“You think your thief might have been in attendance?” my grandmother asked.
“It’s not just a wild guess, Lu. He got on a train bound for Poughkeepsie the other day. It’s just possible that he has a connection to the school, or that he went to the reception.”
Louella Atwell was on her feet. “Is your mother following this lead, too?”
I looked away from her, staring out instead at the horse-drawn carriages winding their way through the park paths below us. “She doesn’t have any jurisdiction in Poughkeepsie.”
There was a small salon between the dining and living rooms where Lulu kept a writing desk and an old-fashioned landline telephone. “Well, I still do,” she said, planting herself firmly in the upholstered chair.
“Do what?”
“Have jurisdiction of some sort in Poughkeepsie, Devlin. The college is courting me for my collection of paintings by the Hudson River School artists.”
She opened her address book—no digital contact list for Louella—and found the number she wanted to dial. “Good afternoon,” she said to the person who answered on the other end. “This is Louella Atwell calling for President Hill.”
There was a short pause.
“I’ll hold,” my grandmother said. “No, I don’t care how long I’ll have to wait. Please tell her Louella Atwell again, won’t you?”
Then she looked back at the two of us. “Do you know anything about your thief? Do you have a name, or a good description?”
I gave her the bits and pieces we had, which she confirmed were woefully inadequate.
“We think his initials might be PJS,” Liza said. “Or maybe he’s Jack Williams.”
My grandmother held up her hand to quiet us. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hill. Yes, this is Louella. I’m close to a decision on my paintings, but I’m curious about whether you can help me with some information about a reception you held at the library two weeks ago.”
I was so excited that Lulu might actually move us closer to a solution that I was practically quivering. My fingers on both hands were crossed, and I stuck them under my knees to keep them still.
Lulu put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone after giving the president the information she had, and requesting a guest list of the party. “Devlin, darling, stop biting your lip. You’re going to put a hole right through it.”
“Does President Hill have names, Lu?”
“She’s going to check for me.”
My grandmother perked up and held the phone closer to her ear, repeating what she heard as she wrote on a notepad in front of her.
“Five folks from the administration,” Lulu said. “You and the development office. And only sixteen guests. A rather poor showing, don’t you think, Ms. Hill?”
I winced at my grandmother’s frank appraisal.
“I see,” she went on. “Late notice. Thunderstorms all day. I see, I see. Surely a tall young scholarly-looking gentleman with spectacles would have been memorable among all those rich old goats gawking at your maps, don’t you think?”
Dr. Hill must have responded.
“The sooner you get me the registration list the better,” my grandmother said. “I understand that you’re certain you saw no one of that appearance, but a list of names would be most helpful.”
Lulu replaced the phone in its cradle. “Now, there’s a brilliant woman,” she said. “And a terrific position to aspire to, girls. Nothing more challenging in this day and age than to be a college president. The economics of education, the importance of diversity on campus, safety issues—not to mention actually teaching students something amidst all this turmoil.”
She pushed back from the writing table and stood up. “Do I need a sweater over my shoulders, Devlin? Or is it terribly hot outside?”
“It’s warm, Lulu,” I said. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Of course I am. The three of us are, girls. We’re going to pay a visit to Ms. Bland.”
Another heart-stopper.
“But, Lulu, Liza and I can’t go back to the public library.” All roads seemed to be leading me there, I thought. “Ms. Bland got mad at us yesterday. We don’t want her to lose her job because of this.”
“You can’t keep the truth hidden, Devlin,” my grandmother said. “You must always fight for what is true. The only person with something to fear, girls, is the map thief. He’s the only one who ought to be afraid right now.”
My grandmother picked up her pocketbook and continued her strides to the front door. If she was right about that, then why was I so frightened?
18
The three of us Ubered down Fifth Avenue toward the library. I texted Booker as fast as I could. Where R U now? Lulu taking us to Library. B there.
The usual traffic that jammed the Fifty-Seventh Street intersection slowed us down. It was fifteen minutes before the driver deposited us at the bottom of the steps in front of the friendly lions.
“Lulu’s a trustee of the New York Public Library,” I whispered to Liza. “Expect fireworks.”
“Let me take your arm on these stairs,” my grandmother said to Liza. “This is my favorite institution in the City of New York. I’m so glad you’ve been studying here.”
We made the climb slowly as Lulu caught her breath on the wide plaza halfway up. “Privilege,” she said to both us, “privilege without purpose is meaningless. I’ve tried to drum that into Devlin’s brain since she was a toddler.”
“I get it, Lu. I really do.”
“I was born to great privilege, Liza,” she went on, “and made to understand how important it is to stand for something. To do something for the greater good. As well as to do it quietly.”
She pushed against the heavy door of the library entrance. Liza and I followed her inside and took giant steps to keep up with her as she headed directly down the long corridor to the right, to the Map Division at the very end of the hall.
I ran a few steps ahead and pulled open the door to the room. Six or seven people were scattered at the rectangular tables in front of us. No one looked up as we walked in.
There was no one seated at the librarians’ desk, but that was exactly where Lulu was going.
