For Whom the Book Tolls

by Laura Gail Black

  “I’m kidding.” Keith helped me sit on a box. “I swear. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”

  Rita punched him on the arm. “Well, think next time.”

  I stopped her before she could chastise him further. “I’m okay. It brought back a few memories I’d rather not have.” I pushed away thoughts of handcuffs and jail cell bars, breathing slowly and thinking instead about what plants I’d put in the bright windows in the apartment.

  Keith knelt in front of me, taking one of my hands into his own. “I really am sorry. I promise.”

  “I’m fine.” I squeezed his hand softly. “Why are you really here?”

  Keith grinned boyishly. “I wanted to take you up on your offer of helping me find a good book to read.”

  Uh-huh. Sure. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that maybe he wasn’t there undercover to help Sutter prove his case against me. “I have several thousand you can choose from.” I rolled my shoulders and forced myself to relax. “Care to join us?”

  “I’d like nothing better.” Keith helped me to my feet.

  “Boy, it’s as big a mess down here as it was at the store.” Mason had stepped to the second unit, and he whistled low and shook his head.

  Rita spoke up in Paul’s defense. “It wasn’t always this bad. Not until Jenna got ahold of it.”

  Way to throw me under the bus! I shoulder-bumped her. “Hey, remember you helped with a great deal of this mess. I’m trying to make sure we go through each book to see if the diary’s hidden in another book jacket.”

  “Oh.” Mason surveyed the mess. “I guess it’s like the ‘You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet’ thing.”

  Rita threw a wadded paper towel at Mason, making him duck. “You behave, or you’ll be kicked out of the fun of going through all these boxes of books.”

  “Okay, okay.” He grinned and grabbed a box. “No need to be pushy.”

  I pointed out what I’d already gone through and showed them how I wanted things restacked, and we got to work. After five hours, we’d gone through the rest of the first unit and much of the second.

  “I give up.” Rita placed her current box with the others we’d completed.

  “Me too.” Mason sank to the floor and leaned against the wall. “I’m worn out.”

  “We’ve been at this a long time.” I dusted off my hands, feeling as frustrated and clueless as I had that morning. “I guess we should call it a day.”

  “Let’s regroup here tomorrow morning and go at it again,” Mason suggested, a hopeful look on his face.

  I hated to pop his bubble, but it couldn’t be helped. “You’ve got to run the store tomorrow and go through the books in the back room.”

  “And I have a date to help a group of rich women learn how to primp, early-1900s style.” Rita looked about as excited as someone announcing an appointment to have a root canal.

  When I looked over at him, Keith raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I have to work a double shift starting at six in the morning.”

  “I guess it’ll be little ol’ me here tomorrow,” I said more cheerfully than I felt. “But I swear I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  “Jenna, one more thing.” Keith caught my arm before we got into our cars, a look of worry etched on his face.

  My heart fluttered at his warm touch. “What’s that?” Good God, I sounded like a breathless teenager. Maybe I needed to stop hanging around Rita. She was putting goofy ideas in my head.

  “Promise me you’ll keep an eye out while you’re here alone.”

  There was no way he was interested. I was a suspect in a crime. He was only being nice. “I promise. I don’t want to get this close only to be caught unaware by the police.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of the police.” Keith squeezed my arm gently then let go. “I’m worried about whoever wants the diary badly enough to kill for it. They’ve already threatened you and seem prepared to kill someone else to get what they want. I don’t want that someone to be you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tuesday morning brought much-needed showers to Hokes Folly, leaving puddles everywhere and giving the air a clean, fresh smell. I didn’t let the dreary skies spoil my good mood or dampen my determination to find the diary. I bounded down the stairs and headed to the back room to grab a couple of empty boxes from Uncle Paul’s stash so I could bring back the growing stacks I had set aside for Phillie and Livie.

