For Whom the Book Tolls

by Laura Gail Black

  Mr. Grimes interrupted before I could speak. “My client has already stated she had no knowledge of whether or not her uncle even kept a diary. She would therefore have no knowledge of why Mr. Childers might have a diary possibly belonging to her uncle. Next question.”

  I flashed the attorney a questioning glance, receiving a tiny smile and nod in response. Go, Horace Grimes!

  Frank Sutter’s jaw clenched and relaxed. “Do you know any reason why someone might want to steal your uncle’s diary?”

  Mr. Grimes answered for me again. “My client has already stated she had no knowledge—”

  “I got it,” Sutter interrupted, glaring at the attorney.

  “Detective, why do you think someone stole a diary that supposedly belonged to Uncle Paul?” I was proud I managed to keep my voice even.

  “When we autopsied the body, we discovered leather particles under your uncle’s fingernails.”

  “And?” I prompted when he didn’t continue.

  “There are claw marks in the leather cover of your uncle’s diary found in Childers’s safe, and the lab has confirmed the leather scrapings under Baxter’s nails exactly match the leather on the diary. We think it was stolen the night of Baxter’s murder.”

  I caught myself before I blurted out that it hadn’t been Norman’s fingerprints on Uncle Paul’s brownie plate. Innocently I asked, “Do you think Norman killed my uncle to steal it?”

  “No, we don’t. Gladys Washburn has identified Childers as the man who argued with your uncle on the day of his murder, although she says his hair was a different color that day, but his fingerprints didn’t match those on a plate we discovered which contained crumbs from poisoned brownies. We feel your uncle was drugged with these brownies. However, it’s possible Childers was partnered with whoever did kill Baxter. Maybe that partner killed Childers but didn’t get a chance to grab the diary from his safe before she had to leave. Maybe she returned a little while later, hoping to recover it.” Sutter narrowed his eyes, and a small, predatory smile tugged at his mouth.

  “My client has already stated she had no knowledge of the diary, nor do you have any proof of her involvement in any crime, nor involvement with Norman Childers in any way,” Mr. Grimes cut in before I could give a scathing retort. “Was there anything else you needed of Miss Quinn?”

  Sutter opened the folder on the desk. “We have found evidence that implicates Norman Childers in the break-in at your uncle’s store. We think we have discovered what he may have been looking for. It could be a motive for his murder as well.” He handed the attorney a sheet of paper.

  Mr. Grimes scanned the page and passed it to me. I scanned it while Sutter continued.

  “From other papers, we know this letter is from John Hokes, the town’s founder, written in 1934 to his lawyer, Granford Childers, who was Norman’s great-great-great-grandfather. It mentions some sort of treasure Hokes apparently found and intended to use to finish building his home. He mentioned making a diary entry so he wouldn’t forget where he’d hidden the evidence.”

  “It says the evidence, whatever it was, was hidden somewhere on the estate.” I handed the letter back to the detective.

  Sutter slid the sheet back into his folder. “Nobody’s ever found any kind of treasure, so it’s probably still there somewhere. Do you know anything about that, Miss Quinn?”

  Was he for real? How many times did I have to tell him I didn’t know anything about this stuff? I took the higher road, though, and ignored his question. “You think the killer wasn’t after Uncle Paul’s diary but was trying to grab John Hokes’s diary instead.” I tilted my head at Sutter. “And you still think I had something to do with it.”

  The predatory smile slid fully across his face, his eyes cold. “I think you and Norman Childers wanted that diary, but you had a falling-out among thieves. When Norman couldn’t talk Baxter out of the diary, you killed him to steal it. The argument over your failed attempt, which got you nothing but your uncle’s own diary, led you to kill Norman, so you would have time to search your uncle’s holdings to find where he’d hidden John Hokes’s diary.”

  “My client has already stated—”

  “I know, I know.” Sutter picked up his folder and stood. “I also know you’re not telling me everything.”

