Bruce Wagner - I'll Let You Go

All faces registered disappointment.

“I’m afraid not! Though we do have Edgar Rice Burroughs — in fact, we have the entire work. May I ask what you have in mind, if you do have anything in mind, for your grandfather?”

She smiled devilishly at her compadres; it was the moment of truth. They would now take up the challenge like men — or forever keep their mousy peace.

“Well,” said Edward, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. He theatrically cleared his throat while swiveling toward his cousin. “Do you have … the list ?” He meant the letter , which Tull simply wasn’t ready to extend. Seeing he’d get nowhere with the flummoxed boy, Edward stalled for time, and turned back to Mr. Tabori. “How about Dickens?”

The girl detective frowned at their timidity.

“For me, Dickens is the most marvelous — and one of the easiest to collect.” He walked them to a section of which Lucy had thought, before setting off again on her investigations, contained the most beautiful volumes imaginable. “The interesting thing about Dickens is, printers had certain requirements . You see, most of his books were 624 pages long for a reason — they came in sixteen-page gatherings, or ‘quires.’ Look: this one’s an ‘octavo,’ that’s eight leaves to a quire — a total of sixteen pages with inner and outer forms. When people read