The Silence Of The Library

EIGHT

Mrs. Taylor snorted in an unladylike manner. “Winnie, where did you get such an idea? A few years ago EBC wrote to me and told me that when the publisher canceled the series, she was happy to move on and write different things.”

Eagleton continued to beam, and I began to wonder if the man was on medication that kept him in a permanently sunny mood. Nothing seemed to deflate him. “Carrie, dear Electra might have told you such a taradiddle in the past, but I happen to know better.” He laid a finger to the side of his nose and winked. “I have another source who tells me that there is a trunk in the attic—I’m speaking metaphorically, you understand—that has five unpublished Veronica Thane novels. Five. Isn’t that astounding?”

“That’s one word for it,” Mrs. Taylor muttered.

Despite Mrs. Taylor’s obvious disbelief, I had to hope that Eagleton’s source was right. After all these years, how fun it would be to have new Veronica Thane adventures to read! Perhaps childish enthusiasm on my part, but I had loved the books fiercely as a boy. Many adults, I supposed, had a small corner inside them that occasionally longed to relive the pure joys of a childhood experience.

I decided to give the man encouragement. “That’s exciting news. I would love to have copies when they’re published.”

“Who is this so-called source of yours?” Mrs. Taylor’s voice had a snarky edge to it. Her reaction might perhaps stem from jealousy because Eagleton had scooped her on this. With her position as the editor of a newsletter dedicated to all things EBC, she would be annoyed she hadn’t heard about the unpublished books first.

“Dear EBC’s daughter, of course.” Eagleton sounded gleeful as he continued. “Even you, Carrie dear, must admit that the great lady’s own daughter should, above all others, know what she’s talking about.”

Mrs. Taylor’s tone was grudging when she responded. “I suppose you’re right, Winnie. If anyone knows the truth about it, Marcella certainly would. I have to hand it to you. When are you going to publish these manuscripts?”

For the first time Eagleton lost his overly perky demeanor. He frowned. “We haven’t settled the details yet, but I hope to take possession of the books sometime in the next few days. Marcella promised she would call as soon as the great lady is ready to receive her humble servant.”

“In other words, EBC hasn’t agreed to let you have the rights to publish them.” Mrs. Taylor grinned. “You scurried down here all the way from Ohio because you’re hoping to snap up the rights before a bigger publisher comes calling with a fat bankroll.”

“The big houses in New York won’t be stumbling over one another to publish these books.” Eagleton appeared cheered by this thought. “As much as we admire and revere EBC and Veronica Thane, the books have been out of print for thirty years. No other publisher has expressed interest in them before now, and I really can’t see that I’m going to have competition.”

“There are precedents for both small and large press reprints of books like the Veronica Thane series.” I decided that a few pertinent facts couldn’t hurt. “In recent years Applewood Books reprinted the whole Judy Bolton series, and they even published a title cowritten by two fans and illustrated by one of Sutton’s daughters.” Warming to my theme, I added, “Springer reprinted the Cherry Ames series, and Random House reissued Trixie Belden, though I’m not sure whether they’re still available.”

“I know about all those.” Mrs. Taylor’s expression made it clear she wasn’t all that impressed with my knowledge. “With the exception of that one new Judy Bolton title, however, they weren’t continuing the Cherry Ames or Trixie Belden series. And they certainly weren’t claiming to have a trunk full of unpublished manuscripts in the attic. That sounds more like the plot of one of these series books than actual fact.”

“I suppose I shall have to start calling you Doubting Thomasina instead of Carrie.” Eagleton proffered another sunny smile. “You shall see, my dear Thomasina, you shall see and be amazed.”

Mrs. Taylor appeared unmoved by Eagleton’s claim. “I think I would have heard about these manuscripts before now. After all, I’ve known Marcella for over a decade. She’s never even mentioned your name when we chat.”

Eagleton shrugged. “My dear Carrie, far be it from me to fathom the deep mysteries of the feminine mind. I have not been acquainted with Marcella as long as you, but in our recent conversations she has been most charming and quite forthcoming with details about her mother’s work. Not to mention eager to see her mother’s name in print once again so that a new generation of readers can discover the joy of such an engaging and endearing heroine as Veronica Thane.”

