Дэвид Балдаччи - The Collectors

“How’d you know?”

“Easier to crack than the Library of Congress or Yale, at least I hope.”

“Anyway, I went up there with a friend of mine and told them we were college students doing a paper on famous books.”

“And they let you look at it,” Caleb said.

“Yes. And take pictures of it, all that. Then I had another friend who was really good at making bad pa — I mean, good at making things.”

“So he forged a Bay Psalm Book ?” Caleb exclaimed.

“It was great, you couldn’t tell them apart.” Annabelle’s excitement faded when she saw the furious look on his face. “Well, anyway, we went back up there and did a little switcheroo.”

“You did a little switcheroo?” Caleb said, his face turning very red. “With one of the rarest books in the history of this country you did a little switcheroo ?”

“Why didn’t you just give DeHaven the excellent copy?” Stone asked.

“Give a fake book to the man I loved? I don’t think so.”

Caleb collapsed into a chair. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Before he got more wound up, she hurried on with her story. “When I gave him the book, Jonathan was stunned. But of course, I told him it was just a copy I’d had made for him. I don’t know if he believed that or not. I think he might have called around to different places to check. And I believe he’d concluded that what I did for a living wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up.”

“ Really? What a stunner that must’ve been,” Caleb snapped.

She ignored him. “But since the church didn’t know their book was a fake and no Psalm Book s were missing, I guess Jonathan finally assumed I was telling the truth. It made him so happy. And it was just an old book.”

“Just an old book!” Caleb was really about to erupt when Stone put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s not beat a dead horse, Caleb.”

“A dead horse?” Caleb sputtered.

“I’ll put it back,” Annabelle offered.

“Excuse me?” Caleb said.

“I’ll take the book back and do another switcheroo.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious. I switched it once, I can switch it again.”

“What if they catch you?”

She looked at Caleb with pity. “I’m a lot better now than I was back then.” She looked over at Milton. “Want to help me do it?”

“Sure!” Milton exclaimed enthusiastically.

Caleb looked apoplectic. “I absolutely forbid your participation in a felony!”

Milton exclaimed, “Will you loosen up, Caleb? And it’s not a felony if we’re putting the real book back, now is it?”

Caleb started to say something and then rapidly calmed. “No, I guess it isn’t.”

“I’ll take care of the details,” Annabelle said. “I’ll just need the book from you, Caleb.” She reached out for it.

He immediately clutched it to his chest. “Can’t I keep it until you really need it?” he asked, his hand lightly running over the cover.

“You told Monty Chambers it was just a dumb book,” Reuben reminded him.

Caleb looked miserable. “I know. I haven’t slept a wink since I said it. I think the book fairies have cursed me,” he added glumly.

“Okay,” she said. “You can keep it for now.”

Reuben looked at Annabelle hopefully. “Okay, now that all the fun’s over, would you like to go out with me sometime? Like maybe tonight?”

She smiled. “Can I take a rain check, Reuben? But I appreciate the offer.”

“It won’t be the last one, may-dam.” He kissed her hand.

After the others had left, Annabelle joined Stone, who’d gone to work in the cemetery.

As he washed off a tombstone, she gathered weeds in a plastic bag.

“You don’t have to stay and help me,” he said. “Working in a cemetery isn’t exactly the life I’d picture for someone like you.”

She put her hands on her hips. “So what do you picture for someone like me?”

“Husband, kids, nice house in the suburbs, PTO board, maybe a dog.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m kidding. So what now?”

“Well, I have to return the book so Caleb will get off my back.”

“And after that?”

She shrugged. “I’m not one who looks that far ahead.” She grabbed another sponge, knelt down and started helping Stone clean off the grave marker. Later, after they’d eaten a dinner that Annabelle prepared, they sat on the porch and talked.

“I’m glad I came back,” she said, glancing at Stone.

Stone said, “I am too, Annabelle.”

She smiled at his use of her real name. “That Seagraves guy, he called you a Triple Six. What’s that about?”

“That was about thirty years ago,” Stone said.

“Fair enough. We all have secrets. So you ever think about going someplace other than here?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “ Here tends to grow on you,” he said simply.

Maybe it will, Annabelle thought. They sat in silence, staring up at the full moon.

A four-hour drive north, Jerry Bagger stood looking out his window at the same moon overhead. He’d called in every favor he’d ever earned, threatened and beaten up more people than he could remember, loving every minute of it. The result was he was closing in as her defenses and covers started falling away. Very soon it would be his turn. And what he’d done to Tony Wallace would pale next to what he had planned for the lady. The image of her slow destruction at his hands never failed to curl his lips into a smile. He was back in control. Bagger puffed contentedly on his cigar and sipped a finger of his bourbon.

Get ready, Annabelle Conroy. Here comes big, bad Jerry.

To Michelle, the one who really makes it all work.

To Colin Fox, thanks for a great editing job. Here’s to many books together.

To Aaron Priest, the master, enough said.

To Maureen, Jamie, Jimmy and all the rest at Hachette Book Group USA, for being great friends and business partners.

To Lucy Childs and Lisa Erbach Vance, for all you do for me.

To Dr. John Y. Cole at the Library of Congress, for making the Library come alive.

To Mark Dimunation and Daniel DeSimone at the Library of Congress, for showing me the gem that is the LOC Rare Book Reading Room.

To Diane van der Reyden at the Library of Congress, for making the rounds of your department with me. I hope I got it mostly right.

To Dr. Monica Smiddy, thank you for the detailed and thoughtful medical advice.

To Bob Schule, my eagle reader and world-class consultant.

To Deborah, who helps keep me sane and on schedule.

To Rosemary Bustamante, for your foreign language skills, and for being a great friend.

To Maria Rejt, for making it better from across the pond.

To Cornelius Behen, for the use of your name. Hope you liked the character.

And finally, to the memory of Robert (Bob) Bradley, who never got to see his name in the book but who lives in the hearts and minds of the Bradley and Hope families and all his friends.