  I remained silent. I didn’t really have anything I could add, but I also didn’t want to accidentally say anything that would give Sutter any more fodder for his idiotic idea that I had killed my uncle or Norman Childers.

  He glared at me, his voice sliding out in a slimy rasp. “I’ll be watching you, and when you make a mistake, as all criminals do at some point, I’ll be there to catch you.”

  When Sutter had been ushered from the law offices, Mr. Grimes sat in the seat vacated by the detective. “Jenna, can you think of anywhere your uncle might have hidden something that valuable?”

  “You know, Norman asked the same question as we went through the store. I should have known he was the one who broke in. He was too familiar with everything. He even knew where the light switches were in the back-room bathroom. They’re in a really odd, out-of-the-way place, but he went right to them. I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on that before now.”

  “Don’t feel badly,” replied the attorney. “I missed that too.”

  I racked my brain. I’d been all through the store and the apartment. I’d talked to two of Uncle Paul’s ex-girlfriends, an ex-employee, and an ex-enemy. Blending in all the vast stores of almost-nothing I could remember about him from my childhood, I still came up with nada. “As for where valuables might be hidden, I didn’t know then, and I still have no idea. But I’m sure going to find out.”

  Mr. Grimes laid a hand on my arm. “Jenna, please be careful. Whoever wants that diary wants it badly enough to kill for it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  In an attempt to fill my mind with something other than Detective Sutter and my utter frustration at his bullheaded determination to pin some sort of crime on me, when I returned from my meeting with Horace I approached the bookstore—legally my bookstore again—from across the street. I looked again at the plain sign, brainstorming new names, and I let my mind run with creative ideas for the empty front-window display. I might as well try to beef up business. Even if I didn’t stay, it would help increase the selling price and lure prospective buyers. And who knew? Maybe I’d stay.

  If I was being honest with myself, the longer I remained here, the less appealing it was to return to Charlotte to clear my name. For whom? I had no real life there, no real friends. For ego? I just wasn’t sure ego was a good enough reason to give up what I had gained in Hokes Folly. My chest heaved a deep sigh. I’d have to make some sort of decision eventually.

  I squared my shoulders and focused on the storefront, letting various holiday and seasonal themes run through my head, all lending themselves to book displays. With a few solid ideas for late summer, I stepped toward the curb to cross the street to the bookstore and almost jumped out of my skin when a hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Ms. Quinn, wait.” Stan Jergins pulled his hand back. “Would you mind having a drink with me? I’d really like to talk to you for a moment, if you have time.”

  His open smile won me over, and we walked to the pub where Rita and I had eaten the day Mason was arrested. He shifted the large shopping bag he carried to his other hand so he could hold the door for me. We settled into a booth and ordered drinks: coffee for me and a Scotch for him.

  “May I call you Jenna?” At my nod, he continued. “Jenna, it seems we got off on the wrong foot. I know I was a bit insensitive the day we met to confer on a possible sale of your uncle’s business and apartment, and I wanted to apologize. I do get somewhat passionate when I talk about my mall deal.”

  I was sure he intended for his sympathetic tone to seem apologetic and honest, but it came off as forced as it had the first day we met. Did the man have a sincere bone in his body about anything other than his real estate deals
?

  I aimed for a sweet and understanding smile and hoped it didn’t look as false as his expression. “I understand. It’s okay. Really.”

  Stan flashed a bright grin and leaned back as the server delivered our beverages. “I knew you’d get it.” Once the server left, Stan leaned forward, his forearms braced on the table. “Listen, I also want to apologize for the whole issue with who inherited from your uncle. Now that you’re the only heir again, I still want to help you sell.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t aware Mr. Childers’s death had been made public knowledge.”

  “Oh, it hasn’t. I have a cousin who works as a dispatcher. She hears things.” Another wide grin spread across his face, although this time it seemed more ominous than friendly.

  Or maybe that was my imagination. “I see.”

  “I wanted to make sure I talked to you before you offered the sale to another agent.”

