Murder in the Secret Garden (12 page)

“That's because the Templars didn't place value in gold. To them, the greatest treasure was knowledge,” Edwin said. “Our order was actually established several years before Hugues de Payens came along. The goal of the original Templars was to preserve sacred knowledge. Not just Christian materials, but materials from all faiths. The founders, one of whom was an ancestor of mine, believed there was value in every sacred text. They believed there would only be peace between cultures if the knowledge contained within these ancient texts was combined. To them, this union of all faiths was the only path to enlightenment. I know it sounds a little flaky to our modern ears, but they truly believed this. This philosophy also compelled them to preserve certain secular writings too, especially in the fields of medicine and science.”

Jane was fascinated. “I'd never heard this version of their history.”

“As time passed and the Templars gained fame for their banking and fighting skills, only a handful of men devoted to the order's
original
purpose remained.” Edwin said trying to complete his speech as quickly as possible. “After the persecution of the Templars in the fourteenth century, this splinter cell, for lack of a better term, was thought to have been completely eradicated.”

Having read multiple volumes about the Inquisition in her lifetime, Jane knew that the extermination of these men was likely brutal and inhumane. “But why?” she asked. “What threat did the Templars pose?”

“They were a highly trained fighting force under no ruler's authority. They controlled large parcels of land, had
multiple strongholds scattered across Britain and Europe's mainland, and both monarchs and powerful noblemen owed them huge sums of money. By getting rid of the Templars, these men could absolve themselves of debt, put aside any worry over being attacked by an independent army, and reclaim the lands they'd once donated to the Templars. And so they did.”

Even though these events had occurred hundreds of years ago, Jane felt inexplicably sad. “These knights gave up all they had to protect innocent travelers, but in the end, they were treated like criminals. Worse. They were treated like traitors.”

“It's more complicated than that, but I don't have time to go into detail now. Suffice it to say, my order was not eradicated during the reign of Pope Clement. We simply went underground. Our name has changed throughout the centuries, but our mission remains the same. Lionel Alcott's mission. My mission. I swore an oath to preserve rare and important materials like your Gutenberg Bible. Several months ago, I mailed you a missing page because your Bible needs to be made whole. I then returned to the Middle East to recover another page, but I underestimated the security system in a sheik's compound. Let's just say that this sheik did not appreciate my sudden appearance in his pleasure garden.”

A corner of Edwin's mouth twitched, but Jane found nothing amusing about his capture. “I didn't ask you to take such a risk. Why didn't you just tell me your plans before jetting back across the ocean?”

Edwin shook his head. “Because it wasn't about you, Jane. I got a lead from a reliable source about one of the missing pages, and I had to respond. It's my calling.” He unknotted his black tie and roughly yanked it off. He then swiftly unbuttoned the top five buttons of his white dress shirt and pulled down the left side to reveal a tattoo on his chest, an inch away from his heart. Jane half expected to
see a Templar cross, but Edwin's tattoo was a tree. A tree that grew both above and below the earth. “You have your symbol and I have mine,” he said. “This tree represents the belief that knowledge can unite all cultures.”

Involuntarily, the fingers of Jane's right hand moved toward the swell of her left breast, where Sinclair had tattooed her with the mark of a Guardian: an owl with a scroll clasped in its talons. Edwin had seen it the night he and Jane had danced alone in the Great Gatsby Ballroom. He'd lowered her in a dip and the movement had caused her gown to slip, showing more décolletage than Jane had wanted to reveal that evening. It had also bared part of her owl tattoo. At the time, Jane wasn't sure if Edwin had seen the owl. Now she knew that not only had he seen it, but he'd also recognized it.

Suddenly, the few inches of bench separating them felt like a thousand feet. “How much do you know?”

“Everything,” he said. “Other than a detailed catalog of the treasures in your secret library, that is. I know where the library is located, and I can imagine, having seen the long chain you wear around your neck nearly every day, how one could gain access to the library turret.” Edwin smiled at her and Jane tensed. Was this all a ploy to get her key? “Don't worry,” he said soothingly. “I don't intend to
steal
from your collection. Quite the opposite. My goal is to
add
items to it. And if I can, to restore damaged or incomplete materials.”

