29

The Ghost of a Family

The police marched in and out of Mrs. Fisher’s apartment, her doors propped permanently open to keep the flow of them moving through.

An officer carried a cup of coffee and a paper bag of doughnuts past the piano, where a policeman was sweeping up glass. He ducked through the hole in the wall and charged down the long hallway, around the door, and down the rickety old stairs to the library. He entered the circle of library shelves where Officer O’Malley was talking to two kids and an elderly woman. He placed the bag of doughnuts on the stack of books and gave the cup of coffee to Officer O’Malley, who nodded before taking a sip.

“Now, where were we?” he asked.

Mrs. Fisher’s hands rested on Maria’s shoulders. Sebastian stood in front of his parents next to Maria.

Officer O’Malley’s notepad was filled with three stories, all intersecting and adding up to one incredible truth. He stroked his chin. “We’ll have to get Destine’s story and John Fox’s, but it looks like we have enough evidence here to open up several investigations against them.”

Maria glanced at Mrs. Fisher for some reassurance.

Mrs. Fisher forced a smile.

“Now, Maria,” Officer O’Malley said with some hesitation. “We’ll need to set you up with Child Protective Services and find a place for you to stay until everything is situated.”

Maria slumped her shoulders. She had faced so many of her fears today, but she’d forgotten to consider what would happen if she turned Madame Destine in.

Of course she needed foster care. Someone had to take care of her.

Maria squeezed Mrs. Fisher’s hand. “Can I stay with you?” she asked.

Mrs. Fisher gave Maria a sympathetic look. “Oh, sweetie, I would love that. But I don’t know if I can afford to take care of you.”

Maria’s hopes plummeted. But then she remembered something. What about the books? She looked at Sebastian. “How do we know for sure if those books are worth more than gold?”

Sebastian nodded. “Well, remember that a first edition of Ulysses was worth close to forty thousand dollars! These books would have to be worth something. No one’s seen them!” The two kids turned around and saw Ms. Madigan talking with a policeman.

“Let’s ask Ms. Madigan what she thinks!” said Sebastian.

“Ms. Madigan, can you take a look at these books in the library and tell us what they’re worth?”

Ms. Madigan stopped her conversation with the officer. “You want me to appraise these books?” she asked, a little confused.

“Just take a look,” said Sebastian. “It may be the treasure we’re looking for.”

Ms. Madigan went down to the secret room and thumbed through the books in the late Robert Fisher’s library. After she studied them and checked the publisher and date of publication on a few of them, her face lit up. “Actually, I think you kids are right!”

The three of them rushed to Mrs. Fisher, who was still talking with the detective.

“Mrs. Fisher? I’m Roxy Madigan, and I hope you don’t mind me looking through your books!”

“It’s not a problem!” said Mrs. Fisher. “I can’t say the books are on the top of my mind right now.”

“This may not be the time and place to talk about it, but these books are rare,” said Ms. Madigan.

“It’s true!” said Maria. “This really is the treasure that Edward sent me after.”

“I know,” Mrs. Fisher said. “Some of them have never seen the light of day. Poor Robert closed his press before—”

“Yes!” interrupted Ms. Madigan. “But a lot of these books are worth some serious money. There are collectors that would pay a hefty price for some of these never-before-seen works.”

“I bet that man at the New York Public Library would like to get his hands on these,” added Sebastian.

Mrs. Fisher patted down a tuft of hair. “Do you think so?”

“Of course!” the three of them said in unison.

“They’re not only rare,” said Ms. Madigan, “but a lot of these works couple Beat poets with prominent artists of the day. These works of art are extremely collectable.”

Maria smiled. This was the treasure worth gold and silver! Mrs. Fisher would no longer be poor! And if Mrs. Fisher wasn’t poor, then maybe she could be her caretaker!

“By the way, thank you for all that you’ve done for this child,” responded Mrs. Fisher. She squeezed Maria’s hand.

“I took a risk visiting your home, which is against policy,” Ms. Madigan said, nudging Maria. “But I’ve been watching you for some time. I knew SOMETHING wasn’t right. You’re going to be safe now, Maria.”

“Thanks for all your help.” Maria said.

“And I’m going to research where you can take these books. There are collectors, yes, but you may even look into reprinting some of these works with larger publishing houses.”

Then Maria remembered. There was a valuable book in that room!

She tore away from Mrs. Fisher and Ms. Madigan and slid across the tile floor until she found the place where she had dropped it. Her father’s book had not been bothered in all the commotion.

She turned to the back flap where a picture of a middle-aged Eddy De la Cruz stood next to a beautiful woman and infant. Under it was his bio:

Eddy De la Cruz grew up in Puerto Rico but has called Brooklyn his home since 1975. He met his wife, Oriana, who came from a long line of psychic mediums, at a séance. When he’s not writing poetry, he spends his spare time playing jazz records, practicing meditation, and caring for his child, Maria.

Maria stared at the photo of her family and studied her mother. She shared her same curly hair and large brown eyes, just like her grandmother. She shut the book and held it close to her chest. Somehow, she knew that things were going to turn out okay.

“Dad,” she said, “thank you!”

Next to her was the envelope that had fallen out from the book earlier. Maria turned it over to discover that it was addressed to Mrs. Fisher.

Maria hopped up and rushed to the widow, handing her the letter. “Mrs. Fisher, this is addressed to you! Read it.”

Mrs. Fisher carefully opened the envelope and took out a yellowed sheet of paper with a handwritten note. “My dearest Marilyn,” she read, her voice trembling with excitement, “I couldn’t bring myself to sell off the book collection after I closed the press. My hope is that the books and paintings will increase in value long after I’m dead. Once you find this, take the collection and sell it at Sotheby’s. Then use the money to do what you love. Forever yours, Robert.”

Mrs. Fisher shut her eyes, placing her hand over her heart. “Robert,” she said, “I know just what I’ll do. Thank you!”