The Gun Also Rises

by Sherry Harris

  “I don’t bring everyone in here,” she said, “but you don’t seem like the judgmental type.” She took a quick glance at me, and I gave her my best nonjudgmental smile. “Some people look down on mysteries, you know.”

  I may be a lot of things, but snooty wasn’t one of them. Besides, who wouldn’t love mysteries?

  “There’s everything from Agatha Christie to Trixie Beldon to Donna Andrews in here,” she said.

  “I think I could handle this,” I said.

  “This isn’t all of it,” Miss Belle said. “Follow me, please.”

  We climbed the curving staircase to the second floor. Halls led off on either side with the plushest, longest Oriental rugs I’d ever seen. Their reds glowed against the dark paneling.

  “There’s another staircase at the end of this hall” —she gestured to her left—“but we’ll go up here.”

  She opened one of the multiple closed doors and we climbed another set of stairs. The rug on this floor wasn’t as plush but looked much loved. In the center of the hall, Miss Belle opened a door to a steep set of stairs to an attic. The big house was very quiet. I could hear Kay vacuuming somewhere on another floor.

  The attic was as clean or cleaner than my apartment. Not a cobweb or mouse to be seen. To the left was a room with large windows spaced evenly around the room and plenty of lighting from fixtures in the ceiling. It certainly wasn’t like most attics I’d been in, with low-sloped ceilings, a light bulb on a string, and rickety stairs leading up to it.

  Miss Belle showed me around the room. We passed what looked to me like a treasure trove of antiques: an old radio, a gramophone, and an ice chest. I would have loved to linger and explore. For a small woman, Miss Belle could move quickly, and I hurried to keep up with her.

  We arrived at a small hall with three closed doors. “Kay, my maid and housekeeper, lives up here. It’s her choice. There are plenty of rooms on the second and third floor.”

  She opened the door that was straight ahead of us. The hinges squeaked just a little, and Miss Belle frowned. It made me realize again how very quiet this house was. This room had dress dummies, suitcases, trunks, shelves of books, and boxes with books spilling out of them. I spotted a box of Nancy Drew books and another of Bobbsey Twins.

  Miss Belle shook her head. “I should have parted with some of these long ago. It’s silly keeping them up here, where only I can read them. And it’s a bit of a mess. I’m not sure what’s in the trunks and suitcases. Probably more books.” Miss Belle looked me over. “Are you up to the task?”

  “Can I just poke about for a bit before I answer?” I asked.

  “Very sensible. Of course. There’s a bathroom just outside to the left. Kay’s room is on the right. Stop by the study before you leave.”

  “Okay.” I watched as Miss Belle left. When she was out of sight, I turned back to the scene before me. Books, glorious books.

  * * *

  I found a box full of Agatha Christie’s books, including my favorite, And Then There Were None, and a trunk filled with Mary Stewart, Phyllis A. Whitney, and Victoria Holt books, which my mom loved. I flipped through a few of them but had to stop myself, more than once, from sitting down to read. None of them were first editions, but this might be the best project I’d ever had.

  I spent about fifteen minutes poking around in Miss Belle’s attic before I headed back downstairs. I heard voices coming from the library, so I knocked lightly on the open door before going in. Miss Belle stood next to an older man in a black suit who wasn’t much taller than her and at least an inch shorter than my five-six.

  “Sarah, let me introduce you to Roger Mervine. He’s an old friend and a rare book dealer from Boston.”

  Roger strode over to me and took my hand. For a minute, I thought he was going to kiss it with his waxed, mustachioed mouth. But he shook it instead. Vigorously. “Belle tells me you’ll be handling the lesser books.”

  Lesser books? Yeesh.

  “And of course I’ll be here to answer any of your questions should you find something rare or valuable.”

  I managed to maintain a pleasant expression. “That hasn’t been decided yet.” If I had to work with this guy around, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Although I’d come down here with every intention of saying yes.

  “Oh, Roger, don’t be such a snob,” Miss Belle said. “He’s harmless, really. Roger has a fabulous bookstore on Beacon Hill in Boston.”