“Why us? Why not help a museum?” Jane asked. “Why commit crimes for . . .” She trailed off, studying him. “Whom
do
you work for?”

“I do help museums. Universities and libraries too. As long as they have someone to finance a mission,” Edwin said nonchalantly. “But I steal from such institutions as well. No person or place is off limits. I'd rob the Queen of England if she had a page of your Gutenberg Bible.”

Jane frowned. “I don't understand.”

“My aim is to make the scrolls, documents, and books whole again. To bring the fragments together,” Edwin explained while buttoning his shirt.

“And who deserves to own a restored item?” Jane wanted to know.

Edwin gazed up at the sky and sighed mournfully. “Therein lies the rub. Not many. The individuals in my order. Guardians like yourself. A few librarians and a rare curator or two. Everyone else can be bought, so no one else is trustworthy.”

Jane's head was spinning. She still wasn't sure if Edwin was a good guy or not. His explanation sounded implausible. And yet her own story was equally unbelievable. If someone had told her a year ago that there was a secret library containing rare and priceless works in the highest turret of Storyton Hall, Jane would have assumed the person was drunk or had read far too many fantasy novels. But the secret library
was
fantastical. It was like passing through C.S. Lewis's magical wardrobe into a treasure trove that writers like J.R.R. Tolkien, Enid Blyton, Robin Sloan, and J.K. Rowling could only imagine.

“How do you know about things that are
supposed
to be secret?” Jane asked with an edge of steel to her tone. She felt naked and vulnerable sitting next to this man who possessed more knowledge about the Steward family than he had a right to possess.

“Storyton Hall is a stronghold,” Edwin said reverently. “My order was delivering materials to this sanctuary long before Walter Edgerton Steward dismantled his manor house in the English countryside and rebuilt it here.” Edwin held Jane's gaze for a moment before glancing at his watch. “My time is up.”

Jane jumped to her feet and walked behind the bench. Tracing the silky petals on a morning glory blossom, she tried to organize her tumultuous thoughts. Finally, she said,
“Our goals aren't the same, Edwin. You want to hide these works while I want to share them. People record their thoughts intending for them to be read. Words. Stories. Ideas. Personal histories. They belong to everyone. No one has the right to decide who is worthy of possessing them.”

“Have you spoken to your great-uncle about this?” Edwin asked sharply.

There was no point in lying, so Jane said, “Yes, and he was open to putting the herbal on display. If that was a success, my next move was going to be contacting Sotheby's about auctioning a few items. I have dreams for Storyton Hall. Dreams that require money. If I sell a couple of books, those books will finally be read,
and
my coffers might be filled to the point where I can make some significant changes around here.” She turned to face Edwin again. “So you see, we're not exactly compatible.”

Smiling, he got to his feet and came around the bench until he was standing very close to her. “By all means, hock an obscure poem or an English Bible. But you can't sell a rare incunabulum, a Gutenberg Bible that isn't supposed to exist, or an undiscovered Shakespeare play.”

Jane stiffened. Did Edwin know about the play in their secret collection or was he guessing?

“If you put such an item up for sale, every book thief in the world would descend on Storyton. The precious works you vowed to protect would be at the mercy of the worst kind of scum—men who steal for monetary gain. They don't care about books, Jane. They'd rip pages right out of the binding if it meant increasing their profits.”

Jane grimaced.

“I'm nothing like them.” Edwin put his hands on her shoulders. “I want to preserve books. To restore them. And despite the minor mishap during my last mission, I was able to retrieve four missing pages from your Bible. I believe that leaves only four more for me to find.”

Jane was astonished. “You'd search for the rest, even after what happened?”

