Beattie jumped up immediately and came to kneel beside me. “What’s happening, Poe?”
I took a shuddering breath. “The book that the maid turned in was a forgery.” I handed her the book and then asked Adaire to explain while I composed myself.
Of course, all Adaire had to say was that the original had a sewn binding, and Beattie, the seasoned book expert, immediately saw the problem. “Oh no,” she said. “This is a good visual forgery, though.” She squeezed my hand that rested beneath hers on my knee. “Only an expert would know to look at the binding.”
I forced myself to smile at her attempt to comfort me and said, “Thanks. But I am supposed to be an expert.”
Beattie and Adaire both shook their heads. “Not yet, you’re not,” my friend said. “You know a lot about literature, and that’s a hug
