Of the two replies, Monica Parker’s email was particularly interesting. Among my new book contacts, she represented a group of mainly nonfiction publishers who hired her to represent books that I was not likely to find in Publishers Weekly or other book lists that were coming my way these days. I liked her entrepreneurial spirit in working with smaller publishing houses and I was not surprised that she responded so quickly to my email. I dialed the cell number listed in her signature block and she answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Monica!” I said when I heard her answer.
She went right to business. “So, Carr, what exactly are you up to in that little shop?”
“Monica, you can’t imagine. I never expected to deal in rare and antique books, but that was one of my first requests from a customer. Who knows? Maybe that’s a good option for me, since I’m running a bookstore on a historic island.” We discussed Paul, his historical knowledge, past efforts to find these books, and the urgency of his request.
“Well, to be honest, this is going to be tough—and expensive,” Monica said. “To start with, you knew these books were out of print and have been for—well, it looks like for two centuries in one case! They’re not on any library inter-loan list, so that’s not a solution. Then, because it’s not in the library systems, Google Books never scanned these. And I’m sure you or your customer checked the obvious online auction sites. I know that I did. Nothing there. Now, that doesn’t mean we can’t get them, but let’s be honest, these were short runs by small publishers that just don’t exist anymore. That’s a much trickier request, for all the reasons you can imagine.”
She continued, “I do have some good news for you. I have a lead on one of the rarest volumes your customer requested. The Story of the Carolinas, Vol. XXXVI of The Modern Part of an Universal History, leather bound and published in London in—what’s MDCCLXXV?”
“1775,” I said. “And I’m starting to get the picture that this is going to be a tough request to fulfill, right?”
“Right,” Monica said. “And I won’t even try to read the full slate of names that are listed as publishers. But the title page says, ‘Printed for S. Richardson, T. Osborne, C. Hitch’ and then there are about a dozen other names ‘and the Polymath Club’.”
“I’m impressed!” I said. “You got right to it!”
“Okay, well at least I’ve got a line on one of these books for your client. And—let me look at this email again as I’m talking to you.” There was a pause. I heard the clicks. “Right. yes, that’s the correct book and it only showed up because there was a Washington D.C. newspaper clipping that turned up in one of my friend’s searches that mentions this guy who’s an Atlantic shoreline historian. My friend followed that Post clip back to this historian’s website and, as it turns out, he wrote a blog post some years ago about this series of books in his library. He’s got a photo of the title page of The Carolinas volume and a little back story about how these books survived various disasters over the years. There are actually a few little holes in one corner of the page in the photo he posted, because sometime in the last couple hundred years, someone who owned it had an infestation of bookworms! They didn’t destroy the books, and they’re long, long gone, but they nibbled a little on the corners. Let’s say your Carolinas book is very appropriately distressed for an eighteenth-century volume.”
“I’m in awe,” I said. “You guys did this so fast. So, did you make contact with this historian? Should I make contact? Do you think he’d sell the book?”
“I have no idea yet,” Monica said. “And, no, don’t try to reach him directly. My friend and I are pursuing this. I will have more information, probably in a day or two, but I wanted to ask you before we go much further on this: How much is this guy willing to pay? I need to know what I am working with before we reach out.”
“I think my client will be willing to pay. Seems like he’s got money, you know. He specifically told me I would be rewarded for finding these books, so I assume he understands that we all expect fees here, plus the cost of the book. It didn’t seem that there were financial limits, but I will check. What else do I need to know?”
Monica said, “I say that you should make your phone call to him, and I will make my calls. I still have a few ideas to pursue on the other volumes, but I am heading in a good direction with probably the rarest on his list. Let’s touch base after you talk to your client. For now, I have what I need.”
Then, before I picked up the phone to call Paul, I turned to the second email—the one from Bob Harkins of East-West Books.
“Carr, great to connect,” Bob said when I reached him.
“Thanks for your email,” I said.
“Sorry we missed each other when I stopped by the island the other week,” he said. “I was in the region for a writers’ conference at Savannah-Mercer for a couple of days. So, it was an impulse thing to hop on a ferry to see your Mongin. Your descriptions—plus the books and movies about the island—make that place seem like another world, another time. I thought I’d soak up a few hours of the local color and surprise you. I did leave a box for you with Tripp. I wish now that I had called in advance. We could have had lunch in Savannah.”