“I've seen the inside of a number of cells.” He grinned. “Unlike the thief who stole your herbal, I'm quite adept at lock picking.” He traced her jawline with the tip of his index finger and his grin vanished. “I want to restore an important book, Jane, but I also want to show your family and the men pledged to defend you that I'm not a louse. I didn't return to Storyton last year by chance. I was instructed to do so by my order and I was furious. I saw it as a punishment for failing to fulfill a mission. I met you on the street a few days after my return. Do you remember?”

Jane would never forget a moment of that day. In her mind, she saw Edwin racing by her on horseback as he tried to stop a spooked mare whose rider had lost consciousness. Eventually, Edwin had seized the mare's bridle and brought her to a halt. The young lady was taken to Doc Lydgate's while Edwin searched for someone to identify her. The first person he'd run into had been Jane. He'd been brusque and agitated and she'd been shocked by both his rudeness and his inexplicable allure.

“I remember,” she whispered, her hands moving to his waist.

“I'd never seen a more beautiful woman. And you were fearless. You immediately took charge and were so protective of that stranger. I could tell that you were a woman of courage and conviction. A rare woman. And when I discovered you were the sole heir of Storyton Hall, I knew that you would one day be named its Guardian. So my penance became a boon. Because of you, Jane. Because you are everything I have ever wanted and everything I could ever hope for. And now you know what I am.” His hand traveled down the curve of her neck and followed the slope of her shoulder, raising gooseflesh along her skin. “I am yours, if you'll have me.”

Jane knew that she could not enter into a relationship with a thief. She couldn't allow herself to love a man who jetted around the world stealing rare books while pretending to run a café in Storyton. His own sister believed that he was a part-time travel writer. How could Jane lie to her best friend? To her sons?

And yet Jane's heart disregarded these arguments. All her heart knew was how much it had missed this man. Her body had missed his touch. She had missed his wry smile. Talking books with him. Watching him interact with the twins. She'd missed the chance to know him better, and she didn't want to miss another moment.

“I don't see how this is going to work,” she whispered. “But right now, I don't care. Just kiss me, Edwin. Show me what you thought about while you were in that prison.”

His smile was wolfish. “I don't think we have time for that, but I'll do my best to convince you that my mind, body, and soul were completely fixed on you.”

For several minutes, Jane forgot about the theft of the herbal, Kira's death, and the ongoing wedding. There was only Edwin. The taste of his mouth and the touch of his hands on her body. She wanted to stay in this garden with him for the rest of the night, but she didn't have that luxury.

Gently, she pulled away. “We need to go back,” she said, raking her fingers through her tangled hair. “It's almost time for the bride and groom's send-off and I have a thief to catch.”

“Let me help you.” Edwin tucked a wayward curl behind Jane's ear.

Jane became very still. “I won't grant you access to our secret collection.”

“I wouldn't dream of asking you,” Edwin said solemnly. “Your vow is as sacred as mine. And nearly as ancient. I only ask to be of service to you. Like a knight to his lady.” And with that, he bent over her hand and kissed it.

It was such a theatrical gesture that Jane broke out in a laugh.

“What? Too much?” Edwin asked.

“Definitely,” Jane said and laughed again. “Come on, Sir Alcott.”

They headed for the garden gate, where they found Muffet Cat proudly guarding the corpse of a large mole.

“Well done,” Edwin said approvingly, and Muffet Cat arched his back, rubbed up against the gate, and purred. “Does this mean I've passed his character test?”

“Either that or he smells catfish,” Jane said, stepping over the dead rodent and hurrying toward the lights of Storyton Hall.

As Jane and Edwin approached Milton's Gardens, they heard raucous cheers erupt from the other side of the hedge.

“Oh dear,” Jane said. “I think we just missed the tossing of the bridal bouquet.”

Edwin understood her concern. “And the send-off of the bride and groom.”

“Maybe the party won't break up right away,” Jane said hopefully. “Many guests continue to eat, drink, and dance once the newly married couple have left the reception.”

However, when the boisterous shouts faded, the band did not resume playing.

