So, Sum continued telling Early, she and Jubie arrived at the big downtown library and headed up six floors to History and Social Sciences. The longtime librarian at the front desk, Mrs. Wormser, jumped up to give them both a big hug, but she looked tired. Sum had never seen the woman so nervous and distracted, and she had eyeliner on only one eye. Bad sign.
“Any news?” the librarian asked. “I just can’t believe it. He’s the last, absolute last person in the world who’d get in any kind of trouble. I mean, Dashel Pearl! A man any of us would trust forever.”
“Thank you,” Sum replied. “Tell the police that, will you?”
Mrs. Wormser nodded, then sent them back to see the visiting supervisor, a man who had been brought in to handle budget cuts throughout the library system; he’d apparently already asked to see Summer if she came in. Sum had heard about his arrival at the library, but hadn’t met him.
Mr. Wade Pincer jumped up from his chair, asked how Summer was doing, and welcomed her to his office. He found a cherry lollipop for Jubie, who sat on Sum’s lap.
“Have you heard anything?” Mr. Pincer asked. He straightened his tie, which Sum said was covered with a distracting pattern of lobster claws.
Summer shook her head. “No, and I just can’t understand it. I mean, Dashel! The most dependable man in all of Chicago, you know?”
The supervisor smiled and nodded. “A very intelligent and promising young man, yes. On his way. Devoted to his family, that much was obvious. It’s a tragedy —” The man broke off, seeing Summer’s face. “I mean, ah, it’s a mystery.”
“Tragedy!” Summer repeated. “You talk as if he’s gone! Something has happened, but we don’t know what, that’s all. Speaking of mysteries” — Summer hesitated for a moment, swallowed, then went on in a rush — “did anyone here ever hear him talking about his book business?”
Mr. Pincer’s face went from smooth, sweet-guy chocolate to brown steel. “What’s that?” he asked.
Then he said it again. “What’s that?”
“Oh, nothing, really.” Summer paused again, suddenly hearing the man’s suspicion. She hadn’t planned to share the book business information, but now it seemed like it might be a better idea to be open; it could make things worse to hide what she knew.
Sum went on, her voice calm and steady. “My husband was learning as much as he could about old books and their value, and sometimes he had boxes arrive at our apartment and he’d go through them. Then he’d pack them up again and take them downstairs. Al, who also works at the library here, picked them up. Dash even found a special book for the family, a treasure that was unusual and that he knew we’d all love, too. He only kept it after paying for it, of course.”
Here Mr. Pincer interrupted her. “Like what? What?”
Sum thought Mr. Pincer looked a little too curious at that moment, so she said, “I can’t remember the name. Sorry.”
The supervisor was writing on a pad. “Any library cards inside? Libraries often get rid of older books, but then you’ll still see the branch name somewhere inside. Inside.” Mr. Pincer was beginning to echo himself.
Summer shook her head. “Not that I remember. And by the way, is Dash’s friend Al here today? I’d like to meet him and ask a few questions.”
Mr. Pincer shook his head. “Not here. Not here.”
“Is he sick?” Sum asked.
“Sick.” Mr. Pincer nodded. “Sick. And did you ever look through the boxes with your husband? Did you?”
“Rarely. He usually opened them at a time of day when I was busy with bath time. First he’d do the dishes, then his book boxes, if he had any.”
The supervisor cleared his throat. “Did these books start arriving just after his hours were reduced?”
“What?” Sum asked.
“His hours. They were cut back by twenty percent, oh, a little over a month ago. Because of the new budget restrictions.”
“Oh, yes,” Sum said, realizing she should work hard to hide her confusion as it didn’t look good. Why hadn’t Dash told her? Inside, she was shocked.
“Does that mean yes, they started arriving at that time?” Mr. Pincer was staring at her.
Sum looked at her hands. “About,” she said, and struggled to collect herself. Darn! She would never have mentioned the book business to this creepy supervisor if she’d known the dreadful news. Poor Dash. No wonder their account was so low.
