Luke raised a wineglass and said, “Here’s to antiques hunting in the South of France.”
3.
Two days later, the first truck was loaded with most of Noelle’s inventory. It left Camino Island bound for a warehouse in Houston where a large space was waiting. A thousand square feet had been leased to Luke and Carol Massey. The bill, though, would eventually cross the desk of Elaine Shelby.
In several months, when the project was over, for better or for worse, the lovely antiques would slowly reenter the market.
4.
At dusk, Mercer went to the beach, turned south, and drifted along at the water’s edge. The Nelsons, from four doors to the south, stopped her for a quick chat as their mutt sniffed her ankles. They were in their seventies and held hands as they walked the beach. They were friendly to the point of being nosy and had already extracted the reason for Mercer’s little vacation. “Happy writing,” Mr. Nelson said as they left her. A few minutes later she was stopped by Mrs. Alderman, from eight doors to the north, who was walking her twin poodles and always seemed desperate for human contact. Mercer wasn’t desperate, but she was enjoying the neighborhood.
Almost to the pier, she left the water and approached a boardwalk. Elaine was back in town and wanted to meet. She was waiting on the small patio outside the triplex she had leased for the operation. Mercer had been there once before and seen no one but Elaine. If there were others involved in the surveillance, or if someone was shadowing her, she was unaware of it. Elaine had been vague when quizzed about it.
They stepped into the kitchen and Elaine asked, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water is fine.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.”
“Well, we can order a pizza, sushi, or Chinese takeout. What will it be?”
“I’m really not hungry.”
“Neither am I. Let’s sit here,” Elaine said, pointing to a small breakfast table between the kitchen and the den. She opened the fridge and removed two bottles of water. Mercer took a seat and looked around. “Are you staying here?” she asked.
“Yes, for two nights.” Elaine sat across from her.
“Alone?”
“Yes. There’s no one else on the island as of today. We come and go.”
Mercer almost asked about the “we” part but let it pass.
Elaine said, “So, you’ve seen Noelle’s store.” Mercer nodded. Her nightly report by e-mail was deliberately vague.
“Tell me about it. Describe the layout.”
Mercer walked her through each display room, upstairs and down, adding as much detail as possible. Elaine listened carefully but did not take notes. It was obvious she knew a lot about the store.
“Is there a basement?” Elaine asked.
“Yes, she mentioned it in passing, said she had a workshop down there, but had no interest in showing it to me.”
“She’s holding the writer’s table. We tried to buy it but she said it’s not for sale. At some point soon you’re going to buy it, but perhaps you’ll want it painted. Perhaps she’ll do this in the basement, and maybe you’ll want to take a look to see a sample of the new color. We need to have a look in the basement because it adjoins the bookstore’s.”
“Who tried to buy it?”
“We. Us. The good guys, Mercer. You’re not alone.”
“Why is this not comforting?”
“You’re not being watched. We come and go, as I’ve said.”
“Okay. Suppose I get into her basement. Then what?”
“Look. Observe. Take it all in. If we’re lucky there might be a door that leads to the bookstore.”
“I doubt that.”
“I doubt it too but we need to know. Is the wall concrete, brick, wood? We might need to go through it one day, or night. What about the store’s video surveillance?”
“Two cameras, one aimed at the front door, the other in the back above the small kitchen area. There could be more but I didn’t see any. None on the second floor. I’m sure you already know this.”
“Yes, but in this business we triple check everything and we never stop gathering information. How is the front door locked?”
“Dead bolt, with a key. Nothing fancy.”
“Did you see a rear door?”
“No, but I didn’t go all the way to the rear. I think there are some more rooms back there.”
“To the east is the bookstore. To the west is a realtor’s office. Any door connecting to it?”
“None that I saw.”
“Nice work. You’ve been here three weeks, Mercer, and you’ve done a superb job of blending in and not arousing suspicion. You’ve met the right people, seen all you can see, and we’re very pleased. But we need to make something happen.”
“I’m sure you have something up your sleeve.”
“Indeed.” Elaine walked to the sofa, picked up three books, and placed them in the center of the table. “Here’s the story. Tessa left Memphis in 1985 and moved here for good. As we know, her will left her estate to her three children in equal shares. It had a provision leaving you twenty thousand dollars in cash for college. She had six other grandchildren — Connie, Holstead’s bunch out in California, and Jane’s only child, Sarah. You were the only one who got a specific bequest.”
“I was the only one she really loved.”
“Right, so our new story goes something like this. After she died, you and Connie were going through her personal items, the small stuff that’s not mentioned in the will, and the two of you decided to divide it. A few items of clothing, some old photos, maybe some inexpensive art, whatever. Create the fiction you want. In the deal, you received a box of books, most of them kids’ books Tessa had bought for you over the years. At the bottom, though, were these three books, all first editions from the public library in Memphis, all checked out by Tessa in 1985. When Tessa moved to the beach, she either intentionally or inadvertently brought these three books with her. Thirty years later, you have them.”
“Are they valuable?”
“Yes and no. Look at the one on top.”
Mercer picked it up. The Convict by James Lee Burke. It appeared to be in perfect condition, its dust jacket pristine and encased in Mylar. Mercer opened it, turned to the copyright page, and saw the words “First Edition.”
Elaine said, “As you probably know, this was a collection of Burke’s short stories that got a lot of attention in 1985. The critics loved it and it sold well.”
“What’s it worth?”
“We bought this one last week for five thousand dollars. The first printing was small and there aren’t many of these left in circulation. On the back of the dust jacket you’ll see a bar code. That’s what the Memphis library was using in 1985, so the book is virtually unmarked. Of course we added the bar code and I’m sure Cable will know someone in the business who can remove it. It’s not that difficult.”
“Five thousand dollars,” Mercer repeated, as if she were holding a gold brick.
“Yes, and from a reputable dealer. The plan is for you to mention this book to Cable. Tell him its story but don’t show him the book, at least initially. You’re not sure what to do. The book was obviously taken by Tessa and she had no legitimate claim to it. Then it was taken by you, outside her estate, and so you have no legitimate claim to it. The book belongs to the library in Memphis, but after thirty years who really cares? And, of course you need the money.”
“We’re making Tessa a thief?”
“It’s fiction, Mercer.”
“I’m not sure I want to defame my deceased grandmother.”
“ ‘Deceased’ is the key word. Tessa’s been dead for eleven years and she didn’t steal anything. The fiction you tell Cable will be heard by him only.”