“See that man at the table against the window?” Liza asked. “The guy who just stood up?”
“Yes,” I said.
“He was here on Tuesday, too. I remember his shiny forehead and that tie with the design of books all over it.”
The man looked older than my mom but younger than Lulu. He had opened a small shopping bag and placed his notepad inside it. Then he picked up the volume he’d been working with in his gloved hands and walked to my grandmother’s side, smiling at her as he placed the book on the desk.
He cupped his hands over his mouth, directing his words to someone out of sight behind a bookshelf. “Good-bye till next time, Ms. Bland,” he said. “Y’all stay cool this summer.”
The man had a strong Southern accent. I wondered whether he could be the owner of the rare bookstore in Atlanta, one of the visitors who had logged into this division on Tuesday, when the theft occurred. Of all the days for Booker not to respond to my text for backup. I needed his moral support, his calm presence, and his ability to follow this dude while I stayed close to Lulu.
By the time Ms. Bland appeared from behind the shelves, the man had left the room. The last person she expected to see at her desk, or so it seemed from the expression on her face, was my grandmother.
“Why, Louella Atwell,” she said, practically gasping for air. “No one told me you were coming today.”
“I’m under the impression, my dear woman, that this is a public library. I wasn’t aware that appointments were required.”
“Certainly not,” Ms. Bland said. “You’re welcome anytime.”
Her head was bouncing back and forth between Liza and me.
“I think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my granddaughter, Ms. Bland. This is Devlin Quick. As in quick like a fox. And this is our dear friend Liza. Liza de L
ucena, visiting from Argentina.”
“Your granddaughter, is it?” Ms. Bland said, tapping her fingers nervously on the countertop. “How lucky you are. And what brings you all here today?”
“It’s my understanding that these young ladies told you that they had witnessed a crime.”
Ms. Bland didn’t speak.
“There’s no need for you to be nervous, my good woman. They didn’t point a finger in your direction,” my grandmother said, “and we all know what an asset to the institution you are.”
“Kind of you to say, Mrs. Atwell, but—”
“But what, Ms. Bland? Surely you trust my granddaughter?”
“Yes,” she said meekly. “Of course I do. But she’s a child, really, and I’m not certain we can rely—”
“A child?” I blurted out. “I’m twelve years old. I’d hardly call that—”
“Manners, Devlin,” Lulu said, her forefinger to her lips to silence me, as she kept her eyes directed at Ms. Bland. “These are extremely intelligent young ladies. They are Ditchley girls.”
Ms. Bland wasn’t much moved by that fact, although the mothers of half the city’s pre-K kids would have been weak-kneed at the thought their daughters might one day test into the famous school.
“I’m sure they’re very capable, Mrs. Atwell. And as you well know, I’ve had experience with map thieves before. I feared, because of their tender age and lack of, well, worldly experience, these two observers might have been confused about what they thought they saw.”
“Devlin Quick, I’ll have you know,” my grandmother said, “already has impeccable credentials as a sleuth. She has solved mysterious disappearances from the locker of a classmate at school, put a halt to the cyberbullying of a friend’s younger sister, and safely recovered a neighbor’s gerbil that had gone missing for days. Devlin Quick knows a crime when she sees it.”
“Remarkable,” Ms. Bland said, giving me one of those fake smiles that adults often bestow on kids they don’t really like. “Though I don’t believe she’s the one who witnessed this alleged theft.”
“Fair enough,” my grandmother said, gently pushing me aside and moving Liza into place.
“If I recall correctly,” Ms. Bland went on, “neither of the girls can describe the book at issue. Nor did they see the gentleman leave the room with any kind of document, or a case in which to conceal it.”
“That’s why I’ve brought them back today, Ms. Bland,” my grandmother said. “We’d like to look at the sign-in log from Tuesday. The young ladies would like to see if they can figure out who might have done the deed.”
“But, Mrs. Atwell,” the librarian protested, “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Is it some sort of secret document? Is there a privacy element I’m not aware of?” Lulu asked. You didn’t want to be on the other side of her cross-examination, I’ll tell you that. “As best I can tell, the log-in is merely a business record to keep track of who comes and goes on a given day. Who uses which of our prized volumes. May I see it at once?”
Ms. Bland didn’t have an answer for my grandmother. “I think I’d better call the front office to ask what protocol is.”
“I can picture it now. The next board of directors meeting will have us wasting time on just this kind of folly. Perhaps a trustee will see it your way and endow a lock and key for the precious log,” Lulu said, shaking her head. “I’ll make a deal with you, Ms. Bland. How’s that?”
“A deal? Well, it all depends what you mean.”
“Let’s all four of us sit down at one of the tables with your sign-in book. All together, out in the open. Totally collaborative and all that. If it turns out that Devlin and Liza are wrong, then not only will you get a most proper apology, but the girls will devote twenty hours of community service to tutoring young readers in your literacy program.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Atwell,” Liza said. “To be fair, you have to know that I won’t be in the country long enough to commit the necessary hours to keep your promise.”
“Then Devlin will have to do forty hours. Simple as that,” Lulu said. “Am I right, Devlin?”