  Beacon Hill was a neighborhood full of beautiful brick row houses, exclusive shops, and restaurants north of Boston Common, America’s first public park, and the Public Garden, the first public botanical garden in America. It was a world for John Kerry and the Kennedys and Seth Anderson’s family, but this was no time to think about Seth. Good grief, now I was starting to sound like Scarlett O’Hara. He had caused me a lot of heartache and I’d done the same to him. I shook it off. “I’ve been in your shop. Mervine’s Rare and Unusual Books?”

  He did a slight bow instead of saying yes. His thick white hair swept forward, momentarily covering his face. It was hard to peg his age, but I’d guess somewhere north of sixty-five. Geez, it was like he was playing the role of lord of the manor. Roger probably had a smoking jacket and crystal decanters full of port at home. He’d probably never tasted a fluffernutter, my favorite sandwich, in his life. Although if he was connected to Belle, he might really be a lord of a manor somewhere, or at least the American equivalent of one. When he raised his head, his light brown eyes had a bit of a twinkle in them.

  “So delighted you’ve been in. Did you purchase anything?” he asked.

  I almost said no to be ornery. “Several things. My father was thrilled with a history of coastal California I gave him for Christmas one year. Also a book with early California maps. They were beautiful.” I’d grown up in Pacific Grove, California, which was sandwiched between the more famous Monterey and Carmel. My parents still lived there.

  “Wonderful. It’s the best part of having the store, knowing that the books end up in the hands of someone who loves them. I must be off. Sarah, I hope we’ll meet again, and Belle, enchanté as usual.” He swept out of the room as if he was exiting stage left.

  “Sorry about that,” Belle said. “I was hoping to have you on board before you met Roger. He’s always overly assertive when you first meet him, but then he’s just a big old teddy bear.”

  “I don’t scare that easily,” I said. That might not be true, but if I said it out loud often enough, maybe it would be.

  “Good. That’s what I heard, and that you’re clever.”

  Oh, dear. People had been getting the craziest ideas about me since I’d helped solve a few murders. “Don’t believe everything you’ve heard.”

  “I did a lot of checking before reaching out to you. After all, you will be in my home all day for some length of time going through my treasured things. I had to find someone trustworthy.”

  “How did you hear about me?”

  “Other than the newspapers? I asked around. I know your friends the DiNapolis, among others.”

  Angelo and Rosalie DiNapoli owned DiNapoli’s Roast Beef and Pizza, my favorite place to eat in Ellington. They had become my extended family since I’d moved to the area.

  Belle clasped her hands together. “Back to my books. What do you think?”

  “I’d like to do it. If I find things I can’t easily price, I can look them up.”

  “Or you can ask Roger.”

  “Yes, of course.” Over my dead body. I explained to Belle that I’d have to work on an hourly fee basis. I hated charging someone when they were doing something for charity, but I’d recently done an event for the school board for free. I was still trying to recoup the money I’d lost by turning away other paying jobs during that project. I also had another charity function in the works.

  “No problem,” Belle said. “When can you start?”

  I pulled out my phone and checked out my calendar. “I could come by for a couple of hours in the morn
ing, if that works for you.”

  “Of course it does. Thank you so much. This is going to be wonderful.”

  * * *

  At noon, I sat across a table from Stella, my landlady and friend, at DiNapoli’s. We were sharing my favorite bianco pizza, a white pizza with four cheeses, Angelo’s secret garlic sauce, and basil, and sipping a nice cabernet sauvignon. I kind of missed the days when DiNapoli’s didn’t have a liquor license and would sneak me wine in a plastic kiddie cup with a lid and a straw.

  “How is practice going?” I asked Stella. She taught voice classes at Berklee College of Music, private lessons at home, and had a minor role in a fall production of The Phantom of the Opera.

  “Good. The cast is fantastic. The director has a clear vision. So far, it’s been amazing.”

  “I hope it stays that way,” I said.