Mrs. Taylor stood in an abrupt movement. “I think I’ll just call Marcella and check this story with her. I think there’s something odd going on. And if you’re involved, Winnie Eagleton, it’s really, really odd.” With that, she moved quickly away, and I called “Good-bye” after her. She didn’t appear to hear me.

Eagleton shook his head. “Poor Carrie. For years she has prided herself on this deep, personal connection to the great lady and her family although they have never met face-to-face. I can imagine how distressing it must be for her to discover that she is not clasped as firmly to the Cartwright bosom as she believed.”

I had no desire to insert myself into this odd contest between Eagleton and Mrs. Taylor. The man had come to the public library, and I presumed he had a reason for his visit. “Was there anything in particular you were seeking at the library? If you’d like to come inside, I’ll be happy to help you.”

Eagleton beamed at me as he stood. “Yes, young man, there is.” I had to suppress a smile at being called young man. “I need access to older issues of your local paper as well as those of national papers like the New York Times.”

“I can certainly help you with that.” I nodded in the direction of the front door. “Come on inside, and we’ll get you started. Our local paper went online in 1998, and we have microfilm of older issues. We also have access to the Times and other papers online through various databases. I can show you how to find them.”

“Smashing, absolutely smashing.” Eagleton beamed as he followed me to the door.

Diesel awaited right inside the library. He often became anxious when I left him for more than a few minutes. Usually he was happy with Lizzie and Bronwyn, but I figured he had picked up on the tension when Della Duffy made her abrupt exit.

“Everything is okay, boy.” I scratched his head, and he rewarded me with chirps and meows.

“Who is this fine fellow?” Eagleton stared at my cat, evidently fascinated. “I don’t recall that I have ever seen such a large domestic feline. I suppose he is a Maine Coon, is he not?”

“Yes, he is.” A point to Eagleton for recognizing the breed. “His name is Diesel, and he accompanies me everywhere. He’s big even for his breed.”

Diesel sidled closer to the stranger to allow his head to be rubbed, and Eagleton complied. I waited a few moments to let the two become acquainted while Bronwyn and Lizzie watched. Then I gently directed Eagleton toward the small room where we kept the microfilm of the pre-1998 issues of the Athena Daily Register. “If you’d like to start with these,” I said, “I can show you how to load the microfilm into the reader, if you need me to.”

“Thank you, young man, but that won’t be necessary.” Eagleton nodded at the equipment. “I am quite familiar with this technology. I rather think I will start in here, and perhaps later you can show me to a computer and help me get started with the papers online.”

“Certainly,” I said. Diesel and I left him humming as he examined the drawers in which the film was stored.

Eagleton emerged from the microfilm room about ten minutes before Diesel and I completed our volunteer shift for the day. I got him settled at a computer station, logged him in, and guided him to the links for the newspaper databases.

Diesel climbed happily into the backseat for the short drive home. Nothing was very far from anything else in Athena, one of the distinct advantages of living in a smaller town. Sean’s car was in the garage when I pulled in beside it, and I was surprised he would be home at a little past three thirty in the afternoon.

In the kitchen I went straight to the refrigerator for a cold drink while Diesel visited his litter box in the utility room. I spotted a folded note with Dad scrawled across it stuck to the fridge door with a daisy magnet. As I sipped at my diet drink, I opened the note and scanned the contents.

Sean had written in his precise, bold hand, “News to share. Come to the back porch, and I’ll tell you.”

I tucked the note in my pocket and headed for the back of house. Diesel caught up with me before I reached the door and jogged past me. He turned his head toward me and warbled.

“Go ahead.” I grinned because I knew what he wanted. My boarder Justin Wardlaw had taught him how to open doors with his front paws, and Diesel liked showing off his skill. He reared up on his hind legs and twisted the knob. The door popped open, and the cat and I stepped onto the screened-in porch that ran the length of the rear of the house.

I had already picked up the fragrant smell of my son’s cigar. This was the only part of the house in which he was allowed to indulge his habit, and when I couldn’t find him elsewhere inside, I knew he’d be out here. I’d rather he gave it up entirely for his health, but I knew better than to argue with him about it. At least he smoked only where there was plenty of air circulating.

“Hey, Dad.” Sean turned and smiled, cigar in one hand and champagne bottle in the other. “Time to celebrate.”