“I was surprised when I heard you rode the ferry over,” I said. “Sorry I missed you. I was hot on the trail of my new cash register—or, I should say, my new old cash register. I wanted an antique and ended up finding a good one. It’s a little clunky but most people have patience for the slow pace.”
“Sounds like things are going well at the store. But I have to say, I was more than a little surprised you’re already digging into antiquarian searches.”
“This has all happened so fast, I never even thought about rare books but this request came from a customer. We are starting to pick up some steam and I want to build a loyal customer base. And this customer, in particular, doesn’t seem like he is used to hearing ‘no’ often. I tried every which way to set reasonable expectations. He is a regular visitor to the island, so this could be a long-term relationship.”
“Fascinating. Your island is full of mystery, and your customer has some well-developed requests, that’s for sure. Tough for you to start with these—these are some heavy hitters.”
I was eager to encourage Bob, so I added, “I’ve still got your latest email about the summer titles you’re representing. I’ll be ordering soon. I am really starting to understand the demographics here.”
“Excellent!” he said. “And I have a new author from Florida who I want to showcase in your part of the country this summer. He’s retired and well off and he’s paying his own way on an Atlantic Coast book tour—and he hired me to help with the logistics. He and his wife want to explore all the places they said they would travel to someday. I think he’d be ideal for a day on Mongin. He is interested in the regional history, has seen some of the movies shot on the island, I think you would enjoy meeting him. His book is in that box I left.”
“Book tour! How exciting—I think residents and tourists would like an event like this. I would love to offer it at the shop, so send me some more details on this author and we’ll talk. I like this idea.”
“Right,” he said. “Then, let’s get to today’s business. Today we’re talking about these antiquarian requests. This is some list, Carr. Not exactly beach reads, that’s for sure. What’s the story here?”
We covered Paul’s thirst for this material, and I tried to convey his urgency for a resolution to a problem on which he would not elaborate. I told Bob that Paul isn’t a full-time resident and seemed eager to finish some research before leaving again in a matter of weeks.
Bob asked the question that also puzzled me, “What’s he studying?!”
“That I don’t know,” I answered. “He’s a bit of a riddle, to be honest.”
“Is he a journalist trying to break a 200-year-old story?”
I laughed. “No, he’s not a journalist, at least as far as I know. So far, I’m chalking this up to ‘Island Mysteries.’ I’ve been coming to Mongin for more than a decade, but in these months since I’ve settled in as a resident, I keep meeting people with—well, with mysteries swirling around them.”
Bob said, “Well, I’m happy to help. I have to branch out. You know, book agents like me are an endangered species these days. People are buying more books every year than ever before, but the Big Five have squeezed the margins so close that those golden advances that used to be our bread and butter are long gone. Unless you’ve got celebrity clients—and I haven’t managed to land a movie star or a former president yet. If you’re not a heavy hitter, there’s very little money up front, if any at all. There’s certainly no more money for publisher-paid book tours. So, my expansion into other fields is what’s keeping me afloat. I’ve now signed a half dozen authors to independently rep their launches. And that, Carr, is a very long way of admitting to you that I’m not exactly an expert in the antiquarian market. However, I am taking on some rare book inquiries to shore up the bottom line.”
“I understand and I appreciate that. Seems like change is certainly inevitable in all industries these days. So, tell me more, I certainly appreciated your email.”
“Of course,” he said. “I wrote right away because I do think I have a lead on one book, but it’s from a private collector. Everything about this tells me this is going to be expensive, very expensive. From what I hear, this collector can trace a direct family lineage to the early 1700s in your region of the country. If he is willing to part with this book, it will be very expensive.”
“Sounds like that might be the case,” I agreed. “I am curious about this collector. What else can you tell me?”
“Not much, sadly. Collectors often want to stay in the background. So, this will be my part of the mystery.”
“My customer did make it clear he expects to pay reasonable fees to get these books. To ballpark, would you guess we are talking hundreds, or maybe thousands? What do you think?”
Bob took a deep breath and said, “I admit that this is out of my wheelhouse, but a former colleague of mine in New York now is very active in this market. When I got your list, I called him with it. He’s the one who found this source and agreed to keep me in the deal. So, I will be honest with you. I actually don’t have too many more details to share at this point. What I can tell you is that my friend now deals in famous first editions—you know, books that go up for auction through Christie’s and the like for six figures. He’s doing me a favor here, because we’ve known each other for years, but I get the sense from him that this will run into the thousands easily, maybe tens of thousands. And, at this point, he doesn’t even know if his source is willing to sell, so that puts more pressure on the deal. I wanted to find out how serious your guy is about this before I ask my friend to go further.”
