Mother often did. And she was wielding her perennial tape measure. Always a danger sign, that tape measure. She’d offered to help us decorate, a dozen times or more, but so far we’d put her off with one excuse or another. I hoped she wasn’t planning to surprise us by redecorating the bedroom. I’d long ago figured out that while Mother had wonderful taste, it wasn’t my taste or Michael’s. So just why was Mother taking measurements in our bedroom?
“What next?” Michael asked.
And why was Michael helping her?
“I want the distance between the ceiling and the top of the window frame,” Mother said.
“Right,” Michael said. “I could ask Meg about that, if you like.”
Did he think I’d memorized every detail about the house?
“About the chintz? No, I don’t think it’s a very good idea to bother her just now.”
I thought it was a great idea, actually. At least if they were talking about something they planned for the house in which they expected me to live.
“Twelve and a quarter inches,” Michael said.
“I think it would be better if we just surprised her,” Mother said. “Now give me the distance between the window frame and the corner.”
“It’s just that I don’t know what chintz is,” Michael said.
I did. I didn’t like it.
“It’s a sort of flowered fabric, with a shiny finish,” Mother said.
“Doesn’t really sound like something Meg would like,” Michael said.
Good call.
“Wait until you see it,” Mother said. “It’s the overall effect that matters. How do you feel about Louis Quatorze?”
“Is that another kind of fabric?” Michael asked.
I wanted to shriek “No!” but I held my tongue. Apparently Mother had some plan to decorate parts of the house without my permission or even knowledge. Right now, I had an edge, because she didn’t know that I’d overheard her plans. If I confronted her, she’d apologize and promise never to do it again, and then come up with an even sneakier plan.
And why was Michael aiding and abetting her?
Of course, perhaps I was overreacting. Perhaps he was only humoring her. After all, some days, humoring Mother felt like a full-time job, and we both knew that Michael was better at it than I was.
I’d wait to see if he mentioned anything about her plans.
Meanwhile, I needed to go before they realized I’d overheard them.
“That’s odd,” Michael said. “They’re yelling for Meg outside—I wonder where she’s gone.”
“She and her father are probably somewhere, playing detective,” Mother said.
“No, Dr. Langslow is outside,” Michael said. “One of the television people is interviewing him.”
I winced. Chief Burke would be furious if Dad said anything outrageous on television about the murder. Definitely time to get moving. I began slowly lowering the dumbwaiter.
Chapter 16
I paused at the dining room level long enough to confirm that Chief Burke was back and see who he was interrogating.
“So, Ms. Mason,” he was saying.
“Just Maggie, please.”
I recognized the voice of the bookseller who’d told me about her negative experiences with Gordon. Was she a suspect, too? Good! Not that I had anything against her, but the more other suspects the chief had, the better for Giles. I decided to eavesdrop for just a few more minutes.
“You say this book wasn’t all that valuable?”
“It’s hard to tell from what’s left,” she said. “But as far as I can see, no. Even with the scorching, you can see that it wasn’t in very good condition to begin with. See that discoloration on the pages? Dampstaining; that was there before the fire. The binding—what’s left of it—is in lousy shape. And a bookplate on the inside cover; that lowers the value. No dust jacket. Not signed.”
“So it’s not worth anything?” the chief asked.
“Now? No,” she said. “Not much of a market for half-burned books.”
“Before it was burned,” the chief said, sounding testy. “Was it worth something then?”
“Probably—it’s a pretty rare title. Maybe forty or fifty dollars, even in that condition. The pre-burned condition, anyway.”
“I see,” the chief said.
He sounded disappointed. I could see why. The less valuable The Uttermost Farthing was, the less convincing a jury would find it as a motive for Giles to murder Gordon.
“Don’t just take my word for it,” Maggie said. “I can give you the names of some experts. Ask them.”
I left her reciting rare book experts’ names, addresses, and e-mails to the chief. I squeaked my way as gently as possible down to the basement. Just as I was about to fling open the door, I heard voices, and froze.