They finished going through the library before twilight, and Rodland was annoyingly correct about the search being a waste of time. Then they had to carefully, separately wrap the letter and the novel and replace them in the original book. Rodland found a burlap sack in the kitchen, and they wrapped the Oystermouth train book itself and slipped it into the sack. Rodland bowed and ceremoniously handed Jane the sack. “Not a very elegant clue. But may it be the first of many. At least it’s a decent start.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it, and that dime novel might be very elegant in its way,” she said slowly. “The reason my art teacher had us study them was that she said they were as important in their way as a work by Shakespeare.”

“Cowboy Bob?”

“It didn’t matter about the content. They were stories, and because they were cheap, they were available to everyone. Books were no longer only for the rich. Everyone wanted them. Not only for the stories, but for the colorful illustrations. It opened the world to artists as well as writers.” She shook her head. “Who would have guessed it?”

“Not me. But it’s interesting. Evidently Fiona thought so, too. I wonder why?”

“We’ll find out.” Jane tucked the sack carefully in her art case and fastened it. “But you’ll have a good deal of work to give us a picture of MacClaren and his relationship with Fiona.”

“I’ve already got the groundwork done on MacClaren. I just have to complete the connections.”

“You could have told me. I can’t see why the connections would—” Jane’s phone was ringing and she pulled it out of her jacket.

“MacDuff?” Rodland asked. “It’s getting dark, but I didn’t think he’d be nagging so soon.”

“No. Not MacDuff.” And it wasn’t Caleb, either. She was puzzled as she checked the ID. “Wilma Dillard. It’s my agent Felicia’s mother. This shouldn’t take long.” She punched the access. “Hello, Wilma. It’s nice to hear from you. Are you trying to reach Felicia? I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m not in London.”

“I know you aren’t.” Wilma Dillard’s voice was shaking a little. “She told me when you left town. I’m sorry to bother you, Jane. I just didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know where she is.”

Jane stiffened. “Something’s wrong? What are you talking about? The two of you are so close. You must know where she is.”