Booked to die

“Let’s get back on the point,” I said. “Did Bobby say, or even hint, what he might have to sell?”

“No, and like I told you, he wasn’t carrying anything with him.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No,” Lambert said.

We looked at each other for a moment.

“You’ve got to remember one thing,” Lambert said. “You’ve got to consider the source. How many times have these guys come in thinking they’ve found a thousand-dollar book and it turns out to be nothing? I don’t consider it my first line of business to keep up with people like Westfall. Especially when we’re doing seven hundred in real business in the space of an hour.”

“All right, forget it,” Goddard said.

But it wasn’t over yet. “What can you boys tell me about Rita McKinley?” I said.

“I can’t tell you a thing,” Goddard said. “I never met the lady, wouldn’t know her if I saw her on the street.”

“You’re aware of her reputation, though?”

“I know she has some good books. That’s what I’ve heard. But I don’t scout the other dealers. I don’t do business that way.“

I looked at Lambert. Again he had gone red around the ears. He’d be a terrible witness in court, if he had anything to hide.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t kill Bobby, Lambert,” I said.

“All a cop would have to do is ask you.”

He looked up shakily. “I went up there once,” he said.

Then, after a long pause, he said to Goddard, “I didn’t say anything to you because I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

Goddard didn’t like it. The temperature in the room dropped another five degrees.

“I wanted to see her stock, that’s all,” Lambert said. “There’s been so much talk, and I wanted to see what she had.”

“I hope you didn’t represent yourself as a buyer for this store,” Goddard said.

“I didn’t have to. She knew exactly who I was. She knows everybody.”

“When did you go up there?” I asked.

“Last fall, before Thanksgiving.”

“Could you show me how to get there… draw me a map?”

“Sure. It’s not that hard to find. You’ll need more than a map, though. There’s a high fence all around her place, and nobody gets in without calling ahead. You have to call and leave a message.”

“Is she pretty good about calling back?”

“She called me back. I heard from her within a couple of hours.”

“What was she like?”

“All business.”

“But she gave you no trouble about coming up?”

“Why wouldn’t she have me up? She’s in the business to sell books.”

“I just heard that she doesn’t exactly roll out the red carpet.”

“You won’t hear that from me. She’s a real lady,” Lambert said, his face reddening. “She’s got perfect manners and I’ll tell you this. She knows her stuff. I was damned impressed.”

“Obviously,” Goddard said.

“What did you think of her stuff?” I asked.

“Absolutely incredible. I’ve never seen books like that. She’s got a This Side of Paradise, signed by Fitzgerald, with H. L. Mencken’s bookplate and a personal note from Fitzgerald practically begging Mencken for a review. The book is in a bright, fresh jacket with no flaws. She’s got a whole wall of detective stuff—prime, wonderful books. Have you ever seen perfect copies of Ross Macdonald’s first three books, or the first American edition of Mysterious Affair at Styles‘? She’s got a Gone With the Wind signed by Margaret Mitchell, Clark Gable, and Vivien Leigh. Gable wrote a little note under his name that said, ’And now, my dear, everyone will give a damn.‘ There’s so much great stuff, you don’t know where to start.”

Goddard grunted.

“Here’s another thing,” Lambert said. “You remember that old rumor about Hemingway and Wolfe signing each other’s books?”