

"On the battlefield. He would most likely have died there anyway. I just made sure of it."

"And then you accompanied his body back to his family, playing the grieving friend." Lucifer glanced along the shelves. The others remained facing the books, but their searching had slowed; all were following the tale. "So what went wrong?"

"Everything-everything that could." Appleby's tone turned bitter. "It took two weeks to get free of the army and across the Channel, then all the way up to Scunthorpe. The Sherrings lived beyond that. I arrived to discover the father dead and the brother already in possession."

"I'm surprised that was a problem."

"It wasn't in itself, but the brother's wife was an unexpected complication."

"Women often are."

"Not in that way." Appleby's tone was contemptuous. "The damned female was a tightfist, just like the brother. They'd known Jerry would kick up a fuss over selling the father's collections, so they'd had the dealers around before the old man was cold in his grave. They'd sold the Aesop's Fables."

Lucifer looked at Appleby. "You're not going to tell me you've been searching through all the collections in England?"

Appleby laughed, but the sound wasn't humorous. "If necessary, I might even have done that. Nevertheless, as has happened repeatedly in my search for this treasure, hope gleamed in the darkest hour. The brother's wife had a list of those she'd invited to the sale of the library. Fifteen collectors and dealers. I spun her a tale of wanting to buy some book of Jerry's as a memento and she gave me the list." He laughed again, bitterly. "Like everything in my life, that list was a boon and a burden rolled into one."

Lucifer turned back to the shelves. "The list was alphabetical?"

"Yes!" Appleby's temper exploded in a threatening hiss. "If I'd started working on it in reverse, I would be a hugely wealthy man today. Instead, I followed the list."

"That, I assume, accounts for the unexpected demise of Mr. Shelby of Swanscote, near Huddersfield."

Silence held sway for a long moment, then Appleby said, "You have been busy." Lucifer said nothing, nor did he turn around. Eventually Appleby continued. "Shelby would have lived if he hadn't been such a suspicious old coot. He caught me in his library one night. If he'd simply walked in, I'd have been able to slide away-I had an excuse ready. But he stood there and watched me search for some time. After that, I had to kill him.

"I could never let any of them suspect I was searching for anything-that's why it's taken me five long years to reach Welham's library. In every one of the fourteen other cases, I had to find a job, sometimes with the collector, which made life easier, but often in the neighborhood, then learn enough about the collector's household to know when I could search. I've become an expert on reading dealers' disposal ledgers. That was always the first thing I checked. But none of them has sold that book and the painting hidden in it has never surfaced-you may be sure I kept my ear to the ground over that. I know the book's here, and the painting's still inside. You're going to find it for me-I'm going to have it in my hands tonight."

There was a feverish intensity in Appleby's last words that had everyone exchanging glances. With a sigh, Lucifer turned. "If that's the way it is, then… we've already finished cataloguing this room. And the library. There's no copy of Aesop's Fables in either room. False covers, yes, but not the book."

Appleby considered him through narrowed eyes.

Lucifer waved toward the library. "If you'd like to look at the inventory…"

"No, that won't be necessary, will it?" Appleby's eyes were slits, but his tone was more confident. "You just want me out of here, don't you? You're so damned rich you don't give a damn about any painting, old master or not."

"I wouldn't go quite that far, but the painting certainly doesn't rate against Miss Sweet's life, which brings us to much the same point."

Appleby studied Lucifer's face, then nodded. "Very well. Which room do you suggest we search next?"

"I'd take the dining room next. The back parlor seems to run more to garden, household, and recipe books."

They'd all stopped searching and turned; Appleby ran his eye along the line. He drew a tight breath. "We'll move in reverse. I'm going to back out of the door, then I'll wait in the front hall. I want you to file out, single file still, cross the hall, and go into the dining room."

Pulling Miss Sweet to her feet, he held her to him and backed out of the door. Everyone followed, trooping silently along. Toward the rear of the line, Phyllida stared at the door, then glanced at the shadowy space behind it and the huge halberd standing there.