The Lost Key by Catherine Coulter Page A

all this work? Do people come in off the street to buy rare books?”
    â€œMore than you’d expect, actually. But the bulk of the sales areonline. The Internet was the best, and worst, thing that happened to our industry. It used to be all the work was done by letter, then by phone, but both had a distinctly human touch. Once people could buy the books without any direct interaction with Dad, well, it wasn’t nearly as fun for him. He loved meeting new people. He lived for the auctions.”
    â€œAuctions?” Mike asked. “Like Sotheby’s and Christie’s do with furniture and artwork?”
    â€œSimilar, yes. He could pay the rent for a year on this place with a single rare-book sale.”
    Nicholas thought back to the books he’d seen under glass at Pearce’s apartment. “Did your father keep the rarest books at his place?”
    â€œSome, yes, but for the most part, those are the ones he really loves—loved.”
    Her face went blank, then she gestured for them to follow her, and went to the back of the store. She unlocked a door, and they saw a small office with a desk and ledger books, and a brand-new twenty-seven-inch iMac computer on the desk. Sophie didn’t hesitate, walked to the back of the room, pressed a series of buttons on a rectangular steel lock, and the door swung open with a pneumatic hiss. Behind it was a circular stairway.
    â€œThis leads to the basement where he keeps—kept—the really valuable books.” Her voice hitched. They watched her gain control. She flipped a switch inside the door and the basement was lit with the soft red glow from a single light, like a small fire on the wall. They walked down the narrow stairs into a space that didn’t run the full length of the store but took up at least four hundred square feet, all bookshelves behind tempered glass.
    Mike whispered, “I feel like I’m in the Vatican vaults.”
    Nicholas felt his chest tighten. “Low-oxygen environment?”
    Sophie shot him a surprised look. “Exactly. Plus humidity and temperature regulation. Sixty-four degrees, with an ambient humidity of forty-five percent. It’s the only way to keep the books from crumbling into dust. We had to reroute all the water pipes, too, and the fire retardant is a special chemical mix that’s safe for books and papers.”
    She stepped to a case and pointed at a book with thick-edged gilt lettering. “This was his favorite. He’s had so many offers over the years, but I never could convince him to sell.”
    It didn’t look remarkable, but when Nicholas read the spine, a chill washed through him. “William Blake’s
The Book of Urizen
? That must be worth millions.”
    Sophie smiled. “Only eight copies in existence. One went at auction for two and a half million in 1999.”
    Nicholas said, “I wouldn’t give it up, either. I love Blake.”
    Nicholas looked like he might begin to quote Blake’s poetry, so Mike quickly said, “We’re looking at some incredibly valuable books here. Is there anything in this store, a book, some papers, some secret archives he’s been getting offers on and refused to sell, like this Blake?”
    Not an instant’s hesitation. “Not that I know of.”
    â€œIs there anything someone might want badly enough to kill your father?”
    She shook her head. “I’m telling you, the antiquities world has its fair share of cutthroats, but none that would be capable of killing my father. He was a great man, and had the respect of a lot of people.”
    That wasn’t the point. Money was always a great motivator formurder, but it wasn’t right. Mike said, “Think of the man who sent him the specs on a classified satellite system. Who was he?”
    They watched a tear streak down her face. She made no sound, simply wiped it away with her fingers. “I told you before, I don’t