“We should split up.” Jane felt her panic rise. “The thief might retrieve the book on the way back to his or her room.”

“Tell me which of the herbalists is missing so I can search for them,” Edwin said.

Entering the clearing where the feast had taken place, Jane saw that the majority of the guests were dispersing. Only Carson's friends were continuing to celebrate. They'd
carried glasses and several bottles of wine into the gazebo and looked to be settling in for at least another hour or two of revelry.

“The herbalists are gone,” Jane said miserably. “Except for Hannah. She's sharing a bench with Tom Green. Do you see them? There, in that secluded little nook opposite the sundial.”

Edwin peered into the gloom. “I believe he's comforting her.”

“Poor Hannah,” Jane whispered. “But I have to leave her in Tom's hands. With all the herbalists gone, I now need to meet with—” She was going to use the word “staff” when she suddenly wondered if Edwin knew about the Fins as well.

Edwin took Jane by the elbow and gently turned her to face him. As though answering her unspoken question, he said, “Ask Mr. Sinclair about the origin of his order. Perhaps you'll understand why he was willing to give me a chance. I know you're not ready to trust me yet, so I'll stay away until you are.” He leaned in and brushed her lips with a feather-light kiss. “I'm not sure if a man with so many secrets has a right to fall in love. But when I met you—a woman who is my equal and, in many aspects, my better—I dared to hope that it was possible. I dared to hope that I'd found the woman I'd been searching for my entire life.” He released her. “You should go, but if the Fins are concerned about my skulking around the resort, please tell them that I'm looking for the herbal.”

At the mention of the missing book, Jane snapped back to reality. She felt as though Edwin had been using his words and his kiss to cast a spell over her, and she wasn't ready to succumb to his charms. There was far too much information for her to process about Edwin Alcott, so she stepped away from him and whispered, “Good night.”

Without looking back, Jane hurried into Storyton Hall. There were only two Medieval Herbalists in the lobby.
Though Constance Meredith and Tammy Kota were standing next to a floral arrangement opposite the elevator bay, they were in no apparent rush to return to their guest rooms. Both women had flushed cheeks and were speaking to each other in low tones.

Jane decided to wish both ladies a pleasant evening and proceed to the security room. In her current mood, she couldn't trust herself to be cordial to the Poison Princess, and she was eager to hear whether Sterling had finished compiling a list of suspects based on which Medieval Herbalists had left the wedding reception to enter Storyton Hall after the entrees had been served.

“Ms. Steward!” Tammy called out upon seeing Jane. “Could you help us out?”

Constance murmured something to Tammy, but Tammy ignored her.

Tammy beckoned to Jane. “I need to tell someone else about this or I won't be able to sleep.”

“Why won't you listen to me?” Constance was clearly put out. “It was just the booze talking. That little man just wants to be noticed. He's trying to impress us. I've met hundreds of people like him. They're a dime a dozen, especially in dead-end towns like this.” Constance released an exasperated sigh. “But if it makes you feel better, then tell the lady of the manor. As for me, I'm turning in. Claude promised us that
extra
excursion tomorrow.”

Wriggling her eyebrows in a taunting manner, Constance crossed the hallway and pushed the elevator call button. When the elevator doors opened, Jane indulged in a brief fantasy in which she struck Constance with a flying sidekick, propelling her into the cab with such force that she would slam into the back wall before crumpling to the floor in a heap. Instead, she turned to Tammy and asked, “Which little man is Ms. Meredith referring to? Mr. Green?”

Tammy caught the note of disapproval in Jane's voice.
“Connie doesn't mean to cause offense. She's lacking in people skills, but she's a good egg.”

Jane scowled. “She gave a mandrake root to my sons earlier today. They're seven, so forgive me for not being a fan of hers.” She shifted impatiently, something she rarely did in front of guests. “What is it you wanted to tell me about Mr. Green?”