Mr. Pincer’s chair squeaked abruptly, interrupting her thoughts. “Did Dashel tell you who sent him these books? Was there a name or return address on the outside of these boxes?”
“No name, just my husband’s, and just our address in both the to and from parts of the label.”
Mr. Pincer nodded and cleared his throat again, this time louder than before. “Did you see the person who picked up the boxes? The person?”
“No, but as I said, it was this guy Al, who I’ve actually never met. Dashel had a role to play in passing the books along, and was pleased to be doing it. He followed the directions Al gave him, making a list of what was in each box. Al paid him. The extra money went toward our savings for a home. And this was the kind of work my husband loved: rescuing old, unwanted books, giving them new life.”
Summer paused here in the retelling of the story. “You okay, Early?” she asked. Her daughter nodded. “Of course I realized right away that Dash hadn’t told me about his reduced hours because he didn’t want any of us to worry. I’m sure he spent the extra bit of time working on his own research, the book lists and — whatever else! Reading.”
They both looked over at Jubie, who was listening to a story and driving his blue truck busily up and over cushions.
Summer continued, “The supervisor then asked if I didn’t think it was odd that these surplus books brought in money before they were sold. I started to get mad. I said, ‘What are you implying, Mr. Pincer? You must have heard of people selling old family things to antique shops, which then sell them again. Seems to me, this is no different. The original book dealer probably liked Al and Dashel because they were Chicago Public Library employees and happy to do their part in passing along the books, being eager for anything extra. Lord knows we’ve made every penny we have. My husband is trustworthy and smart, learns quickly and knows how to look up things and ask questions. You know he is a man to trust. Plus, the books were being picked up by someone from this library. If anyone should be suspicious here, it should be me. I mean, where in God’s name is my husband?”
Then the man looked right at her, hard, and asked, “Do you know how much money Dashel was getting for these books?”
Sum started to shake her head, and Jubie piped up, “We found MAHHHNEY inside an encyclopedia last night! A fat lump! And Sum took it to the bank but we left before I got my lollipop. And then I got a new blue truck!”
Mr. Pincer said, “Really, aren’t you lucky, son!”
“And I knew we were in trouble,” Sum finished.
Crash
“Don’t leave,” Mr. Pincer had ordered, then left himself. The door banged shut.
Sum sat in stunned silence while Jubie slithered to the floor and drove his blue truck back and forth over crumbs and bits of lettuce; every few seconds he paused to flick something out of the way.
After ten long minutes, the door flew open and Mr. Pincer strode in with a police detective. Sum wondered how he’d grabbed one so quickly.
“Lyman Scrub, did you say?” the officer asked, writing busily. Summer realized then that Mr. Pincer hadn’t asked her for the bookseller’s name.
The detective told Mr. Pincer that they didn’t have a reason to search the Pearl apartment or bother Summer any further, but that they’d try to figure out where these books were coming from and where they were going.
“Please do,” Mr. Pincer said smoothly. “We’re concerned.”
Sum, who was getting good and angry, had asked if businesses that buy and sell used books in this country are considered criminal. Like Amazon, she’d added.
Or Powell’s Books.
“Of course not,” the detective had said. “We just need to investigate, under the circumstances, since the sus — I mean, since the individual involved disappeared recently. After working in a building with a lot of valuable books.”
“I heard that,” snapped Sum. “You were going to say suspect! Well, what’s happened to investigating the disappearance of an innocent, hardworking man? And by the way,” she added to Mr. Pincer, “don’t forget to help the cops figure out who-all of your current employees was coming by to pick up the books Dashel got in the mail. And count all your priceless editions, will you? All the ones Dashel may have touched! By all means!”
Sum’s face was bleak, now that she was finished telling her story. “So that’s it, Early,” she said. “What should we do?”
“Seems like we should search this place before the police do,” Early said. In every mystery she’d ever read or seen, private detectives and police had a way of getting into people’s homes even when they weren’t expected or invited. Sometimes that was good and sometimes bad, depending on whose side you were on.
