by Ellery Adams
“As a gentleman, I wouldn’t dream of rushing you ladies—especially my beautiful bride—but Sterling has a full schedule this morning and he’s anxious to get underway. I told him that he needn’t wait, but he insists on seeing us off.” Uncle Aloysius walked around to the front of the sofa and offered Aunt Octavia his elbow. “My love? Shall we?”
“Madam. Sir.” Mr. Rolf leapt to his feet. “I’ll have many more wonders on display during the conference. Most of which are for sale.”
At this news, Aunt Octavia clapped her hands. “Splendid! We’ll look for you.”
The Stewards piled into the Rolls Royce, and as Jane sped up the long driveway toward the massive iron gates that separated Storyton Hall’s grounds from the public easement, Aunt Octavia gushed about the current guests.
“Jane, my girl! We’ve had some quality people stay at Storyton Hall, but this group will be my favorite. I just know it.”
“Because they like old books?” Hem asked.
Aunt Octavia laughed. “That’s part of it. You can’t understand because you’re too young, but when you’re as old as I am, you appreciate people who preserve the precious things from your childhood. How can I explain this?” She snapped her fingers. “What’s your favorite possession right now? The thing you’d most hate to lose.”
Jane glanced in the rearview mirror and saw both boys concentrating hard.
“The puzzle box Mr. Alcott brought back from his last trip,” Hem said after a moment.
Fitz took longer to answer. “The paperweight Mom gave me,” he finally said. “The one with the glow-in-the-dark jellyfish inside.”
“All right. Now imagine you’re both grown men with grandchildren.” Aunt Octavia’s voice took on a nostalgic quality. “You’ve worked, traveled, and had many experiences. It’s been over fifty years since you even thought about your childhood toys. Then, one day, you go to a museum. In a display case, you see your puzzle box, Hem.”
Jane stole a quick peek in the mirror and grinned at the quizzical expression on Hem’s face. “Why’s my box in a museum?”
“Because there aren’t many of them left in the world. Your puzzle box is that old. And that rare. The same thing goes for your paperweight, Fitz. Wouldn’t you be happy to see your box or your paperweight again?”
Hem was the first to reply. “I guess. But it would make me feel sad too. I’d be sorry I didn’t keep it.” He glared at Jane. “Mom. Why do you make us give stuff to the church thrift shop if we’re just going to miss it when we get old?”
“Yeah!” Fitz cried in righteous indignation, while Uncle Aloysius began to chuckle.
“Very funny,” Jane muttered to her great-uncle as she pulled into a parking space.
Fitz opened the back door and was about to dash off, with his brother a heartbeat behind him. Jane shouted their full names in a don’t-mess-with-me-tone that brought both boys to an abrupt halt. “The question you just asked me, Hem?” Jane said calmly, once she had her sons’ attention. “I want you to ask that same question to your Sunday School teacher, and I expect you to share her answer with us on the ride home.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the twins said, and slunk into the church.
Uncle Aloysius, on the other hard, wasn’t able to enter the sanctuary because he was laughing too hard.
“Stop it, Aloysius,” Aunt Octavia chided. “Imagine you just caught the biggest fish of your entire life. You’re about to pull it into the boat when snap, your line breaks. There goes your fish.”
Uncle Aloysius, who loved fishing more than anything other than his family and Storyton Hall, instantly sobered.
Aunt Octavia marched up the short flight of stairs leading into the church and grabbed the door handle. Turning to Jane, she said, “I’m going to pray that those people from the rare book society find the title of your mystery book. Won’t it be wonderful to learn which piece of history we’ve been walking over for years?”
Despite the fact that the members of the Robert Harley Society believed the dead man had been buried with a cookbook, Jane found the thought of both man and book slowly rotting away so close by more than a little disturbing.
Entering the church, Jane and her family were met by the sound of the opening hymn. And though Jane sat at the end of the pew where she was bathed in a rainbow of light streaming in through the stained-glass window, she was unable to dispel a deep sense of disquiet.
