The Vanishing Thief by Kate Parker Page A

Lupton’s murder?”
    â€œMuch after the fact, a witness to the discovery of Lupton’s body came to see me about an antiquarian volume. Given such an opportunity, I learned all he could tell me about the murder. He knew nothing about any bookseller possessing a Gutenberg Bible.”
    This was a new lead, at least to me. “I think we need to investigate Lupton’s murder using the assumption he was killed by the same man who killed my parents.”
    â€œGeorgia, we have to consider the possibility that the murderer learned about Lupton from your father.”
    My father would have only revealed that type of information to his abductor if he or my mother were tortured. I must have sounded grim when I replied, “We’ll find out when I catch him.”
    But where was he now?

Chapter Six

    A S it turned out, Emma was gone most of the next day on our investigation while I managed the shop and wondered what I would discover at dinner that night. She returned in time to help Phyllida dress me for the party with the warning that I’d better not stay out late because she had more archival research to do the next morning. Phyllida hushed her while reminding me what each of the fourteen pieces of silverware I’d face at dinner was used for.
    I took a cab to Lady Westover’s and entered through the mews at the back so as not to be noticed arriving. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining and by carefully stepping and holding my skirt embarrassingly high, I entered without trailing dirt and wet footsteps. I didn’t have time to brush mud off my skirt, and it probably wouldn’t have helped. The fabric would be ruined if the hem got wet or dirty.
    Glancing out from the back hall, I saw no one by the front entrance or the stairs. Hurrying up the steps, I caught my breath outside the door to her formal parlor. Then I nodded to the butler and he opened the door. He announced me and I found I faced a silent room full of stares.
    My evening gown had too little fabric in the tiny sleeves and too much in the front of my skirt. It was five years out of fashion, and the guests were probably considering how far from London and society I lived. I was well disguised to play Lady Westover’s unfortunate relative. Lifting my head, I stepped forward, looking as pleased to meet them as I felt.
    Lady Westover introduced me to Lord Naylard and his sister, Lucinda, before she was called away by the butler. After my curtsy, Naylard said, “It must be jolly to have family visit.” He had the coloring and eagerness of a golden retriever puppy.
    â€œEven more so for me, since this is a special treat. Do you have a large family here in London?” I said.
    â€œNo. Miss Lucinda and I are on our own. We’re not a hardy family. But we have each other.” He gave his sister a look of pure devotion.
    She looked at him benignly, like a woman gazing at a not overly bright lapdog, and said, “My task in life is taking good care of my brother.” Her dark blue gown was high necked and her widely puffed sleeves covered the tops of her white gloves at the elbows. Her jewels at ear and neck and wrist were almost as understated as my pearl earrings.
    I gave her a smile and said, “Your dress is both lovely and practical in these drafty houses. I admire your taste.”
    Lucinda gave me a gracious nod but said nothing.
    How did these aristocrats handle social situations if they didn’t talk? Shifting the conversation, I said, “Lady Westover told me this was to be a family dinner, so you must be related to her, and, more distantly, to me.”
    â€œLady Westover is my mother’s cousin, once or twice removed. How are you related to her?” Lord Naylard asked.
    A detail she and I hadn’t worked out. Aiming for vagueness, I said, “Through my scandalous grandmother. I think Lady Westover takes an interest in me to make certain I don’t repeat family history best left