For Whom the Book Tolls
Page 9
We searched every logical place the book could be. An hour later, I plopped down on the floor in the back room by three stacks of books stuffed under the desk, while Rita perched on the kitchen counter she’d cleared of yet another stack.
“Didn’t Uncle Paul keep records of any kind?” I tugged a bit of hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear.
Rita laughed. “Oh, but that would be too easy. Paul thought modern computers were useless. They might crash, there might be a power outage, or someone might steal them, so he refused to own one. He felt it was all better kept up in his head, so no one could mess with it.”
I shook my head. A new computer went on my list of things to buy for the store. With no place else to look, I finally called the post office and asked how to go about retrieving Uncle Paul’s mail. As his legal heir, I figured I had a right to it. The lady at the post office said there was indeed a stack of mail, including packages, that had been held at the post office, since no one had come to pick them up. There would be forms to fill out, and she told me at which branch the mail would be held.
“Well, I guess I’m off to get the mail. Want to come?” I brushed as much dust off my jeans as I could and pulled my purse from under the counter.
She shook her head. “No sense in both of us going. I’ll stay here and keep at the book piles.”
* * *
Two long hours and many forms later, I lugged several heavy boxes of books and a stack of Uncle Paul’s personal and business mail out to the car. I was itching to dig into the boxes, hoping to at least find Olivia’s book and maybe discover something to answer the questions surrounding his death. However, I knew Rita would insist on helping, and I didn’t want to have to go through it all twice.
“Hey,” she called from the back of the store as I walked in with the first two boxes. “Need a hand?” She didn’t wait for an answer before clapping her hands.
“Very funny.” I heaved a box onto the front counter. “You’d better behave, or I’ll have to look for another assistant to go through the goodies.”
“Ouch.” Rita walked to the front and reached for the other box, helping me lift it onto the counter. “Did you carry these all the way from the parking area?”
“No, I waved my magic wand, and they floated in the air beside me.” I rolled my eyes as I headed toward the door. “Come on, there are more.”
After we’d made three trips and brought in more than a dozen boxes, as well as the stack of mail, I plopped down onto the stool behind the counter. “I’ll probably be sore tomorrow. I think I’ve used muscles today that haven’t been used in way too long.”
“You should exercise more.” Rita pawed through the mail on the counter.
“Gee, thanks for the advice.” I stood and stretched. Maybe I needed to start working out again. I’d stopped when I couldn’t go to the gym without whispers behind hands or a surprise visit from a reporter looking for the latest angle. Gritting my teeth, I forced the memories away and stood.
The phone jangled and interrupted my morbid thoughts.
“Baxter’s Book Emporium,” I answered.
“Jenna, this is Horace Grimes. I wanted to let you know the autopsy has been completed and the body has come back to Hokes Folly and is now at the Haven of Rest Funeral Home. I’ve already spoken with the funeral director, and as Paul’s wishes were on file with him, everything is taken care of. The funeral is set for Sunday at one PM.”
I flopped into the chair I’d vacated. “Thanks for letting me know. Do I need to help notify anyone? Place an ad? Anything?”
“No,” he responded in that calming voice I’d come to appreciate. “I’ll handle everything so you don’t have to. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
The line went dead, and I placed the phone back in its cradle.
“Are you okay?” Rita leaned on the counter in front of me.
“Yeah. It was only Mr. Grimes. Uncle Paul’s funeral will be Sunday at one.”
Rita walked around the counter, knelt beside me, and gave me a full-on hug. I melted into it, reveling in the sisterly warmth I drew from it.
After a moment, I disengaged and stood, determined not to get emotional and weepy there in the store, where a customer might, just might, walk in. I took a fortifying breath, mentally stepping off the emotional roller coaster I’d come to know too well. “We’d better get at it if we hope to make it through the mail and all of these books today.”
She nodded and moved back to the other side of the counter. We quickly sorted the mail into piles of personal mail, bills, packages, and what looked like business correspondence.
