The Ghost and the Dead Man's Library

AFTER LEAVING THE accident scene, I drove Spencer directly to school. I was plenty agitated about Rene Montour’s death, but for my son’s sake I intended to follow through with seeing Principal Eleanor P. McConnell.

Tightening the grip on my handbag’s strap, I entered the Quindicott Elementary School administration offices. Spencer’s ripped Reader’s Notebook and his torn certificate were tucked inside my bag, ready to be whipped out as incriminating evidence.

But there was no whipping to be done—not yet anyway.

The school secretary informed me that Mrs. McConnell was out on maternity leave and had been temporarily replaced by a new man with “impressive” credentials.

“He got his doctorate in California and worked out there as a professor of education at a prestigious teacher’s college,” the secretary said. “But he’s from Newport originally and even attended St. Francis College, so now he’s back in the area.”

“Oh,” I said, recovering. “May I see him?”

“He’s not in, ma’am. We don’t expect him in this morning until eleven.”

I automatically glanced at my watch. It was just after nine—no way I was wasting two hours waiting here. “Can I make an appointment to see him tomorrow?”

“Of course,” said the secretary. She took down my name and phone number, and then I asked for the new principal’s name.

“It’s Chesley,” the secretary said. “Claymore Chesley.”

I was still reeling from that little revelation when I’d returned to the store to find my aunt wearing the doe-eyed expression of a thief caught with one hand in the till.

“I know what you’re going to say, Penelope,” she told me the second I’d entered. “You’re going to say I was wrong to do it. But I’m glad I did.”

I noticed that the Phelps editions were spread out across the counter beside the register. Sadie noticed that I noticed, and she immediately started babbling.

“Before you scold me, you have to understand that I couldn’t help myself. The man was just so…persuasive. And his offer was generous, too generous to pass up.” Her face was flushed, her hands flailing madly. “Please forgive me and try to understand,” she continued, moving around the counter. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Who wouldn’t, Aunt Sadie? What’s going on?” She was speaking so fast, and I was still so rattled by the morning’s events, it took me a minute to catch up.

“That man who called last night,” she replied. “Mr. VanRiij from New York City. He came here about an hour ago—”

“You sold another Poe!” I shrieked.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it—”

“We have to find this man. Right away!” I bolted for the door.

“Pen, stop!” Sadie ran after me, grabbed my arm. “It’s too late. He’s already on his way back to New York.”

“Please, just tell me what happened,” I demanded, turning to face her.

Her hands went back to fluttering like bee wings. “I sold him the book he wanted. Volume Ten, A Descent into the Maelstrom. He paid eight thousand dollars for it—and that’s not counting sales tax!”

“Oh…God…I need to sit down.” I collapsed into the nearest Shaker-style rocker.

“I know,” Sadie said, grinning. “I couldn’t believe the amount myself. That’s nearly four times the book’s market value—”

“No, you don’t understand,” I said, holding my head. “By selling Mr. Van Riij that book, you may have marked the poor man for murder!”

Sadie’s teeth about hit the floor when I told her about Rene Montour’s demise in an “accident.” I recounted my confrontation with Chief Ciders, telling her how the Chandler books were scattered all over the crash scene, but the Phelps Poe was missing. And I was convinced it was stolen.

Despite her pragmatic nature, and her usual distaste for rationalized baloney, Sadie began equivocating.

“But, Pen, Mr. Montour’s death…it could have been an accident.” She began to pace the aisle. “It’s possible the box containing the Phelps book was thrown clear in the crash, or it might not have been in the car. Perhaps he left the book at Fiona’s inn.”

I sighed and began massaging my temples.

“And, remember,” she went on, “you didn’t search the scene yourself. You only have the policemen’s word that the area was thoroughly searched. You know how un-thorough the Quindicott Police have been in the past.”

Instead of debating her, I met Sadie’s gaze with my own. “Do you really believe Peter Chesley’s death was an accident?”