As I had with Monica, Bob and I confirmed the title and edition. As he read me the listing of names from the Polymath Club, I got a chill and my stomach turned a little. “What are you reading from, Bob?”
“My friend sent me a photo.”
Instantly, I suspected Bob and Monica might be closing in on the same collector, and I debated whether I should say anything more. I certainly did not want to touch off a bidding war. I took a breath and was just about to tell Bob about Monica when I hesitated. Did I really know enough to suspect they might have the same collector in mind? I didn’t know their sources. They might be entirely different collectors. I intentionally asked nothing more about this photograph, but knew I did not have long to figure this out.
“Ummm, Bob, let’s do this,” I said. “I’ll call my customer and find out more about his budget. On your end, please get back to me as soon as you know more about this collector. I’d like to know more details before your friend starts any negotiations.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “Maybe we all can make a few dollars, make your customer happy and start a whole new line for Books & Brew.”
“Let’s hope,” I said, still a little anxious about not telling Bob more. There were just so many things to process in the last few days, I really did not feel sure of much right now.
All of this would have to wait. I needed to get to Paul. I hit his contact on my phone and waited for him to answer. Just before my call went to voicemail, he picked up and I was greeted with his immediate annoyance.
“Yes, Carr,” he said brusquely. “What news are you bearing today?”
I quickly went through the updates Bob and Monica had shared, careful not to share too many details. Everyone in this deal was protecting valuable information—and so was I. Then, I outlined the potential cost, going with Bob’s estimate and not mentioning that Monica had not yet ballparked a price. I needed to test the high end to weigh Paul’s commitment.
“So, what if we come back with an offer that’s more than ten thousand dollars?” I asked.
Paul was silent. I wondered if our call had dropped. “Hello? Paul? You still there?”
“I am contemplating,” he said. “Frankly, I had hoped, well, at the risk of sounding mildly ungrateful, I had hoped your contacts would have performed better for you—for us. I had hoped that someone might have been able to locally source options for me. These seem like books that might have been retained by older families. I was envisioning dusty leather-backed volumes just taking up space on someone’s parlor shelves, you know—someone who might feel honored that a researcher wanted to obtain one of their volumes. I was envisioning a contact I might be able to pursue and pick up these books for a matter of—” Then, he fell silent again. Finally, he said, “Oh, perhaps a few thousand dollars overall. Something that would be an easy transaction, something that flies under the radar.”
This was equally disappointing and illuminating. He wanted a deal that would not bring undue attention. I had not told him much about Monica or Bob and now I was glad I had not. Monica worked out of Chicago and Bob’s office was in Philadelphia. Paul seemed to have assumed that I somehow had book contacts in coastal historical societies. At the moment, I had two legitimate leads toward finding Paul’s rarest book and several people—including myself—already had spent hours on his search. Could he find a copy for a few thousand dollars? It didn’t seem likely. Part of me wanted to question him. Afterall, he made it sound that money was no object and that I would be rewarded for my efforts. Yet, now with an active lead, was he hesitating? After years of searching? This reaction was disorienting.
Paul had fallen silent again.
I made my point by switching to the past tense. “Paul, we did the best we could. These are extremely rare books. My contacts and I searched all the usual databases. We collectively asked experienced professionals to help, using their networks. If your budget is limited, I can contact them and close out this matter.”
This guy was draining. He was smart and clearly was experienced in historical research. He must understand something about this market.
“Frankly, I am running out of time,” he said finally. “Time, unfortunately, is not on my side in this process. So, I believe I may have no choice. This Plan B you have outlined for me is very unappealing. At my bidding, you have started inquiries and have kindly pointed out that the antiquarian market is indeed the correct avenue for this procurement. The fact that no one could find these through the usual searches does not surprise me. You can be assured, I have exhausted those options myself. I do thank you for this sliver of hope and I am willing to proceed.”
“Okay Paul, I will communicate this to my contacts, that you are willing to move forward,” I said. “That is, if the budget works for you.” I thought he would have jumped at the idea of finally having the text he wanted after all these years of searching. At this point, I almost felt like I was convincing him. His wavering was unexpected. What was really going on with him?
“Please proceed,” he finally said. “However, when you are closing in on a specific offer, I will want the seller to send me proof in the form of some photographs.”
