She needed to move. But instead she stayed where she was. Hitting stores like this used to be a huge thrill. When Irene had finally trusted her enough to let her in on their secret business, it seemed like the chance of a lifetime. With their ability to travel in the RV towing the minivan, they could sell books wholesale to another store states away or even list them online themselves with the laptop. But lately it was all becoming more than she could handle. She hated the way guilt crept up on her like this.
Returning the Einstein books to the shelf, she quickly started downstairs. At least this was their last stop. After this they could go home for a while. She lost a good minute winding her way back to the entrance room, and when she finally burst into it, she was out of breath and wondering where in the world Irene and Diego were. For one moment Roxi let herself enjoy the store’s ambiance. The potbellied stove in the corner, the rainbow of book spines crowding every shelf, the ticking of the antique clock she now saw sitting above the front door. If things were different, if she were different, every book in a store like this could be a potential treasure. As it was, every one was a target.
“Done so soon?”
Roxi jumped at the voice, then saw clerk Christy, a pencil between her teeth, reaching for a book in the front window display. Should she look for Irene and Diego? Maybe they were waiting for her in the van.
Think fast.
“Didn’t find much.”
Christy slipped the pencil behind her ear, walked over to the counter, and picked up a business card. “Give me a call if you ever have a specific title I can look for. We get new stuff almost every day.”
Roxi joined the clerk at the counter and managed a weak smile. She took the business card and glanced at the display case beside the register. Customers could see right down into it as they paid for their purchases.
She stared at a copy of The Great Gatsby with its weird blue cover depicting eyes and a mouth hovering over an amusement park.
“Is that a first edition?” she asked, tapping the glass above the Gatsby.
“Sure is. Wanna see it?” Christy pulled a set of keys from a drawer under the cash register. They jingled as she unlocked the case’s sliding back panel.
Even though chatting with this clerk wasn’t in the plans, Roxi nodded. It still fascinated her what books were considered rare.
Christy reached in and removed the Gatsby. Its dust jacket was protected in a clear Brodart protective cover, and Christy cradled the book like it could break in her hands. She held it out to Roxi.
When she hesitated, Christy smiled. “It’s okay. What’s a book good for if you can’t touch it?”
Roxi finally took it, turning it around in her hands.
“Look at the back flap of the dust jacket.”
The Brodart crinkled as Roxi carefully opened the book.
“In 1925, when this was first printed,” Christy said, “Jay Gatsby’s name was accidentally spelled with a lowercase j on the back flap of the dust jacket.” Christy pointed at the error. “See it there? Not many of those original jackets survived. I’d never seen one before, myself. We bought this copy from a collector who’d kept it safely packed away for years. It has a few flaws. I know it doesn’t look like much, but you’re holding a treasure right there.”
She was about to ask how much it was worth when she heard Irene’s and Diego’s voices in the hallway. Roxi quickly handed the Gatsby back, and Christy returned it to the case.
When Irene and Diego walked into the room, Irene came up behind Roxi and squeezed her shoulder three times. The signal to get out.
“Ready to go, dear?” Irene asked. She only called her “dear” when they were around other people. Roxi managed a nod.
Christy rang up Diego’s purchases—more horror titles to add to his collection by the look of the covers. Stephen King really was his favorite author, and they always tried to buy something at the stores to further strengthen their cover. If Roxi had been concentrating at all, she would’ve brought that Einstein book down.
“Have a nice day,” Christy said.
And then the three of them walked out. Just like that. No one suspecting anything. Another store a little lighter, and more money in Irene’s pocket.
Only when they were in the van again did Roxi ask how they did.
Diego groaned. “Lousy. I got one book.” He pulled it out of his backpack and showed it to her. Farmer Giles of Ham by J. R. R. Tolkien. “It’s a first American edition, the jacket isn’t price-clipped, and it’s in decent shape. But still. We’re talking fifty bucks wholesale. If we’re lucky. And I spent ten.”
“That’s it?”
“There was barely time to grab that,” Irene said, eyeing Roxi in the rearview mirror.
Roxi sank a little into her seat. “What happened?”
“You were supposed to give us more time.”
“I tried, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I thought it would make me look suspicious asking questions.”
“She had no reason to suspect you.”
Roxi stared at the scuffed toes of her roper boots, then looked up again. She had to act more confident. She wanted to pull her weight in this family and make Irene proud of her.
Diego threw back a sympathetic look. “Better luck next time, eh?”
“I’m sorry, Irene. I’ll do better. I promise.”
Irene kept driving, and Roxi’s throat tightened. Couldn’t she do anything right?
The older woman drove the van out onto the road. “I’m starting to wonder if bringing you along was a good idea.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Ma, cut her a break. Our luck’ll be better next time.”
Irene glanced in the rearview mirror again. This time Roxi didn’t meet her eyes.
“Luck has nothing to do with this. We’ve lost two days, and what do we have to show for it? A fifty-dollar book.”
“So let’s go back,” Diego said.
“We might have to.”
Roxi straightened in her seat. “But you said that was a bad idea. If they find a book missing and put two and two—”
Diego swung around in the passenger seat, warning her with his eyes to shut up. “Ma knows what she’s doing.”
“You had four minutes!”
“Rox—”
“If she’d done her job, we’d have more than one lousy book.”
Diego slowly turned around and stared out the windshield, and the silence in the car spread like a dense fog. Roxi glanced at the side of Irene’s face, already regretting her stupid words. She’d never talked back like that before.
Irene’s freckle-spritzed hands gripped the steering wheel harder than necessary, but she said nothing.
In fact, no one said anything else the whole ride back to the campground.
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Thicker than Blood Page 27