* * *
That afternoon, the conference-goers could attend one of three lectures: The History of Paper, Attracting the Collector-Donor, and A Study of Bindings. Following the lectures and tea service, the guests would have a few hours to rest and relax before gathering on the great lawn for a buffet supper and party game involving costumes and word puns.
Bart had told Jane about the Word Search game in one of his e-mails. He’d explained that the game was a tradition at their annual conference. During this event, attendees wore cocktail attire with costume-type embellishments that transformed their regular clothes into literary puns. Participants then competed to see who could correctly identify every pun.
Jane now had the answer sheet in hand and she couldn’t wait to watch the Word Search take place. The game was restricted to conference attendees, but the public had been invited to purchase buffet tickets. Proceeds from the meal would be donated to the World Literacy Foundation and dozens of locals were already lining up to fill their plates. It was clear that the costumed conference-goers would be mingling with all the book lovers of Storyton Village.
Mrs. Hubbard had enlisted the most artistic staff members to help her create a beautifully bookish buffet. Dozens of blocks of wood had been painted to resemble antique books. These were stacked at intervals along the length of the table. In between the food platters, Mrs. Hubbard had scattered quill pens, tea lights, and what appeared to be rolled pieces of parchment sealed with wax. The centerpiece was a potted tree covered with fairy lights. The leaves, made from book pages taken from a pile of damaged library books that a Storyton staff member had found in a recycling bin, had been dipped in tea to lend an aged appearance. Each one featured a different typeface.
“Look there, Monica,” Jane heard a woman say to another. “It’s my favorite. Old Style.”
“Modern is superior, and you know it,” her friend said. “You just don’t like it because it was invented by a Frenchman, and you’re British.”
“That is simply not true.”
A man put his arm around both the women. “There’s nothing to fight about, ladies. The Germans reign supreme with Futura.”
A good-natured debate broke out in front of the centerpiece. The delay gave Jane and the Cover Girls, who were seated at a table on the terrace above, an excellent opportunity to study some of the word play costumes.
“No spoilers, okay? The rest of us don’t want to see the answer sheet,” Eloise told Jane.
Jane held up a folded piece of paper. “I haven’t looked at it. Cross my heart. Sue printed it at the registration desk and handed it to me just like this.”
“I wouldn’t be able to resist.” Mrs. Pratt surveyed the guests, her eyes shining. “I like knowing what’s going on far too much.”
“Oh, we know!” Anna said with feeling.
She and Violet giggled into their hands.
Up to this point, Mabel had been too interested in her scallop kebabs to decipher any of the word play costumes, but when she put down her empty bamboo skewer and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, Jane knew her friend was ready to start guessing.
“I’m stuffed,” Betty said, miming Mabel’s movements. “I know we can’t compete for the prize, but can we play this game for the fun of it?”
The other Cover Girls were quick to echo Betty’s request.
“Of course,” Jane said to her friends. “Eloise? Would you distribute the answer sheets? We’ll have to drum up some clipboards and pencils, but I think Butterworth left a basket of extra supplies on the back terrace. Here’s how to play: There are forty-eight
blank spaces on your sheet. That’s how many rare book conference-goers are participating in the Word Search game. Each guest is wearing a name tag with his or her number. If you guess their pun, write it next to their corresponding number. Got it?”
Phoebe raised her hand. “Are we allowed to ask the guests questions?”
Jane shook her head. “Hints are not permitted. And the rules for the costumes are quite strict too. Each person is allowed to add five items to their cocktail attire. Any more than five and the participant will be disqualified. Also, if their costume requires another person, they cannot separate from that person until the game is over. Not even to use the restroom.”
“Whoa,” Violet murmured. “This is serious.”
“Seriously serious,” Anna agreed. “Why? Is there a big cash prize or something?”
Jane gave Anna a long look. “If you had to guess what it is . . .”
“A rare book!” Eloise shouted. “Jane? Do you have it?”
“Thankfully, no,” Jane said. “Storyton Hall isn’t responsible for any of the valuables belonging to the conference attendees. Our room safes are too small to accommodate most of their needs—especially those of the book dealers— so their items were delivered by special freight services. Along with safes.”