  My shoulders had tensed into knots, and I forced them to relax and drop a bit. I was only being paranoid. I couldn’t see everyone as a possible killer. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  Stan slapped a palm on the table, making me jump a bit. “Fantastic! That store? We could put a little shine and polish on it and sell it to someone wanting to get into this hot market. Hell, maybe I’ll buy it myself and add it to my personal business ventures. I’m sure that old building has a ton of secrets she’ll give up to the right owner. Who knows what treasures are stashed within those walls?”

  The tension yanked my shoulders up again. “Yes, I’m sure she does. I’ll let you know if I choose to sell and move away.” I took a quick sip from my coffee so I wouldn’t appear rude and reached for my purse. “If there’s nothing else, I do need to get back across the street.”

  His expression sobered. “In that case, there is another matter I’d like to discuss if you have a few more minutes.”

  I didn’t loosen my grip on my purse but stayed perched on the edge of the booth bench. “I’m listening.”

  “If you do consider staying on in Hokes Folly to run Paul’s store, a younger store owner in the district might bring fresh insights to the community.”

  “Is this about your mall effort?”

  He chuckled. “Is it that obvious?” At my nod, he reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of papers. “Well, no sense in pussyfooting around it then.”

  A glossy folder slid across the table to me, but Stan kept his palm on top, his gaze boring into mine. “I did respect your uncle. I hope you understand that. But he was a shortsighted man who couldn’t see past how things have always been done to embrace the future. I hope you’re a bit more forward thinking.”

  He released the folder, and I opened it slowly. It contained a prospectus for his new mall, which included mock-up drawings of the front, back, and side elevations; a map of the inside for both floors; a listing of potential stores, some of which had tentatively agreed to move in if the deal went through; a timeline showing when each phase would be completed; and a business plan, laying out investors, market research, competitors, expected revenue, and more.

  After I had flipped through what was there, giving it a cursory perusal, I picked it up and tucked it into my purse. “I promise I’ll read over this and get back to you.” I stood.

  Stan popped up from the booth. “Please look at it with an open mind. I’ll be honest. Your uncle was the deciding vote with the Hokes Folly Merchants Association, and their vote always sways the city council’s approval. Now your vote could make or break this deal. I hope you’ll give it a fair chance and not automatically side with Paul Baxter.”

  I leveled a stare at him. “Mr. Jergins, I can assure you, I will give it my full attention as soon as I have time.”

  His hand grabbed mine and pumped it in a hearty handshake. “I knew I could count on you.” He released my hand. “Oh, before I forget. I brought you a store-warming gift to help seal the deal, so to speak.” He reached into his bag, removed a small, potted hydrangea with one large flower cluster, and thrust the plant toward me. “I grow these in my greenhouse. Most of the time I stick to roses, but recently I’ve been playing with species of hydrangea, and I have a few promising hybrids I’m working on.”

  “Thank you. It’s lovely.” I took it, praying he didn’t notice my shaking hands. “I really do have to get to the store now.”

  Stan nodded. “Remember what we talked about. And enjoy the plant.” He smiled and settled into the booth once more, picking up his drink and taking a sizable swallow.

  I rushed toward the door, my instinct to escape outweighing my good manners. As I stumbled out onto the sidewalk, I turned and looked back over my shoulder at Stan. He watched me with an odd glint in his eyes, and he raised his glass to me before taking another drink. The hair on my neck stood on end, and I turned and hurried across to the bookstore, not stopping until I was in the back room and the sinister plant sat on the back desk. Had a killer just threatened me with a potted plant? Or was I being fanciful and making something menacing out of an innocent albeit coincidental gift? I couldn’t be sure as I stared at the plant, its lavender-blue blooms mocking my confusion.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After taking a few cleansing breaths, I peeked out of the back room. At almost closing time, three customers wandered the aisles and Mason was ringing up a fourth. Pushing my paranoia to the back of my mind, I slid into my brand-new store-owner persona. With Mason’s help, we found books for each customer, rang them up, and ushered them out amid promises they would come back and buy more.