“Of course,” I said. “And, depending on the price, there should be an examination of the book at the time of sale. At more than ten thousand, an in-person examination is a given.”
He did not respond to that. He apparently was still focused on his own line of thinking. “Photographs will be a requirement in the process, before any check is cut or meeting is set. Photographs of some specific pages I will send to you and you can convey to the seller,” he said.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Photos would be a reasonable step. I will make sure I outline your request.”
As the call ended, I realized I was shaking my head.
“Didn’t go as you thought?” Tripp asked over my shoulder.
“No, but I can’t figure out why.”
“Maybe you are just seeing mysteries everywhere.” Tripp tried to sound encouraging, but I still felt like I was missing something.
With Paul’s direction outlined, I fired up my email once again and began writing very carefully worded emails to Monica and Bob. But now I knew to anticipate more mysterious twists from Paul. Photographs of some specific pages? Then, it clicked! Why hadn’t I seen this the moment he mentioned photos? If he got his photographs, would Paul balk at the final sale of the entire book itself? What exactly did Paul want? A book or information from the book? Clearly, I would have to negotiate more carefully myself and limit what pages we would request.
Soon enough, I would have to address the question regarding Bob and Monica’s sourcing, as it was weighing heavily on me. Life had taught me that if things like this keep themselves in the foreground, it is likely best to tackle head on and soon. I needed to pause on this until my head was a little clearer and I could find the right words.
For now, I put Paul and his demands out of my mind. It was time to learn a little more about Carl. I was eager to use the login Julie had sent me.
The data vault holding Carl’s files was organized by file type. There were so many spreadsheets, so they seemed to demand my attention first. I flagged a couple for further review but the one that caught my eye was the export from Carl’s bookkeeping software. It was a year-to-date record of his business revenue and expenses—and it was impressive. Carl ran his business well. Expenses were low. Without an office and having a small geographic territory on which to focus, it seemed he managed his costs very well. Marketing was Carl’s biggest investment, which was completely reasonable when you factor in all the ads, photography, and printed material in real estate marketing. Carl had expensed a few meals and gifts for clients but there was nothing concerning or unusual in his records.
On the revenue side, his reputation seemed well-founded. Carl collected commission from sales and rentals monthly and there were many months with multiple transactions. Carl’s real estate business was healthy and impressive. Other spreadsheet tabs showed the history from prior years. Overall, it was quite remarkable. As Helen had said, he had done very well. We would need to spend time confirming the accuracy of this information, but at first glance, it looked solid. Carl kept detailed records, was a conscientious business manager and, by all accounts, a solid real estate broker.
Opening Carl’s database of listings was a gold mine. Each property’s description included the homeowner’s information, activity, showings, and links to the plat and information on file with the county. The dashboard on the home page made it easy to run reports and with three clicks, I had Carl’s current listing report sent to the printer across the room. As expected, the blue pin properties were there. Noticeably absent were any Governor’s Point lots, requiring me to dig deeper. Nothing I found so far explained the green pin.
Sifting through Carl’s historical activity, I found the three Governor’s Point lots he sold years ago. Interestingly, the buyers for these lots were the same people as those currently listed on the county property records. I found myself saying out loud: “I wonder if these people are holding on to these things, waiting for something good to happen, or if they just can’t get rid of them?”
I needed to talk to someone who might be able to get me a lead on this mystery, so I began preparing a list of questions for Scott Campino. This was going to be challenging. Should I think of Scott as a source of helpful information, a suspect, or both? But that call would have to wait.
Thirty minutes before the store opened, I turned on the lights, started the ceiling fans, brewed some fresh tea for the carafes, and prepped the store. As I raced around with the floorboards creaking beneath me, I rehearsed the conversation I anticipated having with Scott, trying to navigate my questions about the murder scene and to find some clue to the mysterious green pin. I began to test the sound of my planned questions.
“No, not in years!” Tripp’s booming voice jolted me back to reality.
“Tripp, you scared me half to death. How long have you been in here? Seriously, I just jumped a mile!”
“Sorry Carr, I heard you talking and I just assumed you were talking to me. I said ‘Good morning’, and you asked me if I had been to Governor’s Point lately.” He looked just as confused as I had felt.
“I was rehearsing what I am about to say to Scott Campino. Sorry, Tripp, I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.” I sheepishly looked at him. “I thought you were coming in at noon? Sorry for the goofy start to the day!”
I headed right to the office, mission-focused and ready. One quick sip of my peppermint tea later, Scott Campino’s phone was ringing.