I slid the bills to the side to go through and pay later then picked up a handful of the business letters and thumbed through them. “These are all out-of-date sales ads.” I tossed the handful into the trash can.
Box cutter in hand, I opened the first of the packages that weren’t book boxes. It contained new checks, and I stuck these under the counter. Too bad he’d ordered them, since I’d be changing the store’s name and would have to replace them … if I stayed. I grabbed the second box. It and the next one held large reference volumes used to price other books.
“I hope it gets better than this.” Rita sighed and reached for another package. “I’m not sure if I can stand much more excitement.”
I gave her a withering look. “I’m sorry if business items aren’t thrilling enough for you, but they’re a necessary part of running a store.” I waved a hand toward the aisles. “You could always go organize some more books if you’re bored.”
“Nah, we’re finally getting to the good stuff.” Rita grinned and cut open the first book box.
Several packages later, Rita whooped and did a fist pump. “I found it!”
“Thank God.” I heaved a sigh of relief. I hadn’t been looking forward to telling Olivia Hokes we couldn’t find her book. I looked at the time on my phone. “How late is Olivia’s store open?”
“Not sure, but I think they’ve already closed today. I saw Olivia walking toward the parking area a little while ago.” Rita checked the coffeepot. “If we’re going to be here a bit longer, want me to start another pot?”
“Sure.” I reached for another book box. “I’d like to finish sorting through most of this tonight, if you don’t mind.”
After opening the remaining boxes and tossing out as much junk mail as we could find, we started opening the business letters to the store.
“Hey, Jenna, look at this.” Rita flattened a letter on the counter.
“What is it?” I plopped my elbows on the counter and leaned in to see the letter.
Rita read out loud. “‘Dear Mr. Baxter, as you know, I cannot confirm the validity of authorship, but I can confirm, based upon the single page you showed me, the authenticity of the ink and paper. I would have been able to do a more thorough job if you had left the book with me, but I can confirm that both the type and age of the ink and paper place them around the nineteen thirties. I hope this has been a help to you in your search. Sincerely, Linus Talbot, Director of Antique Books, Hokes Folly Community Library.’” She leaned back and slid the letter toward me.
I picked it up and skimmed through it again, trying to read between the lines and glean more information than was printed on the page. No luck. “What do you make of it?”
Rita poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “I would guess Paul was researching some book he’d bought at auction.”
“What do you mean?” I set the letter on the counter and accepted the steaming Styrofoam cup she offered me.
“When Paul went to estate sales, he bought books by the lot. He didn’t get to pick through to look for the good ones. He either had to buy the whole box or set of boxes or leave it. That’s pretty much standard policy at estate auctions. Most of the time he got decent stuff he could easily sell. Sometimes he got absolute junk he had to all but give away to get rid of, but every once in a while he discovered a true gem.”
“And?” I blew gently acro
ss the cup, willing it to cool faster so I wouldn’t scorch my tongue.
“If he found a book he thought might really be worth something, he looked up a friend at the library who had access to dating equipment for books. He wanted to make sure a book was the real deal before putting it up for auction.”
“So this is no big deal then.” Disappointed, I put the letter on the to-be-filed pile and reached for another envelope.
“Well, there is one odd thing,” said Rita thoughtfully. “If he wanted a book authenticated, he would’ve wanted everything about it confirmed, not simply the age of the paper and ink. And he usually left the book at the library until it was fully authenticated.”
“Why wouldn’t he have done that this time?” I picked up the letter again and studied the signature at the bottom. “Do you think this has anything to do with the mystery he mentioned in his email?”