For a long moment, Sadie fell silent. Then slowly, sadly, she shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’d like to. It would be so much easier to believe it was, but…”

“But we both know what we saw and heard at Chesley’s house, right?” I said, unwilling to look the other way any longer. “No matter what the Newport police say. We both believed that someone was in his house, and that someone instigated Peter’s ‘fall’ down the steps. That means there’s been at least one murder, and probably a theft.”

“But what should we do about it?” Sadie asked, wringing her hands. “Should I contact Mr. Van Riij? Warn him that he’s now in danger—”

“He won’t believe you. Chief Ciders didn’t believe me. As it stands, we have no proof of a murder plot.” I shook my head. “This is one dilemma the two of us”—

The three of us, Jack Shepard cut in.

—“will have to work out ourselves. Right now secrecy is our best defense. Have you told anyone about the sale? Anyone at all?”

Sadie blinked. “Only Brainert, I guess.”

“Brainert knows? Why? Was he here this morning?”

“No. He called before the store opened and asked me to scan the title page of each volume of the Poe collection, then send the digital files to him on an e-mail attachment.”

“Whatever for?”

“He said he needed to examine the text on those pages in particular.”

“But why?”

Sadie shrugged. “Something that Professor Spinner fellow mentioned apparently got him curious. Anyway, I brought all of the books to the front and made the scans. That’s when Mr. Van Riij knocked on the door. I told him we weren’t open yet, but he was so pushy. He barged in, saw the books near the register, and made an offer on the spot.”

“So how does Brainert know about the sale?”

“He called back to let me know my e-mail came through okay. That’s when I mentioned selling another volume of the set. Brainert wasn’t happy, but he was relieved I’d scanned copies of the title pages before I sold any more books. Brainert claims he’s on the verge of solving the Poe Code.”

“What?!” I cried. “Professor Spinner already debunked the existence of the code! How could Brainert be on the verge of solving it?”

Sadie shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

TUESDAY AFTERNOON WAS Sadie’s time to help out at the church with event planning. Since school for Spencer didn’t end until 3:15 and Garfield wasn’t on the schedule until tomorrow, I was momentarily stuck behind the counter, unable to raise Brainert by phone or leave the store to track him down.

We’d only seen a few customers all morning, which gave me far too much time to worry about Rene Montour, the Phelps editions, Brainert apparent solving of the Poe Code, and my appointment with another Chesley.

“Could the new principal really be a relative of Peter’s?” I’d been muttering to myself for hours. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

I was dying to ask my aunt what she thought, but she’d been so worked up about the second Poe sale that I thought it was best to just send her off to her church work and find another time to discuss the sudden appearance of another Chesley.

When 1:00 P.M. rolled around, I decided to close for a quiet lunch. I hung the BACK IN ONE HOUR sign and threw the bolt, then, lunch in hand, I moved to a favorite spot I’d set up in the back corner of the selling floor.

There, in an easy chair, I could eat in peace and not be visible, like some zoological specimen, to people passing on the sidewalk. Otherwise, on a slow day like this, I could almost imagine the plaque outside the window—“Female of the species Bookstorus Independicus, nearly extinct.”

I’d just sunk into the chair when I heard a sound, like furniture bumping together. It seemed to be coming from the Community Events space.

I peeked around the archway. The room was empty and silent. Then I noticed the door to the storeroom was wide open, and strong hands seized me from behind, pinning my arms.

“Where are those books?” a male voice hissed in my ear.

“What books? This store is full of them, you know!”

The man spun me around and slammed me against the wall, bouncing my head off the Dennis Lehane co-op poster.

“The books!”

The intruder’s voice was raspy, like he was trying to disguise it. I felt my blood pumping, my vision fade to red.

Calm down, doll.

Jack was here. I wasn’t alone. I clung to that thought like a dinghy to an anchor in a category Four.

Trust me, sweetheart. I’ll walk you through this.

“How?” I mentally demanded.

Take inventory. What’s in front of you?

I blew out a held breath, tried to memorize details. The intruder was taller than me by at least a head and had broad shoulders. He wore a black denim jacket and a black woolly cap pulled down over his face like a hood.

