The Silence Of The Library

Ten minutes later a tall, lanky young man—thirty at most, I judged—entered the library. He stopped in the doorway to look around. When he spotted me, he walked over, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. He sported cowboy boots that looked like ostrich hide, a silver belt buckle the size of a goose egg, and a deep crimson dress shirt emblazoned with the monogram GB. His raven hair was close-cropped, as was his beard. He stopped in front of the desk and stared at me. His close-set eyes, shamrock green, blinked like they were still adjusting to the inside light.

“How may I help you?”

“Is it true what I read on your website?” He had a flat Midwestern accent. “You’re going to have Electra Barnes Cartwright here soon?”

“Yes, she’s going to take part in our celebrations for National Library Week. We’re very excited about that.”

“I have to meet her.” He placed his hands on the edge of the desk, and I could see them tremble.

“You’ll have a chance to do that on the day she is here for her public interview. The schedule approved by Mrs. Cartwright is on the website, and I can give you a flyer with everything listed, if you like.”

He shook his head. “I can’t wait that long. I need to see her like today. She’s so old she might croak at any minute, and I’ve got a collection of books for her to sign.” He gripped the desk harder.

I didn’t like the arrogance of his tone, and my own turned frosty when I responded. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Mrs. Cartwright won’t be available until the date scheduled. We’ll have to see, on the day, whether she’s up to signing books.”

“Have you met her?”

I wanted to answer in the negative, but I couldn’t lie. “I have.”

“Then I’ll bet you know where she lives.” He glared at me. “Come on, just tell me. I’ll make it worth your while.” He reached in his right front pocket and pulled out a small wad of cash. He stripped off five bills, all hundreds, and thrust them at me.

I stared at him, aghast. What kind of moron was he? Trying to bribe me, all for the sake of getting his books signed?

“Absolutely not.” I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him, the way I used to do at Sean and Laura when they behaved badly.

He slapped down the five hundred dollars and then peeled off another five and added them to the stack. “Come on, that ought to be enough for anybody. What’s it to you anyway? I’m being really generous here.”

“Not to mention unbelievably offensive. Pick up that money, and stuff it back in your pocket.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this angry.

By now both Lizzie and Bronwyn had caught on that there was an incident brewing at the desk, and they came up on either side of me. “Do I need to call the police?” Bronwyn spoke in an undertone.

The strange young man glowered at the three of us. “For crying out loud, don’t call the cops. You hillbillies don’t know a good thing when you see it.” He snatched up the money and stowed it in his pocket. “Should have expected something like this in such a hick town.” He turned and stomped over to the door and out of the library.

“What was his problem?” Lizzie frowned. “I didn’t hear what he wanted. I can’t imagine what would be worth trying to bribe you for, Charlie.”

I shook my head. “In all my years working in libraries, that was a first. I have no idea who that young man is, but he is a complete and utter jerk.” I started to explain what he wanted from me, but the voice of Carrie Taylor interrupted me.

“His name is Gordon Betts, and he’s got more money than he knows what to do with.” She grimaced. “If he’s here, then the other nutcases can’t be far behind.”

SIX

“Nutcases?” I asked, taken slightly aback. The young man was rude, but a nutcase?

Mrs. Taylor shrugged. “Sorry, but they sure seem like nuts to me.”

“Who are they?” Teresa frowned as she stepped from behind our visitor.

“Collectors.” Mrs. Taylor rolled her eyes. “They can be absolutely nutty when it comes to children’s series books. Well, at least some of them are. I don’t want to make you think they’re all lunatics, like Gordon, but there are a handful who go to extremes to complete their collections.”

“I didn’t realize books like that are so collectible.” Bronwyn leaned on the reference desk as she regarded Mrs. Taylor.

“What kind of extremes?” Lizzie wanted to know.

Diesel had wandered over to sit in front of Mrs. Taylor. He meowed plaintively, and she glanced down with a smile. “Cats don’t care about these things, do they, sir?” She turned to regard Lizzie and Bronwyn. “Oh, my, yes, these series, especially Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, are very collectible. Those are probably the two most famous, but there are plenty of others that collectors go after.”

Like the Veronica Thane books, I thought. A couple of weeks ago, in preparation for lending items from my collection for the library’s exhibit, I checked values for a few books on the Advanced Book Exchange website. Early copies of the first two Veronica Thane books in fine condition were going for mid–three figures.