  As I came back into the front room, I ducked behind a shelf. Stan Jergins stood outside, an umbrella in one hand while his other hand cupped his eyes, peering intently into the closed store. I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me, and I flinched when I heard him rattle the front door as if trying to pull it open in spite of the Closed sign and the posted hours. I refused to get up and let him in while I was there by myself, especially since Mason wouldn’t arrive for another hour and a half.

  I stayed hidden for ten minutes or more before daring to peek out around the shelves, relieved to see only rain sliding across the windows. Boxes under my arm and a roll of packing tape on my wrist, I scurried across the room and up the stairs to grab my purse.

  Outside again, I splashed through the puddles to my car, waving to Rita, who was leaving for work.

  Rita rolled down her window. “Please be careful.”

  “I promise.” I waved again, sliding into my car quickly to keep from getting too wet. In spite of the rain, I enjoyed the drive over to the warehouse. As I passed through a historic neighborhood, I mentally took a step back in time to a day when neighbors knew one another and hours in the evenings were spent sitting on the front porch waving to passersby. A hushed sense of time slowing down settled over me as I drove along the street in front of the older manor houses. Moving past the Hokeses’ home, I marveled at the differences between their house and the ones on either side. Each home, like all the others on the street, had its own unique personality, unlike the cookie-cutter housing developments cropping up these days.

  Still wondering what it would be like to live in one of those grand old homes, I pulled into the warehouse lot and pulled around to the building that housed my units. I rushed inside, holding my raincoat up to shield myself from the rain, which had begun to blow at an angle in the increasing wind.

  I set the hallway lights and stepped to my units, opening both. I mentally mapped out what was left to go through and got to work. Slowly I filled the two boxes for the Hokes sisters, gardening books to ask Phillie about and Hokes Folly books for Livie, a testament to how many more boxes I’d scoured looking for the elusive diary.

  As I moved down the final row of books, I hit pay dirt: a small safe tucked in among the boxes. A safe with a combination. I groaned. I couldn’t get this close only to be stopped by three little numbers. I racked my brain, trying to figure out what Uncle Paul might have used. A number popped into my head, and I grinned. It couldn’t be that easy. I quickly turned the dial to the day, month, and year of my aunt and uncle’s wedding and felt the door give as the last tumbler fell. Giddy with excitement, I pulled it open and pulled out a book-shaped item wrapped in a cloth.

  After brushing dust from my T-shirt and jeans, I slid back against the wall and gently slid the cloth away. Oh my God oh my God oh my God. My hands trembled as I opened the aged leather cover. There, on the first page, were the words “John Jacob Hokes, Diary, Volume 47, 1934.” The handwriting was elegant but a bit spidery.

  Filled with a sense of awe mixed with urgency, I sank down onto the cold floor, turned the page, and began to read about the last year of John Jacob Hokes’s life.

  January 1, 1934

  The new year has begun. With each year that rolls around, I fall further into despair, knowing my time grows shorter and shorter in which to find a way to regain my wealth. I will be seventy years of age next month, and death creeps up on me with each passing moment.

  Daily I search for ways to build a fortune. Nightly I pray to God for guidance. Nothing I have don
e has yet worked out, but I must continue to hope. It is all I have left.

  His despair leapt off the page at me, but I also sensed he had been truly hopeful. I remembered Livie’s statements about how John Hokes could have had more in life and wondered if there were times he regretted his obsessions. I skimmed through quite a few entries and stopped when another caught my eye.

  February 23, 1934

  Today is my seventieth birthday. Although I do not like to face it, my age shows itself in many ways. I can no longer move as easily as I once could, nor can I hear the birds outside my window as loudly as before. My eyes grow dim, and at times I have trouble reading in the evening in front of the fire, even with my spectacles. I find I even have to climb the ladder in my study to get to the books on the top shelves before I can make out their titles.

  Age. It is a blessing and a curse. A blessing to those who can see their lives come full circle, reaping what they have sown in their younger years. A curse to those who have lived in seclusion with no one to keep them company in their dying years.

