The Girl and the Clock Tower Murder: Pandemonium Cozy Mystery #2

Chapter 11

The atmosphere of the Poisoned Pen Bookshop was chilled and inviting. The late afternoon heat had seeped into Mahognay's bones, making sweat bead between her shoulder blades.

"Hey, Cam, is Ace around?" Evelina asked.

Cam raised an unruly eyebrow. A frown pinched the edges of his eye and mouth, distorting his usually open and welcoming face. Cam's short-cropped, brown hair also seemed grayer at his temples. "What do you need with Ace?"

Evelina's mouth moved, but no words found their way into the air. Her wide-eyed, panicked gaze fell on Mahogany, who stepped forward.

"We bumped into him yesterday, and there was something I meant to ask, but it slipped my mind," Mahogany said and offered Cam a friendly smile.

"He should be upstairs," Cam gestured to the roped-off staircase running up the opposite wall.

"Thanks," Mahogany said and started up the stairs.

"I've only ever been up here once before," Evelina said, her voice hushed. "I offered to pick up a rare edition of the Witches Hammer for my history teacher back in high school."

Mahogany had been to the upstairs of Poisoned Pen several times for museum work. Occasionally, she'd retrieve enchanted books that the bookshop better housed than at the museum. Most of the books sat behind lock and key in the shop's giftschrank.

The cool air that had greeted them when they entered dissipated. The older building's air conditioning was not strong enough to dispel the outside heat from the upstairs portion, and the climate became stuffy.

As they crowned the top of the stairs, darkened rows of shelving came into view. Unlike downstairs, this part of the shop wasn't open to the general public but by appointment only. Each case had a plexiglass front locked from roving fingers and grabbing hands. This part of Poisoned Pen housed only the rarest tomes, filled with incredible magic and mischief.

Near the back wall stood a desk reminiscent of Bob Cratchit's in A Christmas Caroll, complete with inkwell and pauper sweat. Stooped over the desk, hard at work, sat Ace's bent figure, his nose inches from the ledger he scrawled in.

Mahogany knocked on the nearest bookcase and cleared her throat.

Ace jumped, his fountain pen scratching across the page, leaving a glaring black streak in its wake.

"Gods, Mahogany, you scared me." Ace's relief was apparent, however, short-lived. "What are you doing here," he said, mopping at the ink blemish on the paper.

"Sorry about that. We didn't mean to startle you. We heard something that made us question what you said yesterday about the time Matt died." Mahogany stepped closer to Ace as she spoke but kept ample space between herself and him.

Ace placed the pen back into the inkwell and folded his arms over his chest, the ancient chair creaking in protest.  "Is that so?" His face took a determined set, and his jaw muscles flexed with irritation.

Mahogany held up the genuine accounting ledger from the Preservation Clock Tower Committee.

Ace's clenched jaw relaxed, and he sat forward, his poker face vanishing. "Where did you get that?"

"From the hiding place in Matt's office." Mahogany gazed at the book. "Did he hide it there, or was that you?"

"What do you want?" Ace looked like a man defeated.

"The truth. What happened when Matt found out you were embezzling from the Committee to pay your gambling debts?"

Ace sighed, his eyes filling with sadness. "He was mad that I hadn't told him I was in trouble." He shook his head. "Matt scolded me for not asking him for help."