The figure turned out to be none other than Olivia Hokes. What could possibly have the woman so upset she felt the need to beat on store windows?
I rushed forward before she could damage the glass. “May I help you, Miss Hokes?” I smiled in what I hoped was a believable, friendly-store-owner manner.
“Yes,” came the clipped retort. “You can get my book.” She pursed her lips and gave a tilted nod, her hands now clasped in front of another vintage dress.
“Excuse me?” I racked my brain, shoving the revelations from moments ago to the back of my mind and mentally searching through the books I’d seen on the shelf behind the counter, yet I couldn’t remember seeing anything with her name on it. But then I hadn’t exactly been looking either.
“My book.” Olivia squinted at me, her hands now on her hips. “The one Paul Baxter was supposed to order but kept saying had never come in. I know it really did. It was very rare, and I wouldn’t put it past him if he kept it out of spite. I saw you in there today, and I want my book. Now. If you don’t give it to me immediately, I’ll call the police.”
I shot a look at Rita, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders.
Smile. Be sweet. Don’t piss off customers. What was the old saying? The customer is always right, or something like that. “Miss Hokes, I’m sure if Uncle Paul told you he didn’t have the book, then he really didn’t have it yet.”
“Well, I want that book,” Olivia Hokes spat out. “You’d better find it, or else. It’s a 1923 treatise on the history of Hokes Folly. Paul said he’d located a copy and promised to order it. I need it for my collection.”
“Your collection?” I glanced again at Rita and received a second shrug.
“Yes.” The woman seemed to puff up with smugness and self-importance. “I have the largest collection on Hokes Folly anywhere in the state. There are two libraries begging me to donate the books to them in my will.”
“You do understand the book you want might not be here.” I typed the information into the notes on my phone.
“If it’s not, then you’d better look for it to come. I want it the moment it’s here. I’ll be watching you.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ll know when your shipments come in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I gritted my teeth, determined not to be rude to the woman. “The book might be held at the post office if it arrived after Uncle Paul’s death.”
“It’s one more thing that old man messed up. He had to cause me trouble even after he’s dead and gone.” Olivia Hokes turned on her heel, stomped away to the shop next door, and went inside.
I brushed a stray hair out of my face and turned to Rita. “Do you have any idea what that was all about?”
“None whatsoever.” Rita shook her head, her forehead wrinkled and an amused look in her eyes. “Let’s go before your neighbor decides to really call the police and have us arrested for loitering or something.”
“Neighbor?” Oh God, was I going to have to see her every day? I followed Rita into the store, letting the sweet tinkle of the bell over the door cheer me.
“Yep, she and her sister, Ophelia, run the antique clothing store next door under my apartment. So, you’d better try to patch things up with her by finding the book she wants.”
We searched every logical place the book could be. An hour later, I plopped down on the floor in the back room by three stacks of books stuffed under the desk, while Rita perched on the kitchen counter she’d cleared of yet another stack.
“Didn’t Uncle Paul keep records of any kind?” I tugged a bit of hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear.
Rita laughed. “Oh, but that would be too easy. Paul thought modern computers were useless. They might crash, there might be a power outage, or someone might steal them, so he refused to own one. He felt it was all better kept up in his head, so no one could mess with it.”
I shook my head. A new computer went on my list of things to buy for the store. With no place else to look, I finally called the post office and asked how to go about retrieving Uncle Paul’s mail. As his legal heir, I figured I had a right to it. The lady at the post office said there was indeed a stack of mail, including packages, that had been held at the post office, since no one had come to pick them up. There would be forms to fill out, and she told me at which branch the mail would be held.
“Well, I guess I’m off to get the mail. Want to come?” I brushed as much dust off my jeans as I could and pulled my purse from under the counter.
She shook her head. “No sense in both of us going. I’ll stay here and keep at the book piles.”
Two long hours and many forms later, I lugged several heavy boxes of books and a stack of Uncle Paul’s personal and business mail out to the car. I was itching to dig into the boxes, hoping to at least find Olivia’s book and maybe discover something to answer the questions surrounding his death. However, I knew Rita would insist on helping, and I didn’t want to have to go through it all twice.
“Hey,” she called from the back of the store as I walked in with the first two boxes. “Need a hand?” She didn’t wait for an answer before clapping her hands.
“Very funny.” I heaved a box onto the front counter. “You’d better behave, or I’ll have to look for another assistant to go through the goodies.”
“Ouch.” Rita walked to the front and reached for the other box, helping me lift it onto the counter. “Did you carry these all the way from the parking area?”
“No, I waved my magic wand, and they floated in the air beside me.” I rolled my eyes as I headed toward the door. “Come on, there are more.”
After we’d made three trips and brought in more than a dozen boxes, as well as the stack of mail, I plopped down onto the stool behind the counter. “I’ll probably be sore tomorrow. I think I’ve used muscles today that haven’t been used in way too long.”
“You should exercise more.” Rita pawed through the mail on the counter.
“Gee, thanks for the advice.” I stood and stretched. Maybe I needed to start working out again. I’d stopped when I couldn’t go to the gym without whispers behind hands or a surprise visit from a reporter looking for the latest angle. Gritting my teeth, I forced the memories away and stood.