It wasn’t a tailored ski mask, I realized. This was a do-it-yourself job with just two eye slits ragged and askew. I couldn’t see any other part of his face, so I tried to make out his eye color, but the man was wearing tinted glasses beneath his mask. The effect was impressively scary. He wore gloves and his grip was painfully tight.

The man shook me. “You know what I’m talking about, lady. I want the old books. The valuable ones.”

I knew he meant the Phelps editions and immediately wondered if this was the same man who threw Peter Chesley down the stairs and murdered Rene Montour on a deserted stretch of road. If it was, what would he do to me?

Play Amish, Jack advised.

“What?”

Surrender. Play up the shivers. Pretend to cooperate. But be ready to clock the yancy when you glim an opening—

“Huh?”

Just do what I say.

The intruder shook me again. “Answer me. Show me the books or I’ll hurt you. I mean it.”

The Lone Ranger here isn’t expecting you to fight. You’re gonna wallop him good where and when I tell you—

“No, Jack! I can’t do that! He’s too big! I can’t—”

You can. You’re going to sock this yegg in the nose, okay? Take him to fist city then run to the front door. All you have to do is throw the bolt and you’re outside. Dollars to donuts, he won’t follow you.

“Okay, okay…I’ll try.”

I went limp in the man’s grip, spoke in a frightened voice. “The books you want…They’re by the register.”

I felt his grip loosen. “Where?” he demanded, not nearly as stridently as before.

Use your wing, doll. Point them out.

I did as Jack commanded. To my surprise, when I moved my right arm to point, the intruder actually let go of it. I lifted my arm higher. My eyes never left the bump in the middle of his mask.

“The books are over—”

Clobber him!

I swung around with my fist and pounded the intruder right in the nose. The blow hurt me, so I didn’t need to hear the startled howl to know it hurt the stranger.

Yelling a string of obscenities, the man stumbled backward and away from me.

Scram out, Penelope! Run!

I bolted out of the events room and through the store. I was nearly halfway to the front door before I heard his heavy footsteps coming up behind me. To slow him down, I pushed the four-foot corrugate display of P. D. James’s latest title into the man’s path. The display was packed with frontlist hardcovers. He crashed right into it. Books flew everywhere.

Nice move, sister!

“Thank god it wasn’t her paperback edition!”

I kept on running until I slammed into the front door with enough force to ring the chime. I twisted the bolt, flung the door open, and hit the sidewalk yelling my head off for help!

I heard the squeal of tires on pavement, the sound of doors opening. Someone grabbed me, and I found myself looking into the startled face of Officer Eddie Franzetti.

I sagged with relief.

I’d known Eddie since I was a little girl. He’d been a close friend of my late brother’s back in high school, before Pete had lost his life drag racing to impress a local beauty queen.

“Penelope! Calm down.” He peeled off his sunglasses, pushed back his uniform hat. “What happened?”

“A burglar! In the store…”

“Anyone else in there?”

“No…just the intruder. Sadie’s out.”

Eddie glanced at his partner and jerked his head in the direction of Buy the Book. Bill “Bull” McCoy drew his weapon and cautiously peered through the front door.

“I need to back up my partner,” Eddie gently explained. “Can you stay here?” I hugged myself and nodded.

Eddie joined his partner, and I watched them both enter the store. Feeling as if curious stares were on my back, I turned to find that a crowd had congregated around the police cruiser. Eddie appeared in the store’s doorway a moment later.

“Pen,” he called.

Apparently, the store was empty. No sign of the intruder.

Still nervous, I walked back in and gave Eddie and his partner the rundown on what had happened. They listened, Eddie taking notes. I showed them where I left my lunch, the knocked-over display, the scattered hardcovers. I showed them the marks on my arms, fast darkening into bruises, and told them what the man had been after. They asked to see the old books, and we double-checked the Phelps editions. None were missing.

“He must have broken in through the back door,” I told them. “The one leading into the storeroom.”

“We checked that out already,” said Bill McCoy. “And there’s a problem with that theory.”

Eddie and his partner took me back to the storeroom and showed me the door. There were no signs of forced entry. Stranger still, the back door was locked.

