Midsummer Night's Mischief by Jennifer D. Hesse Page A

pretty seasonal, as you can imagine.”
    â€œOh, sure,” I said, nodding my head. I took a sip, feeling increasingly self-conscious. Now that I was here, I had no idea what to say. And Rob, with that disconcerting twinkle in his eyes, stared at me, not making this any easier.
    I cleared my throat and tried for honesty. “So, Rob, I feel really bad about the Folio being stolen. Your mom came to see me yesterday, and she seemed really upset.”
    Rob looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Then he nodded his head slowly, so I went on.
    â€œUm, so the other day I was talking to Wes, and he said he was going to try to track down the thief.” At least he had implied he would. Hadn’t he? “I’d really like to help, if I can. Is, um . . . Wes isn’t staying here, is he?”
    Rob snorted. “No,” he said flatly. “Big brother is not staying here.”
    â€œAnyway, do you have any theories about the theft?”
    Rob looked down at his hands and slowly shook his head. “No idea. I mean, it was really valuable. It shouldn’t have been just lying around Grandma’s house. But, of course, she didn’t expect to die so suddenly. I guess she didn’t have time to put it someplace safer.”
    â€œYeah,” I agreed. “I guess not.”
    I looked around Rob’s apartment, trying to figure him out. Evidently, he was employed, and he must have graduated at least five years ago. But from what I could see, his place was decorated much like a college dorm. Art posters covered one wall, and a large CD collection filled metal shelves on another. Directly opposite the couch, a flat-screen TV perched upon an overturned milk crate. In the short hallway, which presumably led to the bedroom and bathroom, I spotted an interesting wood carving hanging next to a small collection of felt sports pennants. I stood up and walked over to read the message on the carving. LORD, WHAT FOOLS THESE MORTALS BE.
    Coming up behind me, Rob flipped on the hall light. “It’s probably dusty,” he said, wiping a finger along the top of the carving.
    For a second, the scent of Rob’s aftershave made me slightly woozy. Or maybe it was his proximity. I took a step back. “This is nice,” I said, pointing to the carving.
    â€œIt was my grandpa Frank’s. It was one of his favorite sayings. He said it all the time. Somebody made this for him, I think. He had it hanging in his study.”
    â€œDid he quote Shakespeare a lot?” I asked.
    â€œShakespeare?” said Rob, his face a blank. “I thought it was from the Bible.”
    I suppressed a grin. “I’m pretty sure it’s Shakespeare,” I said.
    Rob shrugged. “Well, whatever. It was pretty funny whenever Grandpa said it.”
    â€œWho made it?” I asked.
    Rob shrugged again. “No idea.”
    â€œMay I?” I took the carving from the wall and turned it over. Sure enough, there was a name written in black pen in the corner. “Wendell Knotts,” I read out loud. I glanced up at Rob, but he just shook his head.
    I didn’t think I was going to get any useful information from Rob, so I replaced the carving and walked back to the living room.
    â€œI should get going.” I fished a business card from my purse and handed it to Rob. “But please give me a call if you think of anything that might lead to the Folio. I really do want to help, and I’m not sure how much success the police are having at the moment.”
    â€œYeah, okay,” said Rob, holding the door open for me. “It would be nice if the book turns up, but I’m really not losing any sleep over it. I mean, finding the book won’t bring Grandma back. Plus, we were gonna sell it, anyway. It might take a little time for the insurance company to pay up, but they will eventually. So, it’s all the same.”
    Rob gave me a reassuring smile, as if I shouldn’t be worrying