The Lions of Fifth Avenue: A Novel

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

New York City, 1993

Sadie and Nick walked up Lafayette Street and sat on the steps of the Public Theater. If she didn’t figure out who was behind the thefts, if her reputation as a librarian was sullied, it would be hard to find work elsewhere, and then what would she do?

“I’m related to Laura Lyons, the essayist, whose husband, Jack Lyons, was a superintendent for the New York Public Library back in the early 1910s. They were my grandparents.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Lyons was my mother’s maiden name. She spent a few years living in the library as a young girl. When I first came to work at the library, I was curious about the old apartment they’d lived in, what their lives were like. I did some research and didn’t like what I found.”

“What was that?”

“That Jack and Laura Lyons were under suspicion for book thefts when they lived there. At the time, Laura Lyons wasn’t the big deal she is now, so I didn’t feel the need to mention it. But I recently found out information that was more disturbing.”

“How do you mean?”

“Apparently, before my mother passed away, she hinted that her father—Jack Lyons—stole a ‘tambourine.’ I only just heard about this. From my six-year-old niece, so it’s not exactly verifiable.”

“A tambourine . . . the Tamerlane?” Nick considered it. “So you think that your grandfather stole that book back in 1913? The one that’s never been recovered?”

“To be honest, it’s all really murky. My mother also said something about how they had to leave the library because of a burning book. I have no idea what that means.”

Nick looked at her closely. “What happened to your grandfather?”

“He died in 1914. There’s a chance he committed suicide.” She explained about the last entry in his diary: stepladder, rope, note.

Nick looked out into the street. “It’s likely not related, but I need to pursue every angle I can, so you should have told me from the start. If there’s anything useful there, I need to know it.” He paused. “You should inform Dr. Hooper of your connection to the Lyons family, I would think.”

“I will. First thing Monday morning, I promise.”

Nick stood. The conversation was over. She got up as well.

It felt good, to have this out in the open, finally.

“I want you to show me everything you’ve found in the archives,” he said.

“That’s fine. I’ll meet you in the Rare Book Room tomorrow at four. Will that work?”

“Tomorrow at four. And no more secrets.”

“No more secrets.”

On Saturday, Sadie and Nick set up a workstation at one of the corner tables in the Rare Book Room. She showed him the note the library detective wrote to the director, the one that said that it was as if the thief had “dropped from the sky.”

As he studied it, she asked if he’d heard any news from the bookseller.

“The owner of J&M insists the books were sent by messenger to him, that he never met the seller. His instructions were to send the money by wire to an overseas account.”

They fell silent as they made their way through years’ worth of files and notes.

Sadie gave a sharp intake of breath.

“What is it?” Nick leaned over to see.

“I’ve been going through the 1915 correspondence from the director, in case anything had been mislaid.” Something had. She handed it over to him. “The detective’s file, from 1914, ended up there.”

The very first document was a note, signed by Sadie’s grandfather. It consisted of only a few lines, in careful cursive:

I’m sorry for the trouble I caused the library. The fault is mine, as is the shame. Please tell my family I love them.—Jack Lyons

Sadie sat back. “It’s a suicide note.”

Nick came up behind her and read it, then touched her arm lightly. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”

“So this means my grandfather was definitely the thief?”

It was more a rhetorical question, but Nick answered. “Looks like it.”

That explained Laura Lyons’s intense privacy, coming off of a scandal like this. A family, broken. And Sadie’s mother, Pearl, knew about it all along.

She sifted through the file. “It looks like the books from the 1914 theft were also stolen from a caged-off area.”

“Where does it say that?”

“Here.” She pointed to the page. “It lists the original locations of the missing books. Including the Tamerlane and a first edition of Leaves of Grass.” She looked out across the room, lost in thought. “‘Dropped from the sky.’”

Nick looked over at her. “What?”

“Such a strange phrase. That it was as if the thief ‘dropped from the sky.’ If we can solve that, maybe we can figure out how our own thief is getting access.” She stood up, letting the answer wash over her. “I have an idea.”

After returning the archives, she and Nick headed to the Art and Architecture Room, on the south side of the building. Sadie approached the desk and asked for any architectural plans of the library, waiting impatiently while the clerk fetched them.