“There’s only one way to know.” Rita flopped down into the chair, stretched her legs out, and crossed her ankles. “Since whatever it is he wanted to authenticate legally belongs to you now, tomorrow we call good old Linus Talbot and ask what Paul showed him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful, but by the time I walked down to the store, dark clouds hung low overhead, and the morning’s gentle breezes had picked up, whipping through the light sweater I’d worn as I swept the front walk. Rita had returned to her job at the inn, so I faced my store alone. My store. That would take some getting used to if I stayed, an idea that wormed its way deeper and deeper into my brain with each passing day.
Seeing Olivia’s book on the counter where we’d left it, I decided to deliver it before the bottom fell out of those clouds. I didn’t want to give the rain a chance to damage the book after all we’d gone through to find it. With the book gripped in my hand against the gusting winds, I walked down the sidewalk and entered the little shop next door to the sound of a soft, electronic ding, which I assumed would be echoed in the back room.
No one came to greet me right away, so I looked around the softly lit room. As with much of the town, it was like a step back in time. Velvet upholstery covered an antique fainting couch and settee; the furniture appeared well cared for and comfortable. Two reprints of Godey’s Lady’s Book lay displayed on a little antique reading table, and a Tiffany lamp gave enough light to see the pictures and read the captions.
Around the small sitting area stood beautifully displayed racks of well-kept clothing from other eras, and I browsed through the store, imagining myself wearing some of it. It seemed the store carried items dating back to at least the 1950s, but some were much older and appeared to be either replicas or possibly originals from as far back as the 1800s.
A soft footstep sounded, and I turned. The approaching woman looked a bit like Olivia, but instead of harsh bitterness, I saw gentleness and peace.
Laugh lines edged the woman’s eyes, and her mouth turned up in a slightly timid smile. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m looking for Olivia Hokes. Is she in today?” I hoped I wasn’t going to karmically pay for the crossed fingers behind my back and the fervent wish that I wouldn’t have to talk to her.
“No, not yet. I’m her sister, Ophelia Hokes. May I help you in some way?”
While I couldn’t be surprised at a familial relationship due to the basic physical resemblance, right down to the short, sideswept, dark-brown-but-graying hair, I still had a hard time swallowing that this mousy, sweet-looking woman was a sister of the volatile Olivia Hokes. “I’m Jenna Quinn from the bookstore.” I gestured with my free hand toward the wall that joined our two stores.
“I’ve been expecting you,” said Ophelia softly. “Livie said you’d be by today with a book for her.”
I gritted my teeth and tamped down my irritation at Olivia’s assumption that Uncle Paul had tried to cheat her. “Please tell your sister Uncle Paul had not yet received the book, but I did find it in a shipment that arrived at the post office after his death.” I extended the book toward the tiny woman. “She can come by and pay for it when she gets in.” Not that I really wanted to see her. I’d almost rather give her the book than have to politely put up with her snotty remarks again. Almost. However, the drive to sell something, anything, to be productive again, was too strong.
Ophelia took the book with trembling fingers, holding it in one palm and gently stroking it with her other hand. “Thank you.” Her voice had dropped to an almost inaudible level, and she bowed her head, blinking rapidly.
I was a sucker for seeing someone else in tears, and her distress pulled at my heart. “Are you all right?” I gently laid my hand on the frail fingers that caressed the book’s cover.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Ophelia turned her hand over and gave mine a brief, tiny squeeze. “I can’t seem to get over Paul’s passing.”
“Did you know Uncle Paul well?”
“Oh yes. He and I were quite close.” The older woman blushed, and her eyes seemed to sparkle at the memory before filling with sadness again.
I barely kept my mouth from popping open into an O. Uncle Paul and Ophelia Hokes? It seemed odd that Uncle Paul would have a close relationship with a woman whose sister so obviously despised him. “Were you and Paul serious?”
“Yes, we were, until my sister got in the way.” Ophelia moved to the sitting area and sank onto the settee, sighing deeply.
“What did Olivia do?” I took a seat on the delicate-looking fainting couch, hoping it was sturdier than it appeared.
“It’s a bit of a story, and I’m sure you have more interesting ways to spend your time than to sit and listen to me ramble on.”
