Words to describe a man who dates a much older woman:
- Boy toy.
- Happy Meal.
- Cub.
- Gigolo.
- Player.
- Gold digger.
- Arm candy.
- Studmuffin.
- Man hunk.
- Fortunate.
Back in the shop, Miss Josie sipped the last of her tea as she sat on the high stool behind the cash register and read through the ledger. I gazed out the front window of the shop, letting out a low but rather intimidating growl. Miss Josie, who most likely had no idea Cedric the Betrayer lurked somewhere close by, was not impressed.
“Stop growling at the leaves, Capone. They aren’t an invading force. They’re going to keep falling until the trees are bare, so get used to it. Please.”
Excuse me? She thought I growled at a bunch of leaves? Well, yes, I have growled at leaves in the past, and paint cans, and my own shadow, but this time, I growled at a real threat. Cedric.
Why had he come here? What nefarious deeds lurked in that dark and evil mind of his? When I could no longer smell his unique wool and starch scent, I knew he’d gone, and I could finally relax.
“My, it’s getting chilly outside,” said Mrs. Steele, rubbing her arms. “Sorry, it took me so long at the post office. What would you like me to do first?”
“I have to tell you something,” said Miss Josie. “I finally found Mr. Bartleby’s ledger. This was inside.”
She handed Mrs. Steele the Curtis photo, and Mrs. Steele narrowed her eyes. “Is this from The North American Indian?”
Miss Josie nodded, holding up the book in her hands. “And it came from our copy. Someone removed not only this photo but many others, and I think I know who did it.”
Mrs. Steele’s eyes widened behind the thick lenses of her glasses. “You do?”
“Yes. It was Mr. Bartleby. It had to be him. Although I have no idea why he’d do such a thing.”
Mrs. Steele sank into a chair, and when she spoke her voice trembled. “Poor Benjamin. He wasn’t in his right mind. He probably had no idea at all what he’d done.”
“I know.” Miss Josie rose to her feet and limped over to the vault. “But it doesn’t make it any easier. I have to check over the volumes the collector wants to see this afternoon, and we’ll need to look through all the books in the vault to make sure no one tampered with any of the others.”
“Of course. I’ll wash my hands, and then we can get to work.”
After Mrs. Steele went to the back room of the shop, the bell above the door jangled. Mrs. Norris strode into the shop, on the arm of a much younger man.
She smiled at Miss Josie, her bright blue eyes twinkling. Today she had on a long blue coat and skirt. The jacket buttoned to her neck, and she’d decorated it with a colorful broach. Her hat, also blue, sat at a jaunty angle on her white head and was covered in daisies.
“Good afternoon, Josephine. This is my beau, Bill Elliot.”
“Please call me Billy,” he said with a toothy smile.
Big, blond, and paunchy, he looked to be about fifty. Which made him nearly thirty years younger than Mrs. Norris.
“Cute dog,” he said, reaching down to pet me. His touch was rough, and I didn’t like it. I backed away, hiding behind Miss Josie’s legs
“Were you able to find the mysterious safety deposit box, Josie?” asked Mrs. Norris. She reached into her small, embroidered pocketbook and gave me a dog biscuit. I snatched it up. I’m so easily bought.
“No,” said Miss Josie. “But we did find the missing ledger.”
“How fortunate. Was there anything useful in it?”
Miss Josie shook her head, her expression melancholy. “Not that I could tell.”
“There, there, dear. It’ll be okay. And if you need any help searching for things, I can loan you Billy. He’s good at heavy lifting, and so strong.” Mrs. Norris patted Billy’s bicep and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “He’s been packing up inventory for me, and he’s nearly finished. He can come and help you any time.”
Miss Josie stood up, detangling me from her legs. “I appreciate the offer, and thanks for stopping by, but I’d better get back to work. I have a customer arriving in a few minutes, and I need to get organized. Do you need anything else?”
Mrs. Norris’s face tightened ever so slightly, as if she didn’t like being dismissed. Maybe it was an old person thing. “Not at all. We’ll be on our way. Remember what I said. You don’t have to do this on your own. Your friends are here to help you.”
After they left the shop, Mrs. Steele joined Miss Josie by the vault. “Was Henrietta here?” she asked.
Miss Josie bit her lip to keep from smiling. “And her boyfriend, Billy.”
“Oh, I’ve met him,” said Mrs. Steele with a soft giggle. “They are quite the interesting couple, aren’t they?”
“They certainly are,” said Miss Josie. “You know, it’s funny. I always suspected she and Mr. Bartleby had a thing going on. Do you think they dated?”
Mrs. Steele shook her head so hard the bun on top of her head wobbled. “Benjamin never got over the death of his wife.”
“Wasn’t her name Lizzie?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Steele. “I started working here when she was still alive, you know. I’ve never seen two people more in love. He called her his special rose.”
Miss Josie placed a hand over her heart. “And later he planted the roses out back in her memory.”
“It was his way of grieving, I think. She died not long before I lost my own husband. Working here was what kept me going. Well, that and my children. They were small when he died, and I raised them on my own.”
“It must have been so hard for you.”
“It was definitely a struggle. They went to private school, and then to rather elite colleges. It was expensive and difficult at times, but I did what I had to do.” Her eyes grew misty. “And Mr. Bartleby helped me more than he’ll ever know.”
I looked at the photo of Mr. Bartleby on the wall. He helped widowed ladies. He planted rosebushes in memory of his wife. He left Miss Josie the shop in his will. He seemed like a decent and honorable man, and not the kind to destroy valuable books for no apparent reason. The only question was why did he do it?