“Thank you, ma’am.” I pulled the book into my chest, unable to hold my grin any longer.
“George used to say that stories carry their own special magic every time you turn a page.” Her smile softened and for the briefest instant, she appeared to send a deliberate look from me to Oliver Camden. “I would say that you’ve earned a little extra magic today of the most authentic variety.”
I gave the book another squeeze, embracing this gift and the gratitude that accompanied it, without giving in to the desire to glance in Oliver’s direction. My act may have come with a little extra magic, but I doubted it produced enough fairy dust to breach the distance between a house servant and an English gentleman.
That sort of fairy tale only happened between the pages of a book.
Chapter 10
After alerting the authorities of the note that had been left for Mom, Robbie decided to stay nights with the Blackwell ladies for the next week just to help ensure their safety, or at least help Clara’s mother feel safer. With nothing to go on but a piece of paper, the police could do little except keep an eye out. Clara shared with them the whole situation about the deed and gave names of people she’d contacted in regard to it in hopes the information might lead to some answers, but all of it would take time.
Time.
And if someone from Duncan’s, or whoever, thought a note would scare them into selling Blackwell’s, they didn’t know the owner of the shop. Oh no! In fact, the threat thrust Clara into an even more dedicated search.
Clara poured out another small box from the attic. For the last several days Mom had remained vigilant in her communications with the Westons at Camden House as well as in her attempts to find out information online about Oliver Camden. She’d discovered a file that documented his admittance to a hospital in France during World War I. And she’d become quite chummy with the English bed-and-breakfast owner, even referring to Gillie as her Brit-buddy.
Robbie took over most of the workings of the bookshop while Clara devoted her time to searching for the deed. With the help of their two best teenage employees, the pre-Christmas rush moved like clockwork.
“Mr. Claflin, you can’t go back there.” Faith’s southern drawl was unmistakable. “Like I told you, I’ll be happy to take a message to Clar—”
“I’m part of this family, am I not? And I can speak to my niece whenever I choose.” Uncle Julian’s trumpetlike response blasted down the tiny hallway.
Clara barely had time to stand before he burst into the office. His gaze skimmed over her, likely mentally criticizing her navy blue 1950s rockabilly dress with adorable checkered buttons up the front that matched her headband.
“Uncle Julian.” Clara spoke before he could beat her to it. “I hope you’re doing well?”
“I’m grieved, Clara. Grieved about this news.” He wiped a hand across his brow in dramatic fashion and dropped into the chair across from her.
News? Clara kept her breath controlled. “And what news is that?”
“The deed, of course. You have no deed for Blackwell’s, if we can even call the shop Blackwell’s anymore.”
How had he found out? Robbie? No. But who? Her hands fisted at her sides as she sat back down. “I don’t see why we can’t. It’s still our bookshop.”
He gave her a pitiable glance, shaking his head of slicked-back dark hair. “Without a deed, can you really say that?”
“Uncle Julian, Granny Sadie would not have lied about owning this shop all these years. Everyone who knew anything about her praised her for her kindness and good—”
“I hate to say this so bluntly, Clara, but you need to remember Sadie Blackwell was a fallen woman. There’s a good chance she did whatever she could to make ends meet as an unwed mother, and whatever she did to convince Ezra Long to let her use the building—”
“How can you say that? I know she wasn’t your biological grandmother, but she took you and your mother in without hesitation when you moved here.” Clara hated the way her voice rose into Minnie Mouse squeaks when she grew angry. “She helped you find a house and provided money for you to start your law business.” Such as it was.
He had the decency to look away and tug at his collar. “Be that as it may, the truth is the truth, and, despite my family ties with her, I must seek to support my client.”
Clara’s face cooled forty degrees. “Your client?”
He released a heavy sigh and produced a paper from inside his suit jacket. “Sadie, I’m truly sorry that you and your mother find yourselves innocent victims in the middle of all this. Especially as it appears there is no deed of record for Sadie Blackwell’s procurement of this building.”
Oh no! Clara’s defenses spiked. He’d turned on his lawyer voice. Not that he’d ever been a very successful lawyer. Most people who hired him either knew him, wanted someone cheap, or—Sadie’s pulse ratcheted up a beat—needed someone who didn’t mind skirting around the law a little here and there. Surely, he hadn’t—
“Mr. Stephen Long, great-grandson of Ezra Long, the owner of this building before Sadie Blackwell took residence here, has asked me to approach you about coming to an agreement regarding the building so that he will not have to pursue formal legal action.”
“Formal legal action?” Clara choked out the words. “Over what?”
“Over ownership of this property.” He peered at her Over the paper.
Clara’s bottom lip dropped. No! Why, oh why, had she ever contacted Mr. Long about the deed in the first place? He’d twisted it for his own gain. Or hopeful gain.
“The fact is that legally this property belongs to the