The phone jangled and interrupted my morbid thoughts.
“Baxter’s Book Emporium,” I answered.
“Jenna, this is Horace Grimes. I wanted to let you know the autopsy has been completed and the body has come back to Hokes Folly and is now at the Haven of Rest Funeral Home. I’ve already spoken with the funeral director, and as Paul’s wishes were on file with him, everything is taken care of. The funeral is set for Sunday at one PM.”
I flopped into the chair I’d vacated. “Thanks for letting me know. Do I need to help notify anyone? Place an ad? Anything?”
“No,” he responded in that calming voice I’d come to appreciate. “I’ll handle everything so you don’t have to. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
The line went dead, and I placed the phone back in its cradle.
“Are you okay?” Rita leaned on the counter in front of me.
“Yeah. It was only Mr. Grimes. Uncle Paul’s funeral will be Sunday at one.”
Rita walked around the counter, knelt beside me, and gave me a full-on hug. I melted into it, reveling in the sisterly warmth I drew from it.
After a moment, I disengaged and stood, determined not to get emotional and weepy there in the store, where a customer might, just might, walk in. I took a fortifying breath, mentally stepping off the emotional roller coaster I’d come to know too well. “We’d better get at it if we hope to make it through the mail and all of these books today.”
She nodded and moved back to the other side of the counter. We quickly sorted the mail into piles of personal mail, bills, packages, and what looked like business correspondence.
I slid the bills to the side to go through and pay later then picked up a handful of the business letters and thumbed through them. “These are all out-of-date sales ads.” I tossed the handful into the trash can.
Box cutter in hand, I opened the first of the packages that weren’t book boxes. It contained new checks, and I stuck these under the counter. Too bad he’d ordered them, since I’d be changing the store’s name and would have to replace them … if I stayed. I grabbed the second box. It and the next one held large reference volumes used to price other books.
“I hope it gets better than this.” Rita sighed and reached for another package. “I’m not sure if I can stand much more excitement.”
I gave her a withering look. “I’m sorry if business items aren’t thrilling enough for you, but they’re a necessary part of running a store.” I waved a hand toward the aisles. “You could always go organize some more books if you’re bored.”
“Nah, we’re finally getting to the good stuff.” Rita grinned and cut open the first book box.
Several packages later, Rita whooped and did a fist pump. “I found it!”
“Thank God.” I heaved a sigh of relief. I hadn’t been looking forward to telling Olivia Hokes we couldn’t find her book. I looked at the time on my phone. “How late is Olivia’s store open?”
“Not sure, but I think they’ve already closed today. I saw Olivia walking toward the parking area a little while ago.” Rita checked the coffeepot. “If we’re going to be here a bit longer, want me to start another pot?”
“Sure.” I reached for another book box. “I’d like to finish sorting through most of this tonight, if you don’t mind.”
After opening the remaining boxes and tossing out as much junk mail as we could find, we started opening the business letters to the store.
“Hey, Jenna, look at this.” Rita flattened a letter on the counter.
“What is it?” I plopped my elbows on the counter and leaned in to see the letter.
Rita read out loud. “‘Dear Mr. Baxter, as you know, I cannot confirm the validity of authorship, but I can confirm, based upon the single page you showed me, the authenticity of the ink and paper. I would have been able to do a more thorough job if you had left the book with me, but I can confirm that both the type and age of the ink and paper place them around the nineteen thirties. I hope this has been a help to you in your search. Sincerely, Linus Talbot, Director of Antique Books, Hokes Folly Community Library.’” She leaned back and slid the letter toward me.
I picked it up and skimmed through it again, trying to read between the lines and glean more information than was printed on the page. No luck. “What do you make of it?”
Rita poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “I would guess Paul was researching some book he’d bought at auction.”
“What do you mean?” I set the letter on the counter and accepted the steaming Styrofoam cup she offered me.
“When Paul went to estate sales, he bought books by the lot. He didn’t get to pick through to look for the good ones. He either had to buy the whole box or set of boxes or leave it. That’s pretty much standard policy at estate auctions. Most of the time he got decent stuff he could easily sell. Sometimes he got absolute junk he had to all but give away to get rid of, but every once in a while he discovered a true gem.”
“And?” I blew gently across the cup, willing it to cool faster so I wouldn’t scorch my tongue.
“If he found a book he thought might really be worth something, he looked up a friend at the library who had access to dating equipment for books. He wanted to make sure a book was the real deal before putting it up for auction.”
“So this is no big deal then.” Disappointed, I put the letter on the to-be-filed pile and reached for another envelope.
“Well, there is one odd thing,” said Rita thoughtfully. “If he wanted a book authenticated, he would’ve wanted everything about it confirmed, not simply the age of the paper and ink. And he usually left the book at the library until it was fully authenticated.”
“Why wouldn’t he have done that this time?” I picked up the letter again and studied the signature at the bottom. “Do you think this has anything to do with the mystery he mentioned in his email?”
“There’s only one way to know.” Rita flopped down into the chair, stretched her legs out, and crossed her ankles. “Since whatever it is he wanted to authenticate legally belongs to you now, tomorrow we call good old Linus Talbot and ask what Paul showed him.”