Midsummer Night's Mischief by Jennifer D. Hesse Page B

said. I filled her in on the scene with Darlene. “I just came from seeing the appraiser dude. He told me he didn’t think Eleanor had insured the book yet.”
    â€œWell, that’s not your fault, of course,” said Farrah, defending me at once. “All you were hired to do was draw up a will, right?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “And I was going to represent her in the sale of the thing, too. And I was looking out for her interests.” I remembered Darlene’s accusations and felt my face getting hot again. “I advised Eleanor to take the Folio to the bank. And I would have told her to have it insured . . .” I trailed off and shook my head.
    Farrah reached over and patted my hand. “I’m sorry she died, sweetie. And it really sucks that somebody stole her Shakespeare book. I mean, who would do that? Who even knew where it was?”
    The waitress, a college student with short strawberry-blond hair and a tiny nose ring, arrived with my food and Farrah’s tea.
    Addressing the waitress, I said, “Do you happen to know Wes Callahan?”
    She tilted her head, nose ring flashing in the sunlight. “Wes Callahan,” she repeated. “I don’t think so. Should I?”
    â€œI thought he might have come in here a little while ago. Was there a good-looking guy here? About six feet, dark hair, blue T-shirt. Tattoo around his arm.”
    â€œNot lately,” said the waitress. “I think I would’ve noticed. Too bad, though. Sounds nice.”
    After she left, Farrah looked at me accusingly. “Is that why we’re here? You’re stalking Rock Star now?”
    I bit into my burger and shook my head. Farrah snatched a fry from my plate and waited for me to answer.
    â€œI saw him in the alley behind here,” I said, then took a sip of water. “I just thought it might be nice to run into him, you know? We’ve hung out, briefly, only a couple of times. But each time, I’ve felt like there could be something there.”
    â€œOh, there’s something there, all right,” said Farrah, nodding. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
    I laughed shortly, then frowned again. “Well, there’s not going to be much of a chance for anything if he blames me like his mom does.” I heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I just wish that book would turn up.”
    â€œTurn up?” echoed Farrah. “That’s not likely, is it? It could be anyplace, right? I mean, like, in a million possible hiding places from here to Belarus.”
    â€œYeah, but wait,” I said, leaning forward. “I’ve been thinking about this. There may be a million possible hiding places, but there aren’t a million possible suspects. Not very many people knew about the book.”
    Farrah raised one eyebrow. “Go on,” she said. “What are you getting at?”
    â€œEleanor had the book for only five days. Five days. And it’s not like she went to the press or anything. She told very few people, I’m pretty sure. Let’s see.” I raised my thumb as I started counting. “There’s her family, of course. And the book dealer, this T.C. character I just met. And me. And, well, my law office knew about it.”
    â€œOkay,” said Farrah. “What about friends? Neighbors? Acquaintances?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t think she was spreading it around that much. I don’t remember hearing anyone talking about it at the memorial service. I kind of think she was keeping it as a surprise for her friends.”
    â€œHmm,” said Farrah thoughtfully. “I suppose we know she didn’t tell her banker or insurance agent, because she didn’t lock it up or insure it.”
    â€œRight.” I winced. “Don’t remind me.”
    â€œSorry,” said Farrah. “But, you know, you may be right about