“Oh,” I said, recovering. “May I see him?”
“He’s not in, ma’am. We don’t expect him in this morning until eleven.”
I automatically glanced at my watch. It was just after nine—no way I was wasting two hours waiting here. “Can I make an appointment to see him tomorrow?”
“Of course,” said the secretary. She took down my name and phone number, and then I asked for the new principal’s name.
“It’s Chesley,” the secretary said. “Claymore Chesley.”
I was still reeling from that little revelation when I’d returned to the store to find my aunt wearing the doe-eyed expression of a thief caught with one hand in the till.
“I know what you’re going to say, Penelope,” she told me the second I’d entered. “You’re going to say I was wrong to do it. But I’m glad I did.”
I noticed that the Phelps editions were spread out across the counter beside the register. Sadie noticed that I noticed, and she immediately started babbling.
“Before you scold me, you have to understand that I couldn’t help myself. The man was just so…persuasive. And his offer was generous, too generous to pass up.” Her face was flushed, her hands flailing madly. “Please forgive me and try to understand,” she continued, moving around the counter. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Who wouldn’t, Aunt Sadie? What’s going on?” She was speaking so fast, and I was still so rattled by the morning’s events, it took me a minute to catch up.
“That man who called last night,” she replied. “Mr. VanRiij from New York City. He came here about an hour ago—”
“You sold another Poe!” I shrieked.
“I know I shouldn’t have done it—”
“We have to find this man. Right away!” I bolted for the door.
“Pen, stop!” Sadie ran after me, grabbed my arm. “It’s too late. He’s already on his way back to New York.”
“Please, just tell me what happened,” I demanded, turning to face her.
Her hands went back to fluttering like bee wings. “I sold him the book he wanted. Volume Ten, A Descent into the Maelstrom. He paid eight thousand dollars for it—and that’s not counting sales tax!”
“Oh…God…I need to sit down.” I collapsed into the nearest Shaker-style rocker.
“I know,” Sadie said, grinning. “I couldn’t believe the amount myself. That’s nearly four times the book’s market value—”
“No, you don’t understand,” I said, holding my head. “By selling Mr. Van Riij that book, you may have marked the poor man for murder!”
Sadie’s teeth about hit the floor when I told her about Rene Montour’s demise in an “accident.” I recounted my confrontation with Chief Ciders, telling her how the Chandler books were scattered all over the crash scene, but the Phelps Poe was missing. And I was convinced it was stolen.
Despite her pragmatic nature, and her usual distaste for rationalized baloney, Sadie began equivocating.
“But, Pen, Mr. Montour’s death…it could have been an accident.” She began to pace the aisle. “It’s possible the box containing the Phelps book was thrown clear in the crash, or it might not have been in the car. Perhaps he left the book at Fiona’s inn.”
I sighed and began massaging my temples.
“And, remember,” she went on, “you didn’t search the scene yourself. You only have the policemen’s word that the area was thoroughly searched. You know how un-thorough the Quindicott Police have been in the past.”
Instead of debating her, I met Sadie’s gaze with my own. “Do you really believe Peter Chesley’s death was an accident?”
For a long moment, Sadie fell silent. Then slowly, sadly, she shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’d like to. It would be so much easier to believe it was, but…”
“But we both know what we saw and heard at Chesley’s house, right?” I said, unwilling to look the other way any longer. “No matter what the Newport police say. We both believed that someone was in his house, and that someone instigated Peter’s ‘fall’ down the steps. That means there’s been at least one murder, and probably a theft.”
“But what should we do about it?” Sadie asked, wringing her hands. “Should I contact Mr. Van Riij? Warn him that he’s now in danger—”
“He won’t believe you. Chief Ciders didn’t believe me. As it stands, we have no proof of a murder plot.” I shook my head. “This is one dilemma the two of us”—
The three of us, Jack Shepard cut in.
—“will have to work out ourselves. Right now secrecy is our best defense. Have you told anyone about the sale? Anyone at all?”
Sadie blinked. “Only Brainert, I guess.”
“Brainert knows? Why? Was he here this morning?”
“No. He called before the store opened and asked me to scan the title page of each volume of the Poe collection, then send the digital files to him on an e-mail attachment.”
“Whatever for?”
“He said he needed to examine the text on those pages in particular.”
“But why?”
Sadie shrugged. “Something that Professor Spinner fellow mentioned apparently got him curious. Anyway, I brought all of the books to the front and made the scans. That’s when Mr. Van Riij knocked on the door. I told him we weren’t open yet, but he was so pushy. He barged in, saw the books near the register, and made an offer on the spot.”
“So how does Brainert know about the sale?”
“He called back to let me know my e-mail came through okay. That’s when I mentioned selling another volume of the set. Brainert wasn’t happy, but he was relieved I’d scanned copies of the title pages before I sold any more books. Brainert claims he’s on the verge of solving the Poe Code.”
“What?!” I cried. “Professor Spinner already debunked the existence of the code! How could Brainert be on the verge of solving it?”
Sadie shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
TUESDAY AFTERNOON WAS Sadie’s time to help out at the church with event planning. Since school for Spencer didn’t end until 3:15 and Garfield wasn’t on the schedule until tomorrow, I was momentarily stuck behind the counter, unable to raise Brainert by phone or leave the store to track him down.
We’d only seen a few customers all morning, which gave me far too much time to worry about Rene Montour, the Phelps editions, Brainert apparent solving of the Poe Code, and my appointment with another Chesley.
“Could the new principal really be a relative of Peter’s?” I’d been muttering to myself for hours. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
I was dying to ask my aunt what she thought, but she’d been so worked up about the second Poe sale that I thought it was best to just send her off to her church work and find another time to discuss the sudden appearance of another Chesley.
When 1:00 P.M. rolled around, I decided to close for a quiet lunch. I hung the BACK IN ONE HOUR sign and threw the bolt, then, lunch in hand, I moved to a favorite spot I’d set up in the back corner of the selling floor.
There, in an easy chair, I could eat in peace and not be visible, like some zoological specimen, to people passing on the sidewalk. Otherwise, on a slow day like this, I could almost imagine the plaque outside the window—“Female of the species Bookstorus Independicus, nearly extinct.”
I’d just sunk into the chair when I heard a sound, like furniture bumping together. It seemed to be coming from the Community Events space.