“Well, like I said, he'd been drinking pretty steadily all night, so it's hard for me to judge if what he told me is true, but . . .” she trailed off and waved her hands as though attempting to erase her words. “Let me start from the beginning. I went to sit with Mr. Green after dessert because he seemed lonely. And sad. He was staring into his wineglass like he could read the future in it, and he didn't care for what he saw.”

Jane frowned. “That doesn't sound like Tom.”

“During our hike, Claude pressured him to take us to the druid,” Tammy said. “He could have told Claude no, but Claude promised him automatic membership if Tom agreed to lead us to the druid's garden. It's supposed to be wonderful. We even volunteered to be blindfolded.”

Despite her concern over the stolen book, Jane was intrigued. “Did Tom agree?”

“Yes. We're going tomorrow.” Tammy couldn't conceal her eagerness. “We're not supposed to tell anyone about the visit. We're supposed to act like we're heading into the village to shop and have lunch, but what we'll really be doing is meeting at Mr. Green's plant store for a trip into the hills.” She smiled. “Claude would blow a gasket if he knew I was sharing this with you, but I know I can trust you, Ms. Steward. I'm good at reading people and you give off a very positive vibe.”

“Thank you,” Jane said, returning Tammy's smile. “And I understand why a visit to the druid's garden would appeal to your group. But why is Tom glum? Has the druid refused to see you?”

Tammy seemed surprised by the question. “You know,
I got the sense that Mr. Green wasn't planning to ask his permission. He was simply going to show up with us. Maybe that's what troubling him, but there was something else. Something unrelated to the druid stuff. Mr. Green kept telling me how sorry he was for my loss. Referring to Kira, of course. None of us had mentioned her because we were trying to focus on Victoria and on keeping things positive for her wedding. But after a few glasses of wine, this man who never even knew Kira couldn't stop saying her name. It was unnerving.”

Does Tom know something about Kira's murder?
Jane wondered

“I'm not any pointing fingers,” Tammy was quick to add. “I chatted with Mr. Green during our hike and he seems like a sweet guy, but if I didn't know better, I'd say he felt guilty about something. I'm sure it's because he agreed to take us to the druid— we heard how much the fellow covets his privacy. Still, I wish Mr. Green hadn't mentioned Kira so often. It was weird.”

Jane laid a hand over Tammy's. “Maybe Tom was looking for an outlet for some grief of his own. I can't say for certain—I'm grabbing at straws—but what if he suffered a loss too and was hoping that by bringing up Kira, he could share his feelings with you? You're kind and approachable, Tammy, so I could see why he would have chosen to make himself vulnerable to you.”

Tammy looked stricken. “But I didn't give him the chance. I kept changing the subject because I didn't want the atmosphere to turn heavy.”

“Which was the right call,” Jane assured her. “For Victoria's sake. If it's any comfort, Tom and Hannah are sitting on a garden bench this very moment. I suspect Tom will find all the compassion he needs from Hannah and vice versa.”

“The universe has ways of working things out,” Tammy said, instantly brightening. “Thank you.
Now
I can sleep!”

Jane hesitated. She was tempted to ask Tammy about the missing book, but decided against it. Instead, she said, “You might not believe this, but I've never seen the druid. In truth, I hadn't even heard of him until your group arrived.”

Tammy was clearly astonished. “You're kidding me!”

“In light of what happened to Kira, I believe it's important for me to meet him,” Jane said gravely. “I'm not insinuating that the druid had anything to do with her death, but to those of us at Storyton Hall, he's an enigma, and we want to be able to say that we followed every possible lead.” Tammy looked doubtful, so Jane pressed on. “It would just be me, following from a distance. If there's nothing suspicious to be seen, I'll leave and no one will be the wiser. I know you don't want me to tell Sheriff Evans about the hike, but I have to do all I can to seek justice for Kira. You want that too, don't you?”

Tears pooled in Tammy's eyes. “You'll have to be really careful. Mr. Green warned us that he'd call off the whole thing if we didn't follow his rules to the letter.”

