“Did you want to be a luthier?” “I wanted to build and repair instruments.” “Isn’t that what a luthier does?” “Ordinary luthiers, yes. My family line has other . . . responsibilities. This book was used to keep records only of certain—special—instruments. Not all were entered here.” Braden registers this. “My cello. The maker’s mark, the color of the varnish, all indicate Stradivarius. You’re telling me it’s not?” “It is, and it isn’t.” Another cryptic comment that answers nothing. Phee wraps the book in a towel and locks it back in the trunk. She rifles