  “They asked me to be the understudy for the lead role, Christine.” Stella’s dark green eyes were wide with excitement. And her olive skin was a bit flushed.

  “That’s wonderful news. Now we just have to figure out how to get rid of the lead actress. I could wish her good luck instead of saying break a leg.” It was a theater superstition not to tell an actor good luck.

  “No. I’m content with my role. It’s been so long since I’ve been in anything professionally. I’m fine with this.” Stella had toured Europe with an opera ten years ago, when she was in her twenties. “What about you?”

  I picked up a second slice of pizza. The piece was about the size of my head. Angelo didn’t believe in small slices. He thought it threw off the toppings-to-crust ratio. The cheese dripped over the edges as I slid it onto my plate.

  “I have a new job I’m excited about.”

  “For who?” Stella asked.

  “Belle Winthrop Granville. She has an enormous collection of mystery books she wants to sell and then donate the money to the Ellington Library.”

  “Miss Belle? Wow. How did you manage that?”

  “She found me,” I said. “Her house is amazing. Right out of a magazine. And her attic. It’s a treasure trove. I wish I had time to explore it all.”

  “Let me know if you need any help. I’d love to see her house.”

  “That would be fun. I may just need an assistant for a day or two.”

  A police officer walked over to the table. Usually that meant trouble for me, but this time it was just Nathan Bossum, who I called by the nickname I’d accidentally given him, Awesome.

  “Want some pizza?” I asked.

  “If you have extra,” Awesome said.

  Stella scooted over a chair and Awesome sat next to her, flinging an arm across the back of her chair. They’d been dating since they’d met last February. After giving her shoulder a squeeze, he snatched a piece of pizza, folded it, and took a bite.

  “So, how about those Red Sox?” I asked with a grin. Awesome used to be a NYPD detective and was a die-hard Yankees fan. They weren’t doing well this year and the Red Sox were well on their way to making the playoffs, if they didn’t have a fall collapse.

  Stella laughed. “They’re amazing this year.”

  Awesome just chewed and didn’t take the bait.

  I scooted my chair back. “I’ll leave you two to the pizza.”

  “You don’t have to leave on my account,” Awesome said. “I have to get back to work soon.”

  “I have a meeting to get to at two.” A meeting with Seth Anderson, onetime love interest, that had me on edge. Now there would be no avoiding thinking about him. “I’ll catch you later.” I waved goodbye to Rosalie and Angelo as I left.

  Chapter Three

  I sat across a large desk from Seth Anderson, the district attorney for Middlesex County, and one of the assistant DAs. The office had a serious feel to it and was a bit austere. There was no vanity wall with photos of Seth with famous people. Ones with the Kerrys, Kennedys, and Krafts. People his family knew and associated with. Instead, his diplomas hung off to one side, along with some other certificates I couldn’t read from here.

  Seth, along with the assistant DA, had prepped me for the upcoming trial of the person who’d stalked me last February. They’d told me what to wear, what to say, and when to let my emotions show. They’d warned me the defense attorney would try to twist things. The pressure was terrifying. The stakes weren’t just high, they could impact my life. If something went south, my stalker could be back out on the streets again.

  The assistant DA gathered her things to leave after we finished going over my testimony. I stood when she did.

  “Can you stay for a minute, Sarah?” Seth asked.

  I nodded and sat back down as the assistant DA left and closed the door behind her.

  “It’s going to be okay, Sarah,” Seth said.

  What would be okay, him, me, the trial? The last time I saw him was a month ago at a party at DiNapoli’s, where I’d apparently misinterpreted a look he gave me. I thought it was one of interest, but hadn’t ever had a chance to talk to him that night.

  Seth leaned back in his chair and loosened his tie. Geez, he was handsome. He looked every bit the Massachusetts’s Most Eligible Bachelor he’d been named by a magazine two years running, all broad shoulders, dark hair, and delicious smelling. We’d dated after I split up with my ex-husband, CJ, the first time. As much as I didn’t want to react to him, my body always seemed to have other thoughts. Seth grinned at me. It seemed like he knew what I was thinking. Snap out of it. Quit staring at him like a teenage girl drooling over some hot movie star she’d stumbled across.

