The Ghost and the Dead Man's Library

“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—”