Chapter 5 (Reynie's POV)

I studied the board; black and white pieces sitting resolute, awaiting my move. My choice.

In truth, there were so many possible choices, so many angles to conceive of. Sometimes, the sheer number of paths felt overwhelming. Doubt, indecision, fear, and even overconfidence, could all be like obstacles in your path.

Mysteries were much the same. My current case sat strangely sour in my thoughts. Perhaps that much was obvious because Mr. Benedict smiled curiously.

"Tricky things, secrets, aren't they, Reynie?"

I looked up, taken by surprise.

The thick-framed glasses slipped slowly down his nose. "But rather exciting also, don't you think?"

I smiled softly, thinking it was exactly what Kate would have said. "Yes, I suppose so. Though…" I whispered honestly "Sometimes I enjoy a bit of dullness."

Mr. Benedict laughed before gesturing for me to move my chosen chess piece. So committing to a decision I did.

"Is this case particularly mysterious, Reynie?"

I shook my head, thinking it the obvious conclusion. "No, not really. But there is something…" I looked up into his eyes. "Something that seems to be sour about it all."

He regarded the board, his hand lingering over a piece before rethinking it. Looking back up at me he frowned quizzically. "Is it trouble?"

"Perhaps…?" I mumbled, thinking it might have been an unfounded assumption. But all the same, I couldn't simply dismiss the feeling. Sinking deeper into my armchair I let myself speak honestly. I knew he would listen and understand no matter what I said. No matter how silly it may have seemed.

"In a way…I feel as if an old friend is missing."

If anyone could understand my referring to a book that way, I knew he would.

Mr. Benedict's eyes moved to one of the many bookshelves in his study. "Books can indeed be the closest of companions. Some of them, I would even call family."

"Which," I added. "Must be terrible for my client. It was not only her grandfather's book, but the first edition."

He nodded. "Yes, I'm sure she's eager for it to be found. But…is that part of what's troubling you, Reynie?"

I didn't want to fully admit it, but I couldn't shake the instinct. "I still feel as though she is lying to me… But about what I can't say. Kate's discovery about the lock being picked only seems to deepen my suspicion."

He slowly pushed a pawn forward. "Because the drawer was picked, but not the doors. So only someone already inside could have done it?"

I nodded. "Yes, exactly..."

"I see, quite a puzzle indeed."

"I've arranged to interview the housekeeper later this evening, but I… I'm afraid my intuition might cloud my objectivity."

He smiled and shook his head. "Never, Reynie, I don't think it's possible."

I appreciated his faith in me, but I couldn't help but think back to my baseless suspicion of Captain Noland. Yet it had been so many years ago…

I selected the white knight and placed it confidently. I wouldn't give in to the same self-doubt. I felt like my instincts were correct this time, but all the same, I would have to remain objective.

"Besides," he went on pleasantly. "I wouldn't worry, Kate is quite the judge of character. I'd say she will be very helpful in this case, Reynie."

"She already has been, I didn't know much about picking locks, that's for sure." I was incredibly grateful for her help. But…maybe that was the other thing bothering me? This sense of uncertainty…of danger.

"Am I being a bit overprotective…?" I asked, in a sudden question. "Is that why I'm so worried about this case?"

"The heart can certainly play tricks with the mind, Reynie. But I wouldn't worry, Kate is quite capable."

"I know…" I admitted honestly. "She is nothing short of amazing… But the world can be so…'' Thousands of images filled my mind. The sights, sounds, even smells linked to all the traumas of the past. The painful pieces of even an ultimately happy ending that still haunted me. I'd seen her face bloody and bruised yet still filled with courageous defiance. I'd been only a small voice of comfort on the occasions when she'd feared that her father was dead. But I'd seen such dynamic grief on her face that I had to believe…believe she felt pain just as ardently as the joy she radiated.

"The world can be cruel, careless to all that matters to you…" I finally said.