  Thankfully, I hadn’t spilled pizza or soda down my front when I’d had lunch with Stella. And I was still all dressed up from seeing Miss Belle.

  “You’ll be a great witness.”

  “I hope so.” Thinking about seeing my stalker again scared me beyond reason.

  Seth leaned forward. “I’m leaving in the morning to go to the Berkshires.”

  “Because of the change of venue?” I finally managed to ask. The defense had persuaded the judge to hold the trial on the western side of the state—three hours away—because the case had gotten a lot of local press coverage.

  “Yes. We have several motions pending with the judge. I was hoping . . .” Seth paused and cleared his throat.

  Why was Seth nervous? I was nervous, but I’d been telling myself going through my testimony, reliving all that had happened, was what had rattled me.

  “That when the trial is over I could, maybe, take you out to dinner.”

  Oh, boy. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. Not at all. He looked as anxious as a parent sending their kid off for their first day of school. I felt the same way.

  “But if it’s too soon, I understand,” he said. “I realize you’ve been through a lot since we first met.”

  Heat rushed up my face at the memory of the night I met Seth. At a bar. In Lowell. After CJ and I had first divorced. We’d had a one-night stand that was totally out of character for me. We’d dated on and off until CJ and I had tried to make our marriage work again in May. Seth had even told me he loved me last winter. Now that CJ had moved to Florida and our marriage was clearly over, maybe now was the right time for Seth and me. But I hesitated.

  Seth’s phone rang. “You don’t have to answer me now. Just think about it.” He reached for the phone. “Please.”

  * * *

  At four o’clock, I stopped at the Visitors Center at Fitch Air Force Base to get a pass for the afternoon so I could meet my friend James. He had to sponsor me on. Even though I’d been a military spouse for almost twenty years, after CJ and I divorced a year and a half ago, I was no longer considered a dependent. Because of that, I didn’t have an ID to get on base. It felt a bit like being locked out of one’s own home.

  James was sitting at a table in the food court outside the Base Exchange, or BX as Air Force people called it. I waved to him before ordering an iced coffee and joining James at the table. It was quiet in here this afternoon. A few people were going in and o
ut of the BX, which was like an all-purpose department store with everything from baby clothes to sheets to furniture to grills. But I wasn’t allowed to shop there anymore. Even buying my own iced coffee was probably stretching the rules.

  I’d known James for almost three years. First, when he had worked for CJ when CJ had been in charge of the base security police, and then as a friend during our ensuing divorce. James had gone through a lot in the past year and a half too. He’d returned from a deployment a different, angrier, sadder person. James was still fighting through the PTSD, but had found helping others and therapy helped him.

  “Hi,” I said as I settled in across from him. A deep line creased his forehead. His shoulders seemed tense. “Are you okay? Or worried about the sale for Eric this weekend?”

  Eric Hunt was deep in the throes of PTSD. He’d bonded with a street dog in Afghanistan and they had been injured by a suicide bomber. Eric had been hit with shrapnel and medevaced out, his dog left behind. Eric’s life had spiraled downward. Drinking, drugs, anger issues; it was a classic PTSD scenario, although when it happened to you there was nothing classic about it. James had met Eric at a bar one night, taken him home, sobered him up, and gotten him to join a group of veterans who shared similar stories. It had helped, but Eric mourned the loss of his dog.

  He would love to bring the dog home, but it was prohibitively expensive for a man with a wife and four kids surviving on a sergeant’s wages. That’s where I came in. I was in charge of arranging a fund-raiser on Ellington’s town common this Saturday to bring the dog here. I’d been in a bit of a downward spiral myself; second-guessing had become a terrible middle-of-the-night sleep spoiler. Doing something for someone else had helped lift part of my spirits as well.

  “I’m fine. I’ve got a few more things on my to-do list for the sale, but that’s not why I called.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I asked Eric to join us too. He should be here any minute.”