“Are these really the prices?” he said. He turned the catalog over so she could see the page. “Someone is going to pay $35,000 for a children’s book?”
“For a first edition of Harry Potter.”
He turned the catalog back over and looked at the page again.
“It’s ten dollars at the store down the street,” he said.
“There were only five hundred printed in that edition,” she said.
He shrugged and tossed the catalog aside.
“It has a couple of typos. It’s very rare.”
“Would you like to get lunch?”
“Is this another interview?”
“I’m not planning an interrogation,” the detective said. “Just an update. I thought you’d be interested.”
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“Miriam? Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know. Because it’s the worst possible outcome.”
Yuan pulled on his trench coat.
“It’s unlikely,” he said as he walked toward the elevator. Liesl hadn’t agreed to lunch but didn’t feel like there was a choice. “I also don’t think she’s taken a lover.”
“Are people still proposing that as a theory?”
“Once or twice,” he said, leading her out of the elevator. “You people love your gossip. But I agree that she doesn’t seem the type for a lover.”
“Do you suspect Vivek?”
Yuan shook his head and jogged through the cold October afternoon to the bright-yellow falafel truck that parked outside the library.
“I hope you’re okay with falafel. I’ve had a hankering since I first saw this truck. Everything Professor Patel has told us has checked out.”
“What then?”
Detective Yuan spoke Arabic to order their sandwiches. Liesl squinted at him.
“Languages are useful in my line of work.” He handed her a bottle of water. “The missing books and the missing woman could be a coincidence. And sometimes there are coincidences. But rarely.” He filled a tiny plastic ramekin with hot sauce as he waited for their meal. “It looks like she took your books. Maybe only temporarily. But the theft was discovered, and she probably ran off. Got spooked. Do you like hot sauce?”
“No,” she said. “I’m fine with tahini.”
He poured a second ramekin anyway.
“So what you’re saying,” Liesl said, “is that when you find her, you’ll find the books.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” said Yuan. “The books aren’t my concern.”
Liesl cleared her throat, swallowing the saliva that had risen when she caught the scent of the vinegary hot sauce. She wished she’d asked for some, that she hadn’t given in to her reflex of saying no to every question.
“But you said they were stolen.”
“It looks that way,” He glanced at the window of the truck but received a slight headshake from the proprietor. “But that’s a property crime.”
“It’s a crime.”
“The books are my concern only in that they relate to Miriam.” Summoned by something inaudible to Liesl, he began to walk away from their conversation.
“I don’t understand,” Liesl said, taking hold of his arm in her frustration. “You just said you think she stole them.”
“Lunch is ready,” he said, removing his arm from her grasp and reaching up to the truck window to claim their sandwiches.
“Can you explain this?”
“Are you okay to sit outside?”
“I don’t mind the cold,” Liesl said. She followed him to a bench a few feet from the truck. “Can you be frank with me out here? Maybe I’m dense, but I’m missing something.”
“The university hasn’t filed a complaint about the books.” He unwrapped the foil all the way to drench his sandwich in hot sauce, and she wanted to scold him that he would make a mess trying to eat it like that.
“They haven’t?”
“This sandwich is dynamite,” he said, licking hot sauce off his pinkie.
“Can I file the complaint?” She took a small bite, trying her best to ensure that nothing dripped into her lap. She had never thought to eat at this truck.
“No,” he said with a full mouth.
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“You really should try it with the hot sauce.” He held the second ramekin out to her, but she shook her head and swallowed her bite.