  I saw her today. She is a grandmother again. Her oldest daughter had another child yesterday evening. A boy this time. I envy her the laughter and, yes, even the tears of family life. I sometimes wonder if I should have gone with her, marrying her and working in the mill she inherited from her first husband upon his death. We would have been married for twenty-five years now. I might have children and possibly grandchildren of my own. But those decisions were made a lifetime ago. I chose this solitary life, and I cannot second guess myself now.

  I become more determined each time I see her to show her I was not wrong to continue my search. None of the others matter. Only she and her opinion of me matter. I cannot fail.

  I dabbed at the tears that stung my eyes, unable to imagine going through life alone and unhappy when obviously there had been another choice. Then it hit me. That’s exactly what would happen if I chased after my old life, only so I could prove everyone wrong, especially now when I had another opportunity. Especially now when there might be Keith. Pushing those thoughts aside for the time being and promising myself I’d examine them later, I continued through the lengthy, morose diary entries. Several months of entries went by before I ran across one that made me sit up and take notice.

  July 12, 1934

  I am redeemed! I talked with a man today who told me where to find my fortune. He gave exact directions for a pittance of a price, considering what he sold me. It is there. I know it is. Now all I have to do is find the proper spot. He had no maps and claimed not to remember the exact location, but he did show me a sample. It took my breath away. Tomorrow I begin down the road back to riches.

  My first real clue to what someone had resorted to murder to obtain. I skimmed through entries about purchasing tools and working out a search pattern for the new piece of land he’d bought from a stranger. Other entries detailed his search, acre by acre, and his overwhelming disappointment at his failure to find his life-redeeming treasure. I struggled to keep my mind from wandering.

  I sat up straighter, and my eyes became riveted to the page as I read the first sentence of the next entry.

  November 30, 1934

  I found it! It is truly there! I cannot quite believe my good fortune. I had almost given up hope. The search seemed almost endless. I have brought a piece of my future back with me to take to the bank. This should get their attention. I do not, however, feel safe having it lying around waiting for some ruffian to come along and take it from me. With the economy in its present shape, you cannot trust people to be honest. As a precautionary measure, I have hidden my treasure, along with a detailed map. It can be found twisted up under Bartholomew’s watchful eye.

  I am sending a detailed letter to my solicitor of old. He will be an elderly man now, as I am. But he will remember his first client. He will help a friend find his way. I know he is still respected by the banking and legal community. With his assistance, I will regain a bit of respect for myself as I go through the process of rebuilding. It is only a matter of time. And time, for once, seems to be on my side.

  This was the last entry in the diary. I flipped through several more pages to make sure, but it seemed there was nothing else. I reread the last entry twice, picking it apart each time, trying to absorb its meaning. It was obvious John Hokes had found something of great value. But he’d hidden it. He also referred to the letter sent to his solicitor, which verified the information on the papers found in Norman Childers’s safe after his death. Norman had been onto something, as had Uncle Paul. That left three big questions. What had John Hokes found? Where had he hidden it? And who had killed twice to get it?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  My legs were stiff from sitting on the concrete floor for what must have been hours. I hadn’t even considered moving to the comfort of my car. I’d been too engrossed in reliving John Hokes’s life to care about the cold seeping in or the hardness of the floor. I stood and took a few minutes to stretch before grabbing my phone to call everyone, as I’d promised to do if I found anything.

  Damn. Dead battery. Had I forgotten to charge it again? Maybe I should start carrying an extra charger, just in case. For now, my phone was about as useful as an attempt at smoke signals in the rain that continued to pour.

  I made sure all the boxes were inside, except the two I’d take to the Hokes sisters, and rolled down the doors, locking them and dropping the keys into my pocket. I rewrapped the diary and stuck it inside my raincoat, which I’d retrieved from the corner where I’d laid it while I worked, and loaded the two boxes into the car.