“No. I’d love to hear about you and Uncle Paul. I was a teenager the last time I saw him, so I would really appreciate it if you could share your memories with me.” Aiming at getting the older woman to open up, I was surprised to realize I really meant what I said. I crossed my legs and waited, almost holding my breath, hoping she wouldn’t shut me out.
After a moment, Ophelia nodded her head once. “When Paul and Irene first came to town and Paul opened his store next door, I started having a little crush on him.” She blushed again, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth before she sobered. “Unfortunately, so did Livie.”
“Uh-oh. A love triangle.” I could imagine Olivia steamrolling over her more-timid sister to get what she wanted.
“A quadrangle, actually.” Ophelia held up four fingers. “Don’t forget Irene. Neither my sister nor I gave Paul any idea of our feelings, since he was so very obviously in love with his wife.” Ophelia’s eyes took on a wistful look. “It was beautiful to see. He treated her like a queen, like she was so precious to him. I think that’s what made me like him so much.”
“I remember them always hugging and holding hands. They seemed so happy.” I wondered if my own eyes mirrored her wistful look. There had been a time not too long ago when I’d have given anything to be treated that way.
“Oh, they were. And after Irene died, God rest her soul, Paul mourned her for a long time. When he started dating again, Livie and I realized he was beginning to heal—which took nearly five years. He went out with Rita Wallace, the lady who lives upstairs”—she pointed at the ceiling of her store—“for a time. After they ended things, Livie announced she was going to make him fall in love with her.”
“Make him?” I could hardly believe the woman’s audacity, but it seemed to fit the overall picture I’d already formed of Olivia Hokes.
“Yes, it was presumptuous of her. But that’s Livie’s way. She never just lets anything happen to her. In her opinion, only she can make things happen in her life. It’s a bit hard to live with at times, but you do get used to her after a while.” Ophelia pursed her lips and straightened her spine.
I laughed and patted the woman’s arm. “I understand completely.”
“Oh, do you have an older sister too?”
“No.” I grinned. “But I’ve met yours twice now.”
“What happened when Olivia tried to make Uncle Paul fall for her?” Good Lord, that must have been amusing to watch. After what Rita had said about dating Uncle Paul, I couldn’t see him being attracted to Olivia. Ophelia maybe. But definitely not Olivia.
“Well.” Ophelia leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Paul was having none of it. He definitely didn’t want to date someone as stubborn and demanding as Livie, someone the exact opposite of his late wife.”
Impression confirmed. “He totally brushed her off?”
“Not really. He couldn’t manage to find an excuse every time she gave an invitation to tea or asked him to drive her somewhere. He and I had a bit of time together too, since Livie felt it would be better for her reputation to have a chaperone. Although I still don’t understand what a sixty-two-year-old woman needed with a chaperone, I went along willingly, because it gave me an excuse to be around Paul.” She blushed and ducked her head again.
“You really had a thing for him, didn’t you?”
This sweet, gentle woman brought out in me the instinct to protect her, and I tucked my hands between my knees, suppressing the urge to hug her, since I didn’t want her to think I was one of those crazy people who hugged complete strangers on a whim. Which I was. But she didn’t know that. Yet.
“Yes,” came the whispered reply. “I did then and still do, I guess. But I couldn’t let Paul know, because Livie had already called dibs on him.”
My heart broke for Ophelia. “You could’ve gone against her.”
“Oh no.” She held up her hands as if to block something. “You don’t cross Livie unless you absolutely have to.”
“I can see that.” I shot her a conspiratorial grin, glad to see it mirrored on Ophelia’s face. I could only imagine what Olivia would do when crossed, especially by her usually submissive sister.
Ophelia dropped her hands to her lap and shook her head. “It didn’t matter anyway. Paul asked me out. I was thrilled, but Livie was furious. She decided she couldn’t stand him anymore and did everything she could to make both Paul and me completely miserable.”