I wondered if Linus Talbot would be on the job at the library on a Saturday. Hoping for the best, I pulled the letter from the envelope and called the number in the signature line as soon as I got back to the bookstore. Thrilled when the receptionist said he was there, I waited, not quite patiently, listening to poorly written Muzak while she connected me to his extension.
“Linus Talbot here,” came a clipped but cultured voice after a few moments.
“Mr. Talbot, my name is Jenna Quinn. I’m Paul Baxter’s niece. I inherited Baxter’s Book Emporium after his recent death.”
“We heard about your uncle. I’m so sorry for your loss, Miss Quinn.” Mr. Talbot’s voice warmed up a bit. “Paul was indeed a unique individual and will be greatly missed in the antique book world. Is there anything specific I can help you with?” His compassionate tones made me more comfortable asking questions.
“Yes, there is.” I smoothed the creases from the letter. “You wrote to Uncle Paul about a book he’d recently brought to you for authentication. Can you tell me about it?” I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d actually be able to fill in a few gaps. Somebody had to have some answers, and I would keep asking questions until I found out who.
“I don’t know much.” He spoke slowly, as if searching his memory for the answer. “I was only allowed to look at one page. It was handwritten and in very good shape. Paul wanted to know if it was written in the early to mid-1930s. I do believe I confirmed that for him.”
“Were you not able to tell him that at the time he brought you the book?” I settled onto the stool behind the counter.
“Yes, I was, but Paul wanted it in writing. I told him I would get to it as soon as I could. I think it was a week later when I finally found time to write and send the letter for him.”
“Had Uncle Paul ever kept you from looking through a book for full authentication before?” I already knew the answer, but it never hurt to ask.
“No. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t. I wondered about that myself.”
Now came the big question. “Can you think of any reason why he would?”
“No. I tried to figure that one out too. Whatever it was, Paul obviously wanted to keep its contents secret. He said one day soon he’d bring it back for full authentication. Sadly, that day didn’t come.”
Oh, come on. He had to know something. “Did he tell you who wrote it?”
“No, I’m afraid he didn’t. When I asked the author’s name, he stated he’d rather not say. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but your uncle simply didn’t give me any more information about the book in question. Is there anything else I can do to help you, Miss Quinn?”
I didn’t want to take up too much of his time and make him unwilling to help me if I needed him later. “No, there isn’t. And thank you again. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.” I slumped, only then realizing I’d been leaning forward in anticipation.
After he hung up, I resisted the temptation to bang the phone on the counter in frustration. All I’d learned was that Uncle Paul had kept an old book a secret. No answers. Only more questions.
My stomach rumbled as I started a pot of coffee. I’d forgotten to take my leftover salad from yesterday upstairs, so I retrieved it from the fridge in the back room and dug in, letting my gaze wander across the piles upon piles of books scattered up and down the aisles. This job would take over a week if I had to do this by myself.
The bells over the entrance door tinkled to announce an arrival. I quickly stuck my salad under the counter and wiped my mouth on a paper towel before turning to greet my first customer who wasn’t trying to break my windows or threatening me with calling the police. Then I caught sight of who stood in my doorway. Oh my God! Maybe I was the one who should call the police now.
“Hi, I’m Mason Craig,” began the well-dressed young man. “I used to work for Paul. I’m looking for the new owner.”
Recognizing the name and his face from the newscast announcing his arrest for Uncle Paul’s murder, I resisted the urge to lie. For all I knew, he recognized my name and face from that same news channel and was worried about me too. “I’m Jenna Quinn. I own the store now. What can I do for you, Mr. Craig?” I hoped he couldn’t see the wariness in my eyes.
“I wondered if I could talk to you for a few minutes.” He shifted from one foot to the other.
“I suppose so.” I moved closer to the front windows to make sure I was visible to passersby. It never hurt to take precautions.
“I guess you’ve seen my picture on the local news, since you look like you’d love to do anything but talk to me.” His shoulders sagged forward.
“Yes, I have seen your picture. They say you killed my uncle.” Of course, they’d also accused me of the same thing. Nevertheless, I held myself tensed and ready to run while using my peripheral vision to scan for something I could use to defend myself if I needed it. Sadly, all I could come up with were clunky reference books. Not much help there.
Mason sat heavily on the chair at the end of the counter and raked a hand through his sandy hair. “I swear to you on my life, I never did anything to Paul Baxter.” His piercing gaze met mine.
“Give me one reason why I should believe you had nothing to do with Uncle Paul’s death after you told everyone you’d get revenge one day.” I watched him intently, hoping to see some sign that I hadn’t invited a murderer to sit and chat.
“I don’t know. I guess nobody else does, so why should you?” Mason leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “But I’d sure like to explain if I could.”
“I’m listening.” I stayed standing. No reason to tempt fate. While I of all people knew how easy it was to be charged for something you didn’t do, that didn’t mean everyone was innocent.
Mason took a deep breath. “Some time ago, I worked for Paul. We met shortly after my mother’s funeral a little over a year ago, and I needed some extra cash to help pay for funeral expenses. Paul agreed to hire me full-time. He really didn’t need anyone to work here, but it gave him more free time to research his old books. It worked out well for both of us.”
“And then you stole.” I crossed my arms over my chest, tilted my head, and glared at him, daring him to deny the fact.