“My thought, too.” Summer was frowning. “But … well, what if we do find more? What then? If we start hiding things from the police and they find out, it won’t look too good.” Sum was quiet for a moment. “Let’s have dinner. I’ll read aloud right away and get Jubie to bed. Then you and I will look. It’s too much to ask a four-year-old to keep a big secret like that. I mean, I can’t tell him to lie to the police! That’s so against everything Dash and I have taught you kids.”
Early hopped up from where she’d sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ll make us some franks and beans. I can do it by myself. And meanwhile, maybe you should search the mattress in case there’s more money under it. Before you and Jubie go in to read.”
Sum gave Early a big hug. “I’m sorry, baby, to make you help me with all these worries. I just don’t know what else to do.”
“It’s Dashsumearlyjubie,” Early said, pulling out pans and raising her voice. Then she added, “Hold fast to dreams, Sum!”
Her mother tilted her head to one side and looked at her daughter. “You are your father’s girl,” she said, and gave her a thank-goodness hug.
They ate. Did dishes. Summer whizzed Jubie through his bath, into his pajamas, and onto the double bed for stories. It wasn’t his usual bedtime, but Jubie couldn’t tell and it’d been dark for hours anyway. Plus, he’d had a big day and was yawning.
Early picked up the Quote Book and leafed through some of the entries Dash had made. She was looking for Langston poems.
First, she found the one that began, “Hold fast to dreams.” With a shiver, she realized that Dash had copied this into their notebook before the gentler, happier ones. Next, another dream poem, an angrier one:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore —
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over —
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
She looked up the word defer and entered this in the Word Book: Middle English root, from deferren. Verb: to delay; to put something off; to give in to someone else’s wishes.
That wouldn’t happen to Dash’s dream. “Not if it’s the last thing I do,” she muttered. She then turned a few more pages and found this, from a book called The Big Sea that Langston wrote about his life: The only way to get a thing done is to start to do it, then keep on doing it, and finally you’ll finish it….
Was there more about dreams in The First Book of Rhythms? A clue to Dash’s thinking that might help her?
She pulled the book down from its shelf and had just settled back at the table when BAM! BAM! BAM! thundered through the room.
Crash
Jubie screeched in terror. Summer shrieked, “Early! Come back here!” and the girl flew behind the screen and jumped on the bed next to her mother and brother.
BAM! BAM-BAM! went the pounding on their door.
“Police!” shouted a woman’s voice. “Open up, po-lice!”
“Don’t move,” Summer whispered, an arm around each child. “We’re not letting them in. The detective said today they had no reason for a search warrant. This is too fast for them to really be the law. Not a sound now, not a sound!”
“Police!” a man’s voice shouted. There were sounds of something heavy being dragged, and of hammering. “We’re coming in!”
Then it was quiet. Deafeningly quiet. All three listened, their hearts pounding.
“My brave babies,” Sum whispered. “They’ll go away.”
Jubie whimpered, “I’m scared! I want Dash!” He began to cry.
“Shhhh, we’ll be fine,” his mother said.
“Shouldn’t we be calling 911 for help?” Early asked.
“I will,” Sum said, pulling the phone out of her pocket. She began to press buttons, her hand shaking.
“Last chance!” a deep voice called through the door.
Summer said a bad word and both kids looked up at their mom. She never said that.
Then she stood and called out, her voice as steady and strong as she could make it, “Prove you’re police! Prove it before I open my door!”
There was no response from the hall, just a scraping sound and heavy grunts. The three Pearls froze, as if not moving could make them safe. And then ka-BASH: a huge, earth-shattering smash.
The building shuddered as their front door whanged inward, landing on top of the coffee table. Wood splintered. Screaming. Shouting. Bedtime exploded into nightmare.
Early’s sign outside the door, the one that said Welcome to Our Home, was ripped in half, the bathtub with four pearls crushed beneath a heavy boot.