  After I locked the door and flipped the sign to Closed, I announced, “Mason, we’re going on a treasure hunt.” That got his attention. I filled him in on the conversation in the attorney’s office. “It would be nice to have your help, but with or without, I’ve got to find that diary, if it exists. If I don’t, whoever is after it will never stop coming after me.” Until I could process it fully, I chose to keep my conversation with Stan to myself.

  “Of course I’ll help.” Mason jumped up and brandished the duster he’d picked up like a sword. “I’ll be your knight in shining armor and will come and rescue yon fair maiden.”

  “Knight in shining armor?” I chuckled at his attempt at theatrics.

  “Okay.” Mason rolled his eyes. “So the armor is pretty dinged up in places and has a few rust spots. But!” He ran and hopped up on the chair by the counter and waved the duster in the air once more, letting a dust cloud rain down. “Who would cross me with my trusty weapon at my side?”

  I laughed and sneezed at the same time. “Don’t you mean dusty weapon? Put that weapon down, sir knight, before you choke us both to death.”

  Mason obediently dropped it on the counter, letting fly another small puff, and stepped down from the chair. “What’s our first move, boss lady?”

  I surveyed the room, my brain processing any likely hiding spots. “There’s no reason to check the front. Uncle Paul wouldn’t have left it out here and risked anyone trying to buy it or shoplift it out from under his nose. Let’s start with the back room.”

  Determined to succeed, we were even more thorough than Norman had been when he’d demanded to see the store. I went over the back-room shelves, opening every book to double-check, and reached into each desk drawer, while Mason riffled through the file cabinets and the book stacks on the tables. Once the logical places had been eliminated, we got more creative.

  Taking a cue from Norman, I got a chair and, with a flashlight in hand, raised a few of the ceiling tiles, sweeping the light around in the attic space, searching in the dust and dark for the outline of the missing book and praying I didn’t discover a nest of God only knew what. No nest, but no diary either. Next came the refrigerator. Nothing. Mason emptied the bathroom cabinets, and I pawed through the supply cabinets in the kitchen area. Still nothing. Mason even looked under all the tables to see if Uncle Paul had mounted a hidden compartment under one. No luck anywhere.

  After a couple of hours, w
e had nothing to show for our efforts except dust clumps in my hair from when I stuck my head in the ceiling gap and a bump on Mason’s head from when he poked it under the bathroom counter to look for loose flooring in the cabinet space. I finally declared the back room thoroughly searched and the book officially not there.

  “I really didn’t expect it to be here, but we couldn’t take the chance I was wrong.” I sighed heavily as we headed to the front to gather our things to go home.

  “We could always search your apartment next,” suggested the inexhaustible Mason.

  At that moment, I wished I had half Mason’s energy. Instead, my back ached, I’d sprained my ankle getting off the chair after I’d peeked above the ceiling tiles, and I had a massive sinus headache blossoming, thanks to all the dust we’d stirred up. “I don’t think so. I think we’ve done enough for tonight. I’ll search the apartment tomorrow.”

  Mason grinned, and his eyes sparkled. “I’ll meet you there.” He nodded firmly, as if it were a foregone conclusion that he would be included in any further search efforts.

  “No. You won’t. You’ll be here working on the books and running the store.” I handed Mason a store key.

  “You trust me with the key to your store?” he asked solemnly.

  “Of course. And I expect to come in here later and find this place all cleaned up.”

  “Hey,” said Mason, with mutiny in his voice. “No fair.”

  “What?” I gave what I hoped was a boss-type look as I walked with him to the door. “Complaints to the management already?”

  “You’ll have all the fun while I’ll be stuck here slaving away,” Mason grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms.

  “That’s the beauty of being the boss,” I responded in a singsong voice as I ushered him outside before locking up and heading up the spiral stairs, intentionally ignoring the potted plant in the back room of the store.