The Collectors

“Tape, what for?”

“Just go get it.”

He reluctantly retrieved the tape from a storage cabinet inside the main vault area.

“Now turn around,” she said.

“What?”

She spun him around. While his back was turned, Annabelle hiked her skirt up to her waist, positioned the paperback book around the inside of her left thigh and secured it there with the tape. “That’ll hold it, although it’s not going to be fun getting it off.”

“Please tell me you are not doing anything to damage that book,” he said sternly. “It is a vital piece of history.”

“Turn around and see for yourself.”

He whipped around, saw the book, and also her exposed pale thighs and a thin line of her panties, and gasped.

She said in a breathy voice, “I think the book will be very happy there, Caleb, don’t you?”

“Never in all my years as a librarian at this venerable institution,” he began, his voice quavering with shock; however, Caleb didn’t once take his eyes off her legs even as his heart thundered in his chest.

She slowly pulled her skirt back down, smiling impishly. “And you loved every second of it.” She bumped him with her hip as she passed by. “I’ll see you at Oliver’s, stud!”

CHAPTER 54

AFTER ANNABELLE’S MEMOrable display, Caleb had recovered enough to where he could at least pretend to work. That was interrupted a bit later when Kevin Philips entered the reading room and came over to his desk.

“Caleb, can you step outside?” he said quietly.

Caleb rose. “Sure, Kevin, what’s up?”

Philips looked very concerned and said in a low voice, “The police are outside. They want to talk to you.”

Caleb instantly felt all of his organs shutting down even as his mind raced madly through the possible doomsday reasons why the cops were here for him. Had the damn woman been caught with the book taped next to her crotch and spilled her guts naming him as an accomplice? Had Jewell English discovered what had happened and reported the theft of her glasses to the authorities, with all arrows pointing to him? Was he, Caleb Shaw, going to fry in the electric chair?

“Uh, Caleb, can you please get up and come with me?” Philips said.

Caleb looked up at him and realized that he had missed his chair and collapsed to the floor instead. He scrambled to his feet, white-faced, and said with as much surprise as he could muster, “I wonder what they could possibly want with me, Kevin?” Dear God, let it be a minimum-security prison.

Outside, Philips handed him off to the police, represented by two detectives in baggy suits and sporting inscrutable features, and then fled even as Caleb stared pitifully after him. The two men escorted Caleb to an empty office. The going was slow as Caleb was having trouble making his legs work in synchronization. And any attempt at speech was rendered impossible by the absence of even the slightest trace of saliva in his mouth. Did they still have libraries in prison? Would he have to be somebody’s bitch?

The bigger of the two men parked his butt on a desk while Caleb stood rigid against the wall awaiting the Miranda warning, the cold feel of the cuffs, the end of his respectable life. From librarian to felon, the fall had been astonishingly swift. The other man fished his hand in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “These are to DeHaven’s home, Mr. Shaw.” Caleb held out a shaky hand and took them. “They were taken from your friend Reuben Rhodes.”

Caleb blurted out, “I wouldn’t call him a friend, more of a casual acquaintance.”

The two detectives exchanged glances. The big man said, “Anyway, we also wanted to let you know that he’s been released on his own recognizance.”

“Does that mean you no longer consider him a suspect?”

“No. But we checked out his story and yours. For now we’ll leave it at that.”

Caleb stared at the keys. “Can I go to the house, or is it off-limits?”

“We’ve completed our evidentiary search at DeHaven’s residence, so you’re free to go in. But, uh, just in case, stay out of the attic.”

“I wanted to check on the book collection. I’m his literary executor.”

“The lawyers told us as much.”

Caleb looked around. “So I’m free to go?”

“Unless you have something more to tell us?” the big man said questioningly.

Caleb stared between them. “Uh, good luck with your investigation?”

“Right.” He eased off the desk, and the two detectives walked past Caleb, closing the door behind them.

Caleb stood there for a bit, light-headed and unable to believe his infinite good fortune. Then he looked puzzled. Why would they just let Reuben go? And why would they just give him the keys to Jonathan’s house? Was this a setup? Were they right now waiting outside the office to jump him, perhaps claiming he’d stolen the keys or was trying to escape? Caleb knew these scandalous things happened; he watched cable TV.