“He'll have no idea I'm there,” Jane promised. She was about to bid Tammy goodnight when she suddenly thought to ask, “How
did
your group hear about this druid? He's such a guarded secret in these parts. Thousands of visitors have come through Storyton without learning of his existence, so how is it that The Medieval Herbalists knew about him?”

“The first whisper I heard of a druid was on our hike,” Tammy said. “Connie told me about him on the way back to the resort. She was bubbling over with excitement.”

The grandfather clock in the lobby began to ring out the hour. The deep, low notes reverberated through the vast space. To Jane, the sound was unusually ominous. Time was not on her side. In two days, The Medieval Herbalists were scheduled to leave. The sheriff couldn't hold them all without sufficient cause, and unless Jane and the Fins discovered
evidence to incriminate a specific person, one of them was going to get away with murder.

“Why was Ms. Meredith excited?” Jane asked as she escorted Tammy to the elevator bay.

Tammy pressed the call button and said, “Because the druid is supposed to have a secret garden. A walled garden filled with all sorts of the most wondrous—and most deadly—poisonous plants.”

Jane burst into the security room. Slamming the door shut behind her, she searched the faces of the men who'd turned to look at her.

“Please tell me that you found the thief and I have one less thing to worry about,” she said.

“I'm afraid not, Miss Jane.” Butterworth gestured at the empty chair next to his. “However, we've narrowed down the suspects to three individuals.”

Hearing this manageable number, Jane felt a surge of hope. “And they are?”

“Mr. Mason, Captain Hughes, and Ms. Kota.”

Jane groaned. She genuinely liked all three of those people. “Why couldn't Ms. Meredith's name be on that list?”

“Disappointing, I know,” Sinclair said. “And we can't ignore the fact that Captain Hughes and Ms. Kota appear on another list.”

Sinclair was referring to his research into the financial health of each of the Medieval Herbalists. Both Phil and Tammy were short on funds and, therefore, had a powerful motive to steal a rare book.

Butterworth indicated the wall of television screens. “Those three guests had the opportunity to enter the library, steal the herbal, stash it elsewhere, and return to the wedding reception.”

“Because the herbal is such a small book, it could easily fit in the waist band of a gentleman's pants or in a ladies' handbag,” Sinclair said mournfully. “We'll search the closest
reading rooms when we're finished here. Mr. Lachlan has already checked the lobby restrooms.”

Jane tried to imagine where she might hide a valuable book until she could secret it away from the resort. “How will the thief get the herbal out of Storyton Hall? Surely, he or she expects us to search every scrap of luggage following the theft of such a valuable book.”

“Unless he doesn't have luggage.” Sterling pointed at a still shot of Captain Phil. “Storyton's newest resident wouldn't need to stash the herbal. He could simply leave it in his jacket pocket until he arrives at home.”

“
If
the captain is our thief, he'll have to figure out how to sell a stolen rare book,” Sinclair said. “That is no simple task. Any book dealer worth his salt will want a record of the book's provenance.”

“All three of our suspects face the same challenge. None of them can just list the book on eBay and hope for the best. Selling it will take careful planning,” Jane said. “I think we need to place a call to Storyton's post mistress as soon as she opens for business on Monday.”

Butterworth grunted in approval. “Good thinking, Miss Jane. Mr. Mason or Ms. Kota might mail the book to avoid being caught with it on their person.”

“What about Captain Hughes?” Sterling asked. “He'll be much harder to investigate.”

Jane had no ready answer for this problem. She and the Fins exchanged doleful looks until Sinclair drew their attention to the calendar affixed to the wall near the door. It showed a photograph of a man sitting in a rowboat in the lake behind the resort. He was stretched out across the length of the boat with his hat covering his face and a book splayed on his chest. His fishing pole dangled unattended in the water. It was a scene of utmost relaxation. A languid summer day with no responsibilities. No meetings to attend. No phone calls or e-mails to answer. Just a man succumbing
to the sun warming his skin and the gentle rocking of a boat. A man napping away the afternoon. A man without a care in the world. How Jane envied him.