Crash
Three men and one woman, all with silver masks on their faces, black ski jackets, hats, and gloves, burst into the room. The screen hiding the double bed smacked to the floor.
“Face ta coanah ovah dea!” a man shouted, after grabbing Summer’s cell phone from her hands. He stamped; plastic shattered and metal skittered across the floor. Summer grabbed the kids and pushed them down against the wall nearby, making as much of a shelter as possible with her back and open arms.
The three couldn’t see what went on, but heard it — books were being thrown into boxes. Cabinet doors were ripped off their hinges. Pillows were slit open. Food was dumped on the floor.
“Don’t move! Do what they say!” Summer sobbed. The kids were a painful tangle of tears and trembling knees, chins, elbows, and ankles, all packed tight against their mother’s body.
The man who’d first spoken grabbed Summer by the hair and pulled her off the kids. “Wea didee keep it?” the silver face asked. “Wea?”
Summer, her eyes huge, said, “I don’t know what you’re looking for!”
The man pushed her and she fell backward, her head landing with a sickening thud on the edge of the broken coffee table. She crumpled.
“Ice!” he shouted.
She looked up, shocked and confused; he was telling her to get ice to soothe her injury? She didn’t dare obey.
One hand to her head, Summer said quickly, “He kept his real book money at work. That’s the big library downtown. Look upstairs on the sixth floor, not here with us!”
The man reached over and grabbed Early by both arms, jerking her upright. Summer spun sideways and grabbed her legs, anchoring her from below. “Yikes!” Early shrieked. The silver face was directly in front of her now, and his breath smelled like old sneakers. Old sneakers plus sweaty armpits. She saw pale skin around his eyes and nostrils, almost no lashes, and one dark mole in the middle of his lid.
“Wea egzackly? Maybe you kin come en show me! Show me afore I do somethin’ to mek you real sad!” The man shook Early and pulled her up higher, trying to break
Summer’s grip.
“No!” Summer screamed. “Let go — that’s all I know! Dashel Pearl would never put his family in danger on purpose. He didn’t tell me any details, I just know it’s not here. Would you do that to your wife and kids? Hide money in your home?”
The man paused, and just as suddenly dropped Early. “I’m not kind ta liahs,” he roared. “Speshly dose wid lidda ones. I’ll find you tree if I need you, oh-ho, yes, I will! You got all ta books?”
One of the other three nodded.
That seemed to satisfy the speaker. He jerked his head across the wreckage toward their now permanently open door. The four took off, clattering at a run down the hallway, boxes in arms.
Summer sat up and hugged the kids. There were a few minutes when nothing happened but tears.
When she could speak, Sum said, “Well, we’re alive. And not too hurt. Sorry I had to lie.”
She dabbed her face with her sleeve and looked around. The No Sticky Fingers shelf was empty.
“Oh, Dash,” she wailed. “It’s all gone! Where are you? Be okay! We need you so bad!”
Crash
An old woman living down the hallway was the only one to appear afterward, her slippers so quiet that they didn’t hear her coming. Neighbors in Woodlawn were generally afraid to open their doors at night if they heard trouble, and didn’t, unless it was family or their own business. The woman, someone who had always said hello to the Pearls, had a ragged sweater on over a housedress and her hair was pulled back in a tired bun. “Oh, my,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh, my.”
“Can we stay with you tonight?” Summer asked. “We’ve never visited, but we’ve passed on the stairs. And I know my husband, Dash, has sometimes carried groceries for you. I’m Summer Pearl, and this is Early and Jubilation. I know it’s a lot to ask, but just one night?”
The old woman was already shaking her head. “Like to say yes, but I know their kind,” she said sadly. “Scum whose business is to frighten. They’ll go after anyone to get what they want. You and the babies shouldn’t be where they can find you again. No place near. You best get you to a city shelter, not even to your folks’ place or the local station, which they could be watching. Criminals like that, they won’t hesitate a second time. Hurry, girl. No time to waste.”
Hold Fast (9780545510196) Page 4