The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections(35)

“Is that possible? That she would have done that without you knowing?”

“It’s possible, yes,” Liesl said. “Christopher was never one for paperwork. She might have asked him for the days off.” The timbre of Vivek’s voice, the thing she couldn’t see, had gotten all the way inside her and made her twitchy. She walked across the loading dock because she found she couldn’t stand in one place any longer.

“And you have no reason to suspect anything different?” Vivek asked.

Liesl remembered it again. Miriam in front of her, desperate to talk. Brushed off, forgotten. Had it been about Vivek? Had she rushed to Liesl to confess their separation?

“Well, no. Unless you think I do?”

He mumbled a general no. “You’ll let me know when you hear from her?” Vivek asked.

Liesl agreed that she would. She had a lot of questions about the state of their marriage. How his move back to the city could bring them further apart rather than closer together. But it wasn’t the time for those questions.

She hesitated before hanging up the phone, scratched at a loose label on one of the boxes, chemistry books from a German publisher for the science library. She didn’t want to let him go yet, didn’t think she should. “Maybe you and I can have lunch when things are more settled.”

“Sure,” Vivek said. “When things are more settled.”

“She’ll come back from her holiday and think we’ve been very silly for worrying,” Liesl said.

“Well,” Vivek said. “I don’t think it’s silly at all to worry.”





9


The gilt-edged cards inviting the Friends of the Library to attend the annual Jackman Lecture didn’t explicitly say that the Plantin would be the topic. The invitations had gone out months earlier, before the check cleared. But there was subtext. The Jackman Lecture existed to make the library’s “friends” feel special. The university had more infrastructure to encourage donations than it had to keep the buildings standing.

There was condensation threatening the books in a small area on the northwest side of the building. But Liesl wasn’t spending her time dealing with the water. She was spending her time planning the Jackman Lecture. Or not planning the Jackman Lecture but staring into the middle distance and fanning herself with one of the gilt-edged cards. The phone on Christopher’s desk rang, scolding her for her lack of concentration. She reluctantly picked up the receiver, because the solution to her Jackman problem might be on the other end. It was a man from the university’s IT department. Liesl did not ask him if he would be willing to deliver the Jackman Lecture. He asked if he could visit that day and change the passwords on Christopher’s accounts so she could access them. This was such a sensible request that she was sure it had something to do with donations. She agreed. She put down the phone’s receiver and, after a beat, tucked the card into her pocket, pulled on her coat, and left the office.

Visiting the computer science and mathematics building, Liesl came up with the beginnings of a plan. As she walked into the back stairwell, two undergrads were huddled in the corner. One of the kids had an orange prescription bottle, and he got so spooked that he jammed it into his pocket. By the time she understood the nature of the transaction she was halfway up the steps. By then, it was too late to tell the kids that prescription drugs weren’t illegal, and acting as though they were was a great way to tip off a passerby that they were up to something.

Rhonda had a film crew outside her office. A couple of young men in black T-shirts were taking down an elaborate lighting setup. Rhonda was bent over in front of the camera on her laptop, wiping off makeup with a baby wipe.

“Is this a news crew or our internal people?” Liesl whispered as she greeted the woman. “There are some kids dealing Adderall in your stairwell. I don’t want any of these guys getting the idea they’re a journalist.”

“Guys?” Rhonda looked up at the crew. “Can you make sure you take your stuff down through the service elevator? I know the stairs are faster, but they really don’t want you interfering with students coming and going.”

There were nods and mumbles of assent. Slowly, the crew and their lights cleared out.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you as an expert in the collegiate drug trade,” Rhonda said.

“I briefly sent my daughter to a private high school.”

“But you’re not here to bust local amphetamine entrepreneurs?” Rhonda knelt on the floor, picking at the edge of a masking-tape X, a lighting mark that the crew had forgotten to remove.

“I’m not.” Liesl moved to help her but then stopped herself. “Was the crew here for the fundraising campaign launch?”

“Yes, they’re going to run a series on our past Nobel winners. I was asked to speak for the dead ones.” Rhonda managed to lift a corner and began to peel, but it immediately tore. She raised her eyes at Liesl in exasperation.

“I have a favor to ask,” Liesl said. “Sorry to dive right in.”

“Not at all,” Rhonda said. “If you’re interested in what I have to say about dead Nobel prize winners, you can tune into the local news tonight at 7:30.”

“The library has an annual Jackman Memorial Lecture. For our donors. A major event. I was hoping you might come deliver the lecture this year.”