“Yes, I stole.” Mason ducked his head. “Paul could never prove it, and I denied it, of course, but he was right,” he mumbled at his shoes. “After Mom died, I started hanging out with a bunch of druggies. Dope helped dull the pain. I stole from Paul to pay my dealer.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to see through the story and emotion to get at the truth. “I still haven’t heard anything to keep me from thinking you had something to do with his death.”
“There’s more. When Paul fired me, he also blackballed me at all of the other businesses around here. I couldn’t get a decent job.”
“I’m still not hearing anything that says ‘I’m innocent.’” Logic dictated I throw him out, but something made me wait and listen. I wasn’t sure why, but after the way I’d been railroaded, it seemed only fair to at least hear him out.
“When Paul ruined my chances here, I moved, and it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. I got away from that stupid bunch of guys I’d been hanging with and got straight for the first time since my mom died. I wasn’t angry at Paul. He did me a favor, even if he didn’t realize it, but somehow I think he did. I had no reason to hurt him, much less kill him.” Mason shifted in his seat and sighed deeply.
I watched him carefully as he spoke, and the tension he radiated was incredible. However, the desperate lilt of his voice was one I recognized from my own past, and I could tell he was close to tears, although he made a macho attempt to mask it by jiggling his leg and clenching his fists in his lap.
Maybe it was female intuition, or maybe I was gullible, but in my opinion this kid was no more a killer than I was. “So why did the police arrest you?”
“They found out I’d been in town the day Paul was killed. Actually, I had hoped to catch Paul at the cemetery. I wanted to explain to him what I just told you. I must’ve just missed him. I was going to try again next week, but then, well, he died.”
“The only thing they had was that you were in town that day?” I filled a coffee cup and handed it to Mason.
“Not really.” He wrapped his hands around the Styrofoam cup and stared into its depths. “My mother used to use the same kind of sleeping pills found in Paul’s bloodstream. They figured I kept some, which is stupid, because I took those to get to sleep for the first couple of weeks after she died. They’re what started me into drugs. Once they were gone, which was before I even started working for Paul, I looked for something else to knock the edge off the pain. It went downhill from there. But since the sleeping pills started it all, I obviously don’t still have them, although they’re trying to prove I could’ve gotten more.”
“Either way, I don’t think that would be enough evidence to hold you.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, which I needed right about now, and took a sip as I let his words sink in, still looking for holes in his story in case my desire to champion those wrongly accused had won out over common sense.
“I don’t either. Nobody saw me here that day, and my fingerprints weren’t here either. But they shouldn’t be, since I haven’t been here in over a year, and I’ve never been upstairs.” He took a long swallow from his cup, and it seemed to fortify him a tad.
“Still not a very strong case.”
“That’s why bail was set so low.” Mason sighed. “I barely managed to scrape up the cash as it was. And now they tell me not to leave town until this is all straightened out. I guess I’m going to lose my job over this too.”
My heart broke for the boy, as I knew exactly how he felt. But this wasn’t about me. I needed to set the record straight. “Uncle Paul didn’t blackball you.”
Mason’s head whipped up. “He didn’t?” Confused creases snaked across his brow.
“No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t have betrayed you like that. The other business owners decided if he’d fired you, they didn’t want to hire you.” I watched for his reaction to this information.
“But I thought …” He shook his head. “Wow. You know, I think he tried to tell me back then, but I wouldn’t give him the chance.” His shoulders slumped again. “Now he’ll never know he actually helped me.”
I quickly changed the subject before he could slip deeper into despair. “Where will you stay while you’re here?”
“I’ve still got a few friends in town. One of them will put me up for a while.” Mason caught my concerned gaze. “Don’t worry, I don’t mean any of the ‘friends’ I had back when I took drugs. Some friends from before.”
“I guess that’ll do for a place to stay. What about your job?” My mind whirled. I knew this kid was being railroaded like I had been. Something clicked inside me, and I was determined not to let him face it all alone.
“I hope they’ll let me borrow on my time off. I have a few days of vacation time and sick leave available. After that I’ll be on leave without pay.” He looked like a lost little boy.
I took a deep breath, hoping I was right and not simply letting my own situation make me blind to someone who really was guilty. “I could use some help around here going through these books. I’m trying to organize them so customers can find what they want. Are you interested in the job? It’ll only be for minimum wage. I can’t offer any benefits, but at least you could pay some of your bills so you won’t lose your apartment or have your car repossessed while you’re here.”
Mason looked at me, his eyes wide and brows high. “You’d trust me to work here again? After what I did to Paul?”
“I don’t think I’ll have that problem this time around, will I?” At least I hoped not. I tossed my now-empty Styrofoam cup into the trash, sat on the stool behind the counter, and crossed my arms.
“No, ma’am! I swear.” Mason jumped up, sloshing his coffee a bit. He grabbed the paper napkins from my once-again-forgotten lunch and wiped up the spill. “You’ll see. I’ll be a lot of help to you. After a few days, you’ll figure out you can’t do without me.”
“Well, then.” I waved an arm around to encompass the whole front room. “Let’s get cracking.”
The rest of the day passed too quickly, but we managed to get about a quarter of the way through the stacks of books in the front room. Now, including what Rita and I had done the day before, half the stacks were sorted. Of course, they still needed to be alphabetized and reshelved.
When it was time to leave for the day, I locked up with a smile, realizing how much closer I was to completing this huge task, thanks to Mason’s assistance. He really would be a big help in the coming days. My smile sagged. But he wouldn’t be for too long unless we could find a way to prove his innocence … and mine.