He hummed in agreement as a somberness settled between us. "It can… It often is. But life is not unlike something Kate knows very well." He paused. "A tightrope. It's a matter of finding the balance between two opposing extremes. But when I look at the two of you, Reynie, I believe I'm seeing such balance. Such balance that can only come from two people being so different in exactly the right way for the other."

He smiled sincerely, the kind lines around his eyes creasing. "Sometimes, seeing the two of you makes me wish I'd have found the time for equally important things…"

"Thank you, sir…" was all I whispered, and I felt like a boy again. A boy so ready to bask in his pride.

He laughed softly. "Yes indeed, you children make me feel so pleasantly old…"

The soft silence lingering around us was a comfort. To be in the presence of someone you held so dearly was nothing short of blissful. To not, in any way, be alone.

"Hey Dad," Costance said as she suddenly stuck her head into the doorway.

"Yes, my dear?"

"The kitchen was almost on fire," she said in deadpan calm. "The tea kettle, you left it on until it burnt to a cinder."

He ran a hand through his rumpled and messy hair. "Was that the whistling I heard?" He laughed. "Oh my, I'm getting so absentminded in my old age."

Constance sighed playfully. "Old age doesn't have anything to do with it…"

Mr. Benedict smiled after her as she vanished from the door. A look that shared the same sort of fondness I was contemplating.

"Some matters of the heart are not so open…" he mused, almost to himself. "But the honesty you and Kate share, that is something to cherish quite highly…"

I found myself looking at the doorway Constance had disappeared from. I could imagine what matters he was referring to. Because if anyone was guarded with their feelings it was Constance. And yet…I had such faith that everything would, in time, be fine…

The evening soon came, enveloping Stonetown in a hazy sort of calm. The heat of summer had faded with the waning sun, leaving a mild warmth radiating from the worn concrete of the city. It was on just one of those paths that Kate and I soon found ourselves. The neighborhood was quiet, save for the passersby on their way home from work. Our destination was a certain apartment in the middle of town.

"Hmm, a little rough around the edges, don't ya think?" Kate whispered when the building came into view.

I nodded, noting the worn brick; algae staining the reds and browns with a vivid shade of green. I admired Kate's observation, noting it in case it became somehow relevant to our case. If I were honest though, I was yet to shake the disconcerting feeling that had lingered from the start.

Bounding up the stairs, Kate knocked loudly on the apartment door. 27b, the home of Ms. Cathrine's housekeeper.

I lingered on the step behind Kate, my thoughts still musing on locks, picks, and what the implications might be between them. But my full attention shifted to the here and now when an elderly lady answered the door.

"Police? Not again, I hope?" she asked, none too friendly.

"No," I quickly spoke up. "I'm private detective Muldoon, and this is my associate."

The woman seemed to relax, if only slightly, as she scanned over our appearance. "You're very young, Mr. Muldoon, but I hope you will put this matter to rest all the same. I don't appreciate Miss Street accusing me, not after all the years I spent in service to her grandfather before her."

"I hope to do just that," I answered reassuringly. However, what she said wasn't lost on me, and neither was it to Kate.

"So you knew Mr. Mansy?" she asked curiously.

The woman nodded before gesturing us inside. "Indeed I did," she replied as she led us to a quaint sitting room. "He was a very peculiar man, as I imagine most writers are."

"Parcuilar how, may I ask?" I gently pressed.

"Exactly how I can't say, I'm afraid. His secrets were his own, but I did hear a few things in my time in his service."

A vintage oil lamp flickered beside her chair, setting her face in an eerie glow as she spoke. The frown on her face told me she was a person of brutal honesty. And I did believe her, yes almost effortlessly.

"About the day the book went missing, were you working then?"

"Yes, and I can tell you no one at all came into that house save for Ms. Street's own brother. But he never went into the study where it was kept, only Ms. Street herself went in. Well…and myself, to dust of course." Her frown widened bitterly. "Is that enough evidence to call me a thief, Mr. Muldoon?"

"No," I admitted resolutely. "As of yet, this case doesn't have enough evidence to convict anyone." Maybe… I wondered strangely. That was the point…?

