“That’s right.”
“What in the name of heaven was I supposed to have stolen!”
“Do you understand your rights as I’ve read them to you?” Marsh repeated. “Ma’am, answer yes or no.”
“Yes, but—”
I heard the bookstore’s door fly open and Seymour Tarnish’s irate voice cry out. “Hey, you fascists, what the hell do you think you’re—”
Bull McCoy stepped around me with his nightstick clutched in his fist. “Back off, mailman, if you know what’s good for you or you can go to jail, too.”
Behind me, I heard “Go to hell, McCoy!” a scuffle and a grunt.
“That’s enough, Bull,” Chief Ciders said.
Officer Tibbet of the Quindicott Police escorted me to a squad car. Chief Ciders placed a beefy hand on my head to gently guide me into the back seat.
Still numb, I finally looked back and gasped. Seymour was crumpled on the sidewalk, clutching his stomach. Brainert, pale and in shock, stood over him. Together they helplessly watched the police cruiser carry me away.
CHAPTER 15
Headline News
A good reputation is more valuable than money.
—Publius Syrus
I WAS TAKEN directly to the Quindicott Police headquarters, a surprisingly small redbrick building on the outskirts of town.
A female officer searched me, then my personal belongings were placed in a manila envelope, including my wallet, watch, bracelet, earrings, and loose change. After that I was led into another room where I was posed against a white screen and handed a plaque with my name and date on it. A young male officer snapped my photograph with a handheld camera. Then my fingerprints were taken.
While I was wiping the ink from my hands, I heard angry voices from the next room. I recognized Chief Ciders’s bellow. The other speaker was Detective Marsh, who spoke with calm authority.
I couldn’t make out much, but it sounded to me like they were fighting about my arrest. Apparently Ciders wasn’t happy.
A policewoman took my arm. I recognized her as a customer in my store. I’d seen her browsing with her two preteen daughters in tow. Now my face reddened with shame and I could hardly face her.
The room they placed me in was deemed a “holding cell”—a cubicle with sickly green paint on the walls, a concrete floor, fluorescent lights, and a cot, sink, and toilet. There were no bars on the doors or windows. In fact, there were no windows, except for the wire-laced pane set in the steel door so the officers could keep an eye on their prisoner. The room must have been soundproofed, because the last thing I heard was the click of the lock being thrown.
I felt like crying, but the tears wouldn’t come. They’d taken everything from my pockets, including Jack’s buffalo nickel. I closed my eyes, willed him to be there for me, but there was nothing. I couldn’t feel him or hear him. I felt lost and completely alone.
There was no chair, so I laid down on the bunk, expecting to toss and turn all night. But I was coming down hard off an adrenaline shock, and I fell into a deep deathlike sleep. I didn’t wake up until another policewoman arrived in the morning.
“Time to see the magistrate, Mrs. McClure,” the woman told me.
“I need to make a phone call,” I replied, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “I want to check on my son.”
The woman went away, returned with a cell phone. I called my aunt and told her to stay put, to take care of Spencer and send him off to school. I also told her to call Brainert if I wasn’t back home by noon. Sadie put up a brave front, but I knew she was upset and frightened.
I was taken to Quindicott’s historic, pre–Civil War era courthouse, where I waited for two hours. Finally the magistrate arrived, heard the charges, and set a trial date in early January. Since I had “ties to the community” I was not deemed “a flight risk,” so I was released on my own recognizance.
Officer Franzetti drove me home after the hearing. Sensitive to my embarrassment, Eddie left the squad car with his partner and chauffeured me in his own SUV. It was nearly eleven o’clock in the morning when I got back to Buy the Book. A relieved Sadie rushed to hug me when she heard the door chime.
“Brainert called three times, frantic with worry. Seymour was here, too—”
“How is Seymour?” I asked. “It looked like Bull McCoy gave him a pretty bad time.”
“He’s fine,” Sadie replied. “Swears he’s going to make sure Bull McCoy gets the wrong mail for at least six months.”
“And Spencer?”
“I just told him something came up and you had to go out. He got off to school just fine. Frankly, I think he was relieved you wouldn’t be going with him today. I think he was hoping you’d miss your meeting with the new principal.”
I hadn’t forgotten the meeting—with yet another Chesley. More complications at a time when things were complicated enough for me already!
“Now, please, Penelope, I’ve been fretting all night. What in the world is going on? Why were you arrested? Seymour and Brainert told me the state police charged you with theft?”
“Grand larceny—a felony.”
“For stealing what?” Sadie asked.
“Jacques Montour has charged me with stealing the Poe book that Rene bought for him,” I explained. “Apparently, his representative, a man named Gordon Hessler, showed up at Fiona’s last night to collect Rene’s personal belongings. After that, he went to the Quindicott Police Station to claim the effects from the accident scene.
“When Ciders turned over the Chandler first editions but no Phelps Poe, Hessler was irate. He called the state police and said that an eight-thousand-dollar book was missing and presumed stolen.
“Detective Marsh called back Chief Ciders, who’d been in charge of the accident scene. Ciders said the scene was secure. The only person who was even close to the car, besides the police and emergency workers, was me. And, of course, I had told Ciders I was looking for the exact book that was stolen. In retrospect, I guess I was pretty rude and loud about it, too.”
“I see,” said Sadie. “So you became the fall guy, so to speak.”
“Yes, I think there was pressure on the state police to arrest me. And Officer Marsh is not exactly a fan of mine. He’s marked me as a bad penny ever since the first author to appear in our store ended up as a corpse.”
“But there’s no evidence against you,” Sadie cried, throwing up her hands.
“That’s what Chief Ciders told Marsh. I heard them arguing while I was being booked. Eddie said Ciders was really steamed about my being arrested, but he had no choice. He actually stuck his neck out to keep me here in town instead of being booked in Providence like Marsh wanted.”
Sadie snorted. “Chief Ciders doesn’t stick his neck out for anyone.”
“Apparently Ciders feels guilty for implicating me. Small comfort if I go to prison.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Sadie passed me a mug of hot coffee from the thermos we kept behind the counter.
I took my first sip, realizing only then that I’d had no food or drink since the Quibbler’s meeting. “So what do I tell Spencer?” I asked. “He’s going to hear about this sooner or later.”
“Then it’s best he hear it from you. When he gets home from school we’ll both sit him down and have a talk.”
“How do I tell my son I’m innocent?”
“Don’t worry, Pen. Spencer’s watched enough shows on the Intrigue Channel to know people get blamed all the time for crimes they didn’t commit.”
I sighed, took another hit of caffeine. “How are you feeling?” I asked my aunt. “The meeting last night seemed to upset you.”