Diesel muttered in protest. I supposed my whistling disturbed his beauty nap. He rolled over on his back and stretched, and his tail switched back and forth. He stayed in that position with his head twisted to one side and went back to sleep.

I reread the paragraph that had piqued my interest.

A few years ago a collector and expert on the history of the Veronica Thane series, Jennifer Fisher, brought to light a little-known variant in the first printings of the first volume in the breeder set. This was recently confirmed by Mrs. Carrie Taylor, the publisher of The Thane Chronicles, the newsletter devoted to the author and her works, who reported that she has a copy in her extensive collection. In the final paragraph of this variant edition, the next volume of the series is named as The Clarevoyant’s Clew. The correct title is, of course, The Clairvoyant’s Clue. The error must have been caught quickly and corrected, though a number of the volumes with the wrong title did make it into the hands of readers. Copies of the book with the incorrect title have rarely surfaced, but recently a collector was reported to have paid over twenty thousand dollars for a near-pristine copy of the highly sought after item. Though the price seems extravagant, the purchaser certainly has the satisfaction of knowing he (or she) possesses a true rarity.

I wondered uneasily whether I had just discovered the motive behind Carrie Taylor’s murder.

TWENTY-ONE

Would anyone really kill in order to obtain a rare copy of The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion? Even if a collector had paid twenty thousand dollars for one?

I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew people murdered for far less and for even more bizarre reasons. Kanesha needed to know about this. I copied the link for the page and e-mailed it to her with a brief explanation. All she had to do was check Carrie Taylor’s collection, and if the copy with the incorrect title turned up, then the book wasn’t the motive. If it was missing, she might have a lead on why Mrs. Taylor was killed.

What about Aunt Dottie’s copy? My hand shook a little as I reached for the book. I opened it and found the last page of the text.

I almost dropped the book.

Aunt Dottie’s copy was one of the rare ones. There it was, right on the page. The Clarevoyant’s Clew.

I examined the book. Beautiful condition, I thought. Not exactly pristine, because it had obviously been read a few times. The dust jacket was intact, no tears or chips, and the colors were bright and crisp. My late aunt had loved her books and always took great care of them, even as a child. She had helped instill that love in me.