which was heavy. I didn’t know what was in it then. There was a woman running the place. Jo asked if the Treadwells still owned it and the woman said yes. Jo asked if she could speak to them, and a minute later a man came out of the office.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Small…cold.”
“Carl.”
“You know him?”
“I’ve seen him—talked to him, so to speak.”
“Well, at that point I didn’t know what was going to happen, what she was going to do. ‘Show him my book,’ she said, and I looked in the bag and there was this exquisite old book—it turned out to be the African book. I was as surprised as Treadwell; I had no idea she had anything like that. ‘What’ll you give me for this?’ she said, and Treadwell got all shaky and tense. I mean, truly, you could see it all over him. ‘Where’d you get this book?’ he said, and it was almost like an accusation. ‘What’ll you give me for it?’ Jo said again. He looked at her hard, like he was trying to size her up. Then he said, ‘Two thousand.’ Jo smiled. It was a bitter smile, not funny, and she said, ‘I thought so. You’re still a den of thieves.’”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. But what happened then still shivers my timbers. He reached over and put his hand on the book and said, ‘I’ve got to tell you something: this looks like a stolen book to me. I’ll have to confiscate it till we learn where it came from.’”
“Wow. Then what happened?”
“I snatched it away from him. Said, ‘Don’t you even think of trying to take this lady’s book. I’ll go to the cops so fast it’ll make your head swim.’”
“What’d he say to that?”
“Nothing. I put the book back in the bag and we walked out. But he saw us drive away, got a good look at my car.”
“And maybe the plate number. So was that when…” “That’s when it started—that spooky feeling I had. For a while I thought it was just nerves, but I’m not usually like that.”
“So that day, when you went to the store, you had good reason to worry about your Burton stuff. But nobody had touched it?”
“I have it well hidden.”
“Here in the house, though, right?”
She took her time answering that. At last she said, “If somebody wanted to tear the house apart, he could find it. Whoever was here had decided—at least for the moment—not to do that. He wanted to keep me thinking no one had been here. I don’t know how he could even get in without breaking something, but somebody was here. That’s what I think, since you asked. I think someone
She looked at me hard. “What do you think? And don’t humor me.”
“No, I think that’s all very possible. People can get into houses— I could pick this lock myself. So I think you’d better get that stuff, wherever it is, and get it the hell out of here. Make copies. Put it in a safe deposit box. You might not be so lucky next time.”
She nodded. “I hear what you’re saying.”
“Good. So what’d you do after the prowler came?”
“I bought a gun.”
I felt my backbone stiffen. “What kinda gun?”
“Little thirty-eight. I had it in my hand when you came to my door.”
“Where is it? Can I see it?”
“Why?”
“No reason. Forget I asked if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“No, I’m fine with you.” She unfolded her shawl, took out a wicked-looking snub-nose, and put it in my hand. “It’s loaded.”
“I see that. No offense, but do you happen to know how to use this thing?”
“The man who sold it to me told me a few things. About the safety lock or whatever you call it. Other than that, what’s to know? You cock it, point it, and make someone very sorry he’s come into your house.”
I handed it back to her. “That’s basically it. As long as you don’t shoot me or the paperboy, the mailman, or some Jehovah’s Witness who’s only trying to save your soul.”
She pursed her lips. “That’s pretty strong disapproval I hear in your voice.”
“Hey, I wish you didn’t need a gun. I wish the world could be a better place.”