Mabel whistled. “Sounds expensive.”
“As is the value of the prize,” Jane said. “I can’t wait to see it, either.”
Betty threw out her hands in exasperation. “You’re pulling a Mrs. Eugenia Pratt right now. Stop holding us in suspense.”
Jane and Mrs. Pratt exchanged a conspiratorial grin. “I need to give you a little background first,” Jane said. “In this case, the prize reflects the theme of the dinner dance—the conference’s final event. And you all know that the theme for this event is the Pre-Raphaelites.”
“I can’t wait to see everyone in their dresses!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Mabel, you worked wonders with mine. I actually look slim! Must be the empire waist.”
Eloise waved at Jane to continue.
“The prize is a first edition of Poems by the Way, by William Morris. The William Morris. Founder of Kelmscott Press, writer of poetry and novels, and designer of beautiful textiles.” She turned to Betty. “Your dining room curtains are his Strawberry Thief pattern, right?”
Betty nodded. “I’ve always been a fan of his designs. But back to the book. How much is it worth?”
“Being one of only three hundred copies, the book is valued at six thousand dollars,” Jane said.
“That’s more than I make in . . .” Violet began, but didn’t finish her sentence.
The other Cover Girls expressed their astonishment over the cost.
Eloise was especially peeved. “Imagine what a difference that kind of money would make if it was donated to a literacy fund.”
“I agree. It seems over the top to spend six grand on a prize for a party game,” Jane said in an effort to placate her friends. “However, the prize was donated by Aaron and Austin Sullivan, and I’ve read up on the Sullivan brothers since their arrival. They’re the Sullivans of Only Natural Foods. They’re worth millions. Despite their financial status, they both work regular jobs. And when they’re not working, they’re busy raising money for various humanities organizations. They’ve saved libraries, museums, and independent bookstores from extinction and have helped fund after-school art, music, and reading programs.”
“Millionaire book nerds with big hearts?” Anna nudged Violet. “If they’re single, there’s one for each of us.”
Betty picked up her answer sheet. “What happens in the event of a tie?”
“I was told to anticipate that scenario,” Jane said. “I’m going to put all the correct sheets in the box the twins used for their school Valentines last year. One of you will draw the winning name.”
Phoebe reared back. “Count me out. I can’t handle the pressure.”
“Who’s up for it?” Jane arched her brows in question. “I can introduce a local merchant and brag about her business.”
“I’ll volunteer,” Mabel said. “One of your guests might need a last-minute accessory for the Pre-Raphaelite dinner dance. I have some lovely shawls and a few extra hairpieces. I put the best aside for my friends, of course.”
With this important matter settled and their meals finished, the Cover Girls left the table, collected clipboards and pencils, and headed off to participate in their own form of the Word Search game.
Naturally, Jane and Eloise paired off. The first participant they came across was a man with a fake beard carrying a clay pot and a garden trowel. The best friends exchanged a quick smile before filling in the name on their answer sheets.
“Harry Potter” Jane wrote next to number 37.
Next, they encountered a couple. Like the Harry Potter entry, this man also wore a false beard, but his was very long and white. His other accessories included a white wig, Coke-bottle glasses, and a cane. Finally, he’d drawn wrinkles all over his face using black eyeliner. He leaned heavily on his cane, while the woman holding his free arm paused to smell the flowers. One by one, she took in the fragrance of the Russian sage, monkshood, asters, anemone, hyssop, witch hazel, and goldenrod plants blooming along the garden path.
She bent over so frequently that Jane had a difficult time figuring out her costume. The woman wore a lovely cocktail dress in an ocean-blue hue, but no obvious accessories. She didn’t even carry a purse. Jane glanced at Eloise to find her friend looking equally baffled. Suddenly, Eloise’s face brightened and she wrote something on her answer sheet.
Jane turned back to the woman. She saw a sparkly letter C attached to the sash of her dress.
“Old man and the sea” was the answer Jane filled in for numbers 14 and 15.