  As I approached the Hokes sisters’ house on my way back through town, I decided to stop. Livie would love the books, and she might be able to shed some light on the weird clue. It was already midafternoon, and I crossed my fingers that Livie would still be home. I didn’t want to walk from the historic district’s car park all the way to her store in this pouring rain with fragile books to catch her there if she’d already left the house. The diary was too important to risk.

  Once on her porch, I stood, Livie’s box in my arms and the diary still tucked into the inside pocket of my coat, crammed up against the door to keep the rain from hitting me under the tiny overhang. I jumped as the door swung open before I’d even had the chance to ring the doorbell.

  Livie stood there with her coat on and her purse over one arm. Her eyes widened, and she jumped back, opening the door wider and gesturing for me to come inside. “Good Lord, child. What on earth are you doing here?”

  Inwardly, I thanked my fairy godmother or whoever it was who looked out for me, since Livie seemed to be in the best of the several moods she regularly displayed.

  I held out the box. “I found some books in Uncle Paul’s warehouse I thought you might want to look at. I haven’t set a price yet, but if you want any of them, I’ll make pricing them my top priority.” I smiled and held out the books. All except the diary, which stayed inside my coat.

  Livie’s voice raised a few notches and took on a breathy quality. “How absolutely wonderful.” She moved down the hallway to her library, cradling the antique books as tenderly and gently as if they were newborn babies.

  I followed her into the room and watched as Livie removed her raincoat and tossed it aside to land in a messy heap on the floor by the doorway. My eyebrows shot up. I hadn’t seen Livie as the clutter-bug type. Guess I knew who did the housekeeping as well as the gardening.

  “Am I keeping you?” I didn’t want to delay the other woman from relieving her sister.

  “No, not at all.” Livie waved a dismissive hand in my general direction without looking up. “Phillie can wait a bit. She’ll understand.”

  I took off my wet coat and draped it across the other chair, watching as Livie laid out the books on a table near the tall windows. Putting on reading glasses, Livie first put the books in order by author. Then she referred to her shelves, also in alphabetical order, I assumed to ensure she didn’t already own these volumes. Fin
ally, she opened each book, running her fingers across the date and author’s credentials if there, then reading a passage or two within the text.

  Through all of this process, I waited patiently. Okay, maybe not so patiently, but I needed the sales if Livie decided to buy, and I also needed the Hokes sisters’ goodwill, as they were important members of the community. While I waited, I walked to the windows and looked out across the backyard. Flowers in every hue held faces toward the slowing rain. Enjoying the riot of color, I let my mind drift, wondering if I should show Livie the diary before the police had had a chance to look at it. When Livie spoke, bringing my thoughts back to the present, my heart jumped, as I hadn’t heard her move up behind me.

  “I’ll take all of them,” Olivia said firmly. “There’s not a bad one in the lot.”

  Yay for me! “That’s great.” I slid into my bookseller persona. “I’ll get them priced as soon as possible. Please bear with me, though. I’m not likely to be as fast at that as Uncle Paul was. But I’ll do my best for you.”

  “See that you do,” came the crisp reply. “I hope I can assume you won’t try to gouge me for a higher price.” Livie raised her eyebrows and leveled a piercing stare at me.

  I stood my ground and matched her stare, although I was oddly intimidated by this tiny woman. “I can assure you I would never price a book higher than its value, regardless of the identity of the buyer.”

  Livie maintained her intense gaze for a moment longer before finally relaxing. “Good, then. If there’s nothing else, I need to get to the store. Phillie will expect me to come and relieve her.”

  It was now or never. I took a deep breath. “Actually, there is one more thing.”

  Livie turned expectantly, her gaze following my movements as I walked to the chair and brought the small diary out of my coat. “It’s John Hokes’s diary.” I extended the book toward the other woman. “I found it among Uncle Paul’s books today.”

  Livie’s eyes widened as she reached for the diary. “Have you read it?” she asked in a breathy voice, not taking her eyes from the book.