Right To Die

10

PLATO'S BOOKSHOP OCCUPIED A DOUBLE-WIDE RETAIL SPACE ON Newbury Street, three blocks from the lecture hall. I was delayed at the Rabb, giving the cops and the units that responded to their call the details as I saw them. By the time I got to the store, the signing was in full progress.

The window next to the door held a poster with information about the debate and the signing to follow. Under the poster and inside the shop was a display table. Around an eight-by-ten black and white glossy portrait of Maisy Andrus were maybe a hundred copies of her book. Some lay on their sides in irregular piles while others stood up in little wire holders. A dozen copies of Paul Eisenberg's book were shunted to one corner. There was no photo of Eisenberg and nothing at all about the Reverend Givens.

Two lines of people trailed back from signing tables in the rear of the shop. Eisenberg's line was a lot shorter than the one in front of Andrus, and many of the Eisenberg hopefuls also carried a copy of her book under their arms. I saw Olivia Jurick smiling and shaking hands in a regular-customer way as she moved down the aisle created by the two lines. On side counters were wine and punch, cheese and crackers, grapes and pretzels. I could see Inés Roja standing beside the sitting Andrus, opening the next copy of the book to a given page for the professor to sign. Manolo stood a step behind Andrus, glowering at each fan.

Alec Bacall and Del Wonsley were holding wineglasses and watching Tucker Hebert entertain several fashionable women with what appeared to be hilarious stories. I spotted the blonde I took to be Kimberly and then, when she turned, Walter Strock, which surprised me. He wasn't carrying a copy of Andrus's book, which didn't surprise me. I didn't see the Reverend Givens nor, if skin color was a gauge, many of her flock.

Bacall saw me and beckoned to cut through the Andrus line.

Eisenberg was shaking the hand of his last fan and looking around, rather awkwardly, presumably for Olivia Jurick to tell him what to do next. In front of Andrus, a matronly woman had just handed her copy of Our Right to Die to Inés for prepping. Roja opened it, turned a page, and then dropped the book like a picnic plate with a bee on it. I pushed through the line as politely as possible. Andrus had picked up the book and was apologizing to the matron when Andrus saw Roja's facial expression. Manolo saw it, too, and edged forward, eyes mainly on the matron.

I said, "What's the matter?"

Andrus replied, "I don't know."

Inés had one hand to her mouth and the other pointing to the book Andrus was setting on the table. The matron started to say something about the jacket being damaged and wanting another when I said, "Please?"

Taking out a pen, I prodded the book to a centered position in front of me. Using the pen as a friction finger, I opened the book and turned the leaves until I got to the title page.

There, under "by Maisy Andrus," was a stickum mailing label with the cut-out words: "THIS CLOSE WHORE."

"I just couldn't tell you, Mr. Cuddy."

Olivia Jurick was behind her cash register, wagging her head as Maisy Andrus gamely signed the last few books for the faithful who had stayed on line. The offending copy was between Jurick and me in a plastic Plato's Bookshop bag.

I said, "Any way to determine who had access to the books?"

"Not really," said Jurick. "We put the poster up last Monday.

Seven days of promotion is about the most our customers can tolerate. But copies of her book have been in the store for at least a month before that. I could check our invoices if you'd like?"

"I don't think that'll make a difference. The woman who brought the book to Inés Roja – "

"Mrs. Thomason."

"Mrs. Thomason said she got the book from the display table."

"Yes, well, I'm fairly certain that all of the books on the table came from the special shipment I ordered for the signing."

"And how long have they been here?"

"On the table, you mean?"

"In the store at all."

"Well, the boxes would have arrived about a week before the poster went up, meaning about two weeks ago."

"And on the display table?"

"We wouldn't have opened the boxes and set up publicly, you know, until the poster notice, so I would say early last week."

"Anyone on your staff mention anything odd about people hanging around the table?"

"No. But then, you must understand, Mr. Cuddy, this is a bookstore. Our customers leaf through books in the process of deciding which to buy. Since that horrible message was already on a mailing label, someone could have stuck it there in five seconds or so. None of my staff would have noticed that."

"Even if the person was wearing gloves at the time?"

Jurick shrugged. "It is December."

I looked over at the display table. nearly emptied of books now.

All our boy had to do, any time in the last week, was pick up a copy of Our Right to Die, stick the label in it, then bury the copy maybe halfway down one pile. To be sure it wasn't sold pre-signing but would be brought to Andrus during the signing.

Jurick said, "Will the book help at all?"

"Excuse me?"

She stopped just short of touching the plastic bag. "This copy. Will you be able to use it for clues?"

"The guy's been pretty careful so far. I'll take it to the police, but there's not much chance they'll get anything from it."

Jurick shook her head. "Who would do such a thing?"

"You find out, let me know."