Chapter 7: Knox's POV

Knox's POV

My stepmother received me in her study at nine that night.

She was at her desk in a silk robe, writing a note on cream paper.

A fire burned in the grate behind her.

"Knox," she said. "You look tired. Sit."

I did not sit.

"Someone took five pages from the Reading Desk attic today," I said. "Only two keys exist. One is yours."

"I sent a man to check the radiator."

"The radiator doesn't knock anymore. Karin Lindqvist fixed it with a spoon."

"Then the man was unnecessary." She capped her pen. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean about pages."

She had folded her hands, the way she did at board meetings when she was about to be generous.

"Let me be plain, since you won't sit," she said.

"Mamie's father is giving the library four million dollars, and the new wing will carry his name."

"And Mamie's prize."

"Mr. Marlow has made it clear that his daughter wins the fellowship, or someone else builds the wing."

She shrugged one shoulder.

"It's four million dollars, Knox."

"It's Siri's book."

"It's a girl's book, and she'll write another." Her voice did not change. "You are the one who may not."

I looked at her.

"What does that mean?"

"I've read the Reading Desk box for years, dear. I've always known whose capitals those are."

She smiled.

"Two years of anonymous notes to one undergraduate. The board would be fascinated."

The fire cracked behind her.

"She was a sophomore," I said. "The notes are about sentences."

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