"What do you know about her brother?" Kate asked as she tapped her fingers restlessly against her leg.

"He was a spoiled little boy and now he is a spoiled man," she said frankly. "But I don't suspect him a thief. Not of a book of all things, he was never fond of reading. Many times I saw the disappointment in his grandfather's eyes concerning that. Can you imagine, your own family member a writer, and yet you don't read their work!?"

Admittedly, the thought was hard to imagine, books were so much a part of who I was. But even Kate, who herself was not overly fond of reading, found the thought of his disregard distasteful. If for no other reason, than it had been a cherished work of a family member.

"Earlier you mentioned things you heard," I questioned carefully. "What sort of things were you referring to?

"Rumors, Mr. Muldoon. Things most would dismiss, but I have a very cynical mind. A mind that believes in investigating even the unlikely, the absurd." She leaned back in her chair; the scent of mothballs and floral candles dancing in the air between us.

"I often saw him pouring over grafts and charts during his writing session, wild scribbling on odd pieces of paper. I first dismissed them as the ways of an artist, but over the years I've become less sure. I once found a scrap of paper he had discarded, there were a series of numbers written vertically in rows. It seemed like nonsense to me, but I never forgot the feeling it gave me. The sense of fear, of worry… I started to wonder just what Mr. Mansy was truly working on…"

"Letters written vertically…" Kate wondered aloud. "That's not like any novel I've ever heard of."

My thoughts slowed as possibilities trickled in from the back of my mind. The ticking of the clock and the scent of the room seemed to impress on my mind as the realization came to me.

A cipher.

A code of some sort…?

The thought seemed worthy of investigation, but something kept me from speaking it aloud. That same intuition that something could very well be quite wrong…

"Can you recall anything else that you'd like to add to your testimony?" I whispered slowly.

"No, Mr. Muldoon. I've said my peace; I didn't steal the book. That will have to be enough."

"Thank you, ma'am…" I muttered as I rose to my feet; Kate seeming somewhat startled by my haste to retreat. But retreat I did, out the door and quickly down the street. My only thoughts were returning to my study and pouring over my own copy of the book.

"Hey wait up, Reynie! Care to fill me in a little? What are you thinking, I can tell you've got your head wrapped around something big!"

Her voice behind me seemed to break the trance of intrigue that I'd been locked in. Turning to face her, I was speechless for a few long moments. Her blue eyes seemed to almost sparkle, even in the evening gloom, twice as much so for the many questions behind them.

"A cipher…" I whispered between us.

"Like a code?"

I nodded. "I think that might have been what she saw, the vertical rows of letters. What if David Mansy wrote much more than just a story?"

Her eyes beamed suddenly with understanding. "If someone else knew that then no wonder they stole it!"

I nodded again, but tempered our excitement with the many questions that remained. "But even if it is a cipher, what does it reveal? And why didn't the thief merely go to the library if they wanted a copy of the book? The code should be in all copies, even public ones…"

"And what about that lockpick funny business?" Kate added.

I exhaled softly. "It's a good lead to follow, but I'm afraid we still have far more questions than answers…"

Kate agreed, but still looked hopeful. "Yeah, but this could still be huge! You have a personal copy don't ya?"

"Yes, and I can hardly wait to study it."

She smiled knowingly. A look that said she already guessed as much. "Well, Reynie, you can leave the locks to me, but this cipher business sounds like your specialty."

"I might ask Sticky for help too, he is even better at this sort of thing."

Kate slowly looped an affectionate arm around mine; the last of the sun vanishing behind the many twinkling lights of Stonetown. "You know," she began softly. "It's almost like one more mission, isn't it? For all of us?"

Her voice was filled with only pleasant memories and excitement for the future. But I swallowed sharply, the pit of my stomach suddenly knotting. Knotting with a million things I'd never talked about. Not the nightmares that still haunted me, or the hypervigilance that could fill my senses with dread.

No, they were the things I'd never told anyone.

One more mission.

That strange sense of foreboding grew until it was enveloping me completely.

I only prayed, somehow… she wouldn't notice.