“I love this game,” Eloise said after they encountered a man wearing a cape trimmed in faux fur, a feathered cap, and tights. He also had the Olympic rings stitched on his medieval-style tunic, indicating that he was “Lord of the Rings.”
Not all the costumes were based on book characters. Near the Anne of Green Gables Gazebo, Jane and Eloise ran into a woman wearing a black dress and a man’s suit coat. The duster end of several feather dusters had been attached to the coat, which looked like it had spent a decade hanging in someone’s attic.
Jane wrote “dust jacket” next to number 9.
She and Eloise continued to meander through Milton’s Gardens. The best friends were having a ball.
Jane’s answer sheet was nearly complete when she paused to say hello to Tobias Hogg of the Pickled Pig Market. Tobias was dating popular romance novelist Barbara Jewel, and when he wasn’t lavishing affection on her, he was busy spoiling his pet, a miniature potbellied pig named Pig Newton.
“Another marvelous evening, Miss Jane,” Tobias said. “Barbara’s off talking to a book dealer. She’s had a ball checking out the costumes. As for me? I focus on the food. My compliments to Mrs. Hubbard.”
Suddenly, Eloise cleared her throat and jerked her head to the left, so Jane thanked Tobias, told him to say hello to Barbara, and fell into step with her friend.
“Sorry,” Eloise said. “But someone wearing a costume we haven’t seen yet is headed toward the koi pond.”
They rounded a bend in the garden path and came upon a group of guests milling around the pond. Randall, from Storyton Pharmacy, and Phil and Sandi Hughes, from Storyton Outfitters, were also among the assemblage.
“In my professional opinion, ragweed is the likely culprit, though goldenrod is mistakenly blamed for causing hay fever symptoms on a regular basis,” Randall was saying to Bart Baylor in the dull monotone that drove Anna crazy. “Seventy-five percent of people who are allergic to pollen-producing plants are also allergic to ragweed. Therefore, it’s logical to conclude that you are allergic to ragweed.”
Randall droned on, but Jane was distracted by the sight of a woman in a bronze-colored dress wearing some kind of animal tail. She was speaking with the Sullivan brothers, neither of whom was
in costume. Jane also noticed the peace symbol attached to the end of the woman’s tail, but she decided that it was more important to rescue Bart from Randall than figuring out the woman’s word pun.
“I don’t get it,” Eloise said, staring at the woman in bronze.
“I can’t worry about puns right now,” Jane whispered. “If Bart drowns himself in the koi pond in an attempt to escape Randall’s lecture, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Jane called Bart’s name. He turned his head to locate her and, without saying a word of farewell to Randall, jogged over to where Jane and Eloise stood. When he reached them, he didn’t relax, but shifted restlessly on his feet.
“Ms. Steward, I’ve been searching for you for over an hour! Could we return to the Henry James Library for a few minutes? There’s something I want to show you. In private.”
Eloise murmured a low “oh my.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Baylor, but my book club is trying to solve the Word Search game,” Jane said. “Just for fun. Eloise and I are currently stuck on this lovely lady in bronze and—”
Bart darted a glance at the woman. “She’s a tailpiece. Piece with an IE not an EA. A tailpiece is the decorative typography or ornament found in the blank space toward the bottom of the page at the end of a chapter or poem. All right?” He raised his brows in question. “Can we go to the library now? What I have to show you concerns your, er, special book.”
Jane realized that Bart didn’t want to reveal any information about the mysterious cookbook in front of Eloise. After all, he didn’t know that Eloise was Jane’s best friend.
“Of course.” She smiled at him. To Eloise, she said, “I won’t be long. After all, that incredible prize still has to be awarded.”
“Thanks for the clue on tailpiece,” Eloise told Bart. “I never heard that term before. It’s nice to learn new things about books. Especially since they’re my life.”
“Ray Bradbury once declared that the women in his life were all librarians, English teachers, or booksellers. The man had excellent taste,” Bart said before turning away with Jane.
As they walked, Jane sent a text to Sinclair. She had no intention of meeting with Bart alone, and when she noticed that Bart was pulling something out of the inside breast pocket of his suit coat, she abruptly stopped. “What do you have there?”