“Right as rain, Lu,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. I couldn’t figure out what was ever right about rain, but it was one of my grandmother’s stock expressions.
“It seems as though I have no alternative but to accept the generous terms of your offer, Mrs. Atwell. Make yourselves comfortable,” Ms. Bland said, “and I’ll join you with the log.”
The librarian was muttering something under her breath.
“She’d better think twice before using language like that in my presence,” my grandmother said.
“But she didn’t say anything, Mrs. Atwell,” Liza said, trying to strike a just balance between these two very uneven teams.
“You just didn’t hear her, young lady.”
“Atwell ears,” I said to Liza. “Best genetic trait I got from Lulu’s side.”
“What?”
“She can hear like she’s got an amplifier in her eardrum. Always could. And her father before her. My mother jokes that she thought it was a super-trait meant for Lulu to spy on her when she was dating my dad.”
“You’ve got it, too?”
“In development, Liza. Working on it,” I said. “My grandmother can sit in a crowded restaurant and be chatting us up about her latest cultural outing, and a minute later, she’ll tell me that the gentleman at a table across the room just said that the veal chop was the best dish on the menu.”
“Have you ever used your Atwell ears on a case?”
“They came in very handy when that five-year-old neighbor of mine let his gerbil out of the cage and the little guy escaped.”
“How so?”
“After we scoured the whole apartment, I just sat by myself in the middle of the living room. Nobody around me. Totally concentrating,” I said. “About an hour later, I heard this really faint sound, like a scratching of nails on the wooden floor.”
“You found the gerbil?”
“Yeah. He’d nested in a pair of slippers in the bottom of the mother’s closet. He was running across the floor to get back into the cozy shoe,” I said. “Atwell ears broke the case.”
“Very cool, Dev.”
We settled ourselves at the table closest to the librarians’ desk to wait for Ms. Bland to return. Lulu followed us over and sat across from me.
“I’ve opened the door for you, girls. You’re now on your own to prove your case. That’s as far as I’m going to take you. A mentor should only put you on the right path, and then let you spread your own wings if you are to be successful at any endeavor.”
“That’s all we needed, Lu. We’re so grateful to you for that.”
Ms. Bland returned two minutes later. She sat in the chair beside my grandmother and opened the book to Tuesday’s date. “I hope this is helpful to you.”
Lulu took the book and turned it around to face Liza and me. Both of us leaned forward in our chairs to see the names. I ran my finger along the list, starting at the top of the page.
My finger stopped on the name of the man who had listed his occupation as rare book and map salesman. He had been at the top of Liza’s list of names.
“The man who just left here, Ms. Bland,” I said, barely able to contain my enthusiasm. “The man who spoke with the Southern accent. Is he this guy? Is he the map dealer from Atlanta who was in this very room on Tuesday?”
Ms. Bland wiped the lenses of her eyeglasses and took the book back from us. “Yes, yes that’s his name. Walter Blodgett. Blodgett Books is his business.”
“What volumes was he looking at?” Liza asked.
She stammered. “I—I’ll have to check the call slips. I don’t quite remember.”
“Were you hovering over him like you did with us?” I asked.
“Walter Blodgett is well known to this institution, girls. He brings us maps and rare volumes. He doesn’t take them. Walter knows some of the acquisitions we’d most like t
o make and introduces me to people who own them.”
“That’s how we get many of the valuable treasures that our collection is lacking,” my grandmother said. Ms. Bland, grateful for a small show of support from Lulu, pursed her lips and nodded her head so sharply I thought her neck might snap. “A knowledgeable dealer brings us a collector who might have stumbled upon a most unusual find, and would prefer to cash it in or let the world have a look at it. That’s the way our collection continues to grow.”
“Don’t you have everything you need here after one hundred years?” I asked. “The New York Public Library still buys maps and books from people?”
“Well, of course we do, Devlin. Not all the trustees’ nickels and dimes go to rebuilding marble pediments or digitizing old books. We’re constantly expanding, growing our special collections.”
“So what’s in it for Walter Blodgett?” I asked.
“Nothing’s ‘in it’ for him,” Ms. Bland said. “He’s a great friend of the library. Whenever he comes to New York, he makes time to visit us. Sometimes, Miss Quick, when we get a more valuable map than the copy we currently own, we deaccession ours. We sell it to someone like Walter. It’s a very fluid relationship.”
“No special privileges for him?” I asked, wondering whether he was a more likely accomplice for a map thief than Jack Williams.
Lulu liked the direction of my questions. I could tell from the trace of a smile that appeared on her lips.
“Privileges?” Ms. Bland asked. “He’s very welcome to explore our books and maps. Just as you are.”
I lowered myself back into the chair. I knew there had to be a difference between our access to papers of such enormous value and that granted to a trusted friend, but I couldn’t put my finger on it yet.
“How about this student?” Liza asked. “This one.”
She pointed at the name John Williams.
Ms. Bland looked at the signature, reading his information out loud. “Columbia University. Graduate department of Journalism. This one’s a stranger to me.”
“Are you sure?” Liza asked. She sounded almost disappointed.
“His name means nothing to me.”
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