“Could he have picked the lock?” I asked.

Eddie shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But why lock it again when you leave?”

“You claim you closed for lunch,” Officer McCoy said in a barely civil tone. “Did you set the burglar alarm?”

“No,” I replied sheepishly.

McCoy scowled and glanced at his partner. Eddie shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll put in a report,” he said. “But with nothing stolen, we can only file trespassing and assault charges—and that’s if we catch this guy.”

I thanked the men for their trouble and promised to set the alarm next time—which I did, as soon as they both left. I then spent the rest of my lunch hour in a daze. When Sadie returned to the store, she found the BACK IN ONE HOUR sign still hanging on the door, and me on the floor, picking up the books I’d scattered in my wild flight. I told her what had happened, from the beginning, leaving out the ghost’s part in coaching my escape.

The fact that the back door was locked, and not forced open, puzzled us both.

I offered another theory. “Is it possible that an early customer came in and hid back there, lying in wait until I was alone?”

Sadie shook her head. “The only customer I had was Mr. Van Riij, and he came and went before business hours. Then you returned from the school and I headed off to church.”

“And I saw only two shoppers—both of them were women.”

“The only way through that storeroom door is with a key.” I looked down and rattled the keys dangling from my belt. “Mine is right here.”

“I have my key, too,” said Sadie. “And I’m sure the store key is behind the counter.”

But when we looked for that spare key ring, which we kept on a hook behind the register, it was missing. There were four keys on that ring—one each for the front door, the back door, the storage room entrance, and the cash register.

Sadie picked up the phone. “I’m calling the locksmith to have the door locks changed. After that—” She checked her watch. “I’ll get a head start on setting up the events room for the Quibblers meeting tonight.”

While Sadie made the call, it occurred to me that two other people had access to those keys on a regular basis—Mina Griffith and Garfield Platt.

Of course, I knew my attacker wasn’t Mina for obvious reasons and also because she only worked weekends. She didn’t even know about the Phelps volumes of Poe yet.

As for Garfield, he stood at about my height, but the intruder was a head taller than I. And another thing: The intruder didn’t know how to locate the books he presumably wanted to steal. I’d told him the books were by the register, but he’d still needed me to point out where the register was. Both of those facts let Garfield off the hook.

I wouldn’t be so sure, Jack declared. Circumstances dictate he had access to those keys. So turn your suspect in and let the cops sort it out. If Garfield’s innocent, no harm done. The coppers will cut him loose eventually.

“No, Jack, you’re wrong. There would be harm done, so I can’t do that.”

Why the hell not?

“Because we’re not in a big city, where there are so many people that nobody pays attention to their neighbor’s business. Small-town people have less people to talk about. So, of course, they talk about them more.”

I’m on your frequency, honey, but I’m getting nothing but static.

“Look,” I said, “when Sadie and I hired Garfield, he told us straight out about his brother being an ex-con. Do you know why?”

Because he’s honest to a fault?

“No. Because Quindicott runs on gossip. Neither Sadie nor I personally know Garfield’s family, but if we’d started asking around, we’d have heard the gossip about his brother. Garfield knew that. So he saved us the trouble.”

Throw me a bone, baby, I’m still trying to glom your point.

“If I were to claim Garfield had something to do with a break-in and an assault on me, and he got questioned by the police, his reputation would get ruined in this town, just like his brother’s. Up to now, Garfield’s been a solid, reliable employee, and he obviously wasn’t the man who grabbed me. I’m not going to ruin his reputation and lose his trust just because I’m desperate for a lead.”

Hasn’t it occurred to you that Garfield’s ex-con brother might be part of the picture here? He could have been the one who broke into the place.

“But…that would mean Garfield would have to be involved, too, wouldn’t it?”

Bingo, baby.

“Okay, all right. I’ll sit Garfield down when he comes to work tomorrow and ask him some hard questions. Between you and me, we should be able to figure out whether he’s on the up-and-up or pegging me for a sucker.”

Now you’re speaking my language!