Free 6.The Alcatraz Rose by Anthony Eglin

the unchangeable, accepting it for what was, and recognizing that there’s nothing—not a single thing—you can do that will ever alter it.” She paused, but Kingston didn’t interrupt. “To stop worrying about the things you can’t change and instead focus on those that you can—a cliché maybe, but oh so true. I think what convinced Letty more than anything else was the risk she was taking not only with her mental health but physical, too. I didn’t need to press the point because she confided that the last year or so had been more stressful than she was ready to admit.”
    “Well, that’s all good news indeed. You saw her foster parents?”
    “They were both there when I arrived. Nice people. She’s very lucky in that sense.”
    “And will you and Letty will keep in touch?”
    “Yes. We talked about that at length. We’re going to get together on a regular basis, see how she’s progressing. On top of everything else, she showed a lot of interest in police work, asking surprisingly intelligent questions. I promised I’d take her to the Gloucester district station where I worked to give her an idea of what community police work was like and to introduce her to a few of the staff, take her out one day in a patrol car, maybe.”
    “Terrific idea.”
    “Oh—and by the way, I asked about the books, too.”
    Kingston frowned. “The books?”
    “You know, Fiona’s ‘library’? You wondered if they might give any hints to Fiona’s or her husband’s lifestyle—remember?”
    “Oh, yes, of course. Any luck?”
    “Sorry to say, no smoking gun. Molly said that they chucked most of them away. I went through those they’d kept, mostly cooking and how-to books. The only one that struck me as likely to be of interest to you was a garden book. I think the author was a man named Thomas.”
    Kingston felt a tingle of excitement. “Graham Stuart Thomas?”
    “I think so, yes. Hold on a moment and I’ll get it.”
    He heard her set down the phone, and walk away.
    Graham Stuart Thomas
, Kingston thought. Twice his name had come up in recent days.
    Emma was back. “Yes, it’s Graham Stuart Thomas.
The Old Shrub Roses
.”
    “I’m familiar with it,” Kingston said. “If it’s signed, it could be worth a bob or two.”
    “It’s not signed, but there is an inscription in it. And some penciled notes on some of the pages.”
    “Really. Fiona was hardly the gardening sort, was she?”
    “Not that I’m aware.”
    “What does it say?”
    “Let me look again,” she said, as Kingston waited.
    “Here it is: ‘This may give you some ideas, R.’ The initial
R
trails off in a wiggly line, as if it were the person’s casual way of signing—maybe Robert, Richard—”
    “R
,” Kingston muttered to himself, thinking about the single initial and other names it could stand for—male and female.
    “That’s very interesting,” he said. “I’d like to see the book, if I may?”
    “Of course. I can mail it to you or, even better, I can arrange to have it hand delivered. No charge.”
    “You have someone coming up to London?”
    “Yes. Me. Tomorrow.”
    Kingston smiled. “What a nice surprise, Emma. Naturally I’ll take you up on the offer. And if time permits, perhaps we can squeeze in lunch or an early dinner. I’d enjoy that.”
    “Lunch is possible. I’m coming up by train to see a specialist at Moorfields Eye Hospital. My appointment’s at eleven forty-five, and they say it should take no longer than an hour. If I cab it, I could meet you somewhere in the West End around one o’clock.”
    “Excellent. Let’s meet at the Ivy. You’ll like it. It’s off of Shaftesbury Avenue. The driver will know it, it’s been there close to a hundred years.”
    “Sounds wonderful. I look forward to it. If there are any hiccups, I’ll call you.”
    “Please do.” He hesitated a moment, wondering how to broach the idea he’d come up with the night before. Particularly in light of the book and the