Sadie rolled them out on one of the tables. “No good. These are too recent, you can see the stacks under Bryant Park are included.” She turned back to the clerk. “Are there any of the original floor plans? From when it first opened?”

The clerk checked the records. “There are, but you’ll have to come back Monday.” He pointed at his watch. Closing time.

They filed out, standing in the hallway as the exiting patrons streamed around them. “I’m sorry about what we’ve learned today,” said Nick. “I hope that isn’t too difficult for you.”

“The signs were all there, so I’m not surprised. It ripped apart the family, and I can see how it affected my mother for the rest of her life. I’m just sorry that I wasn’t able to talk to her about it, that she died before I figured this out.”

Nick gazed down at her. “I have to go. But I look forward to straightening this all out.”

“Me, too. I think we’re close, I think there’s a connection with the past. And I’m going to do everything in my power to catch the thief.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help this past month, so thank you.”

His acknowledgment of their partnership gave her a strange rush; she wanted to burst into tears and laughter at the same time. Instead, she offered up a sober nod. “My pleasure.”

After he left, she finished up some paperwork at her desk, still thinking about the detective’s letter. Dropped from the sky. If the thief didn’t have the key, maybe there was something in the ceiling, some kind of hatch that he could access from the floor above the Berg’s cage. She tried to picture the ceiling, but couldn’t. It hadn’t ever occurred to her to look up.

The stacks, after hours, loomed large in the dim light from the windows, each aisle a narrow canyon of books. Sadie turned on the light and was about thirty feet into the stacks when she heard a strange scraping sound, like someone was raking cement. She froze, listening, scanning the space for any movement, but all was still. Probably just the library’s ventilation system acting up.

“Anyone here?”

Her voice echoed around the stacks, with no reply.

She walked as quietly as she could toward the Berg section and peered around the corner. It was empty. Her nerves were just getting to her. She unlocked the cage and looked up, studying the ceiling. Solid steel. As she stepped back, still looking up, she almost tripped.

The cover to one of the gray storage boxes stuck out partway from the bottom shelf, and she’d kicked it with her heel. She knelt down. Beside it lay the bottom half of the box.

The label read, JANE EYRE by Currer Bell (Charlotte Brontë), first edition (1847); three volumes.

Yet only two of the small volumes were nestled inside.

She glanced around, scanning the shelves, the floor. Nothing.

The thief had been here. And might still be. Slowly, she rose to her feet, listening intently for any sign that she wasn’t alone.

She exited the cage, locking it quietly behind her. As she did so, the sound of a door slamming shut rang out.

He was getting away.

Sadie took off running down the aisle and back out the door she’d come in. She took the stairs two at a time, listening hard as the footfalls of the thief above her crossed the landing of the second floor and kept on, up to the third. As she reached the landing, she almost tripped over something.

The missing Jane Eyre volume lay splayed on the marble floor, like a broken bird.

She scooped it up, tucking it into the top of her dress for safekeeping, before flying up the final set of stairs to the third floor. At the very top step, her foot caught the riser and she was suddenly in midair before falling hard, her knee slamming down first and her hands taking the rest of the hit. The book flew out of her dress and skidded across the floor.

It came to a stop before two pairs of black, polished oxford shoes.

“Sadie?”

Dr. Hooper and Nick stared down at her in surprise. Nick helped her up as Dr. Hooper gingerly picked up the fallen book.

“What are you doing?”

She couldn’t speak; the wind had been completely knocked out of her by her awkward splat. She finally caught her breath. “I was down in the cage. The thief was there. I ran after him. He’s up here.”

Dr. Hooper looked curiously at her. “Are you sure? We didn’t see anyone go by.”

She nodded, still panting. “Yes. Here, somewhere.” She ran to the door at the end of the hall that led to the Art and Architecture Room. Locked. She tried the others on the hall, and Nick, following her lead, did the same on the other side. All locked. Only the women’s room was open, and Sadie dashed inside, ready to corner her prey, but every stall was empty.

She walked out, deflated and confused. “He had a good lead on me, but you must have seen him. We had him cornered, between the three of us. Where did he go?”

Dr. Hooper didn’t seem concerned about the thief; instead, he stared at Sadie, his jaw tense.

In a rush, she realized what this must look like. A crazed woman in possession of a rare book, chasing an imaginary quarry.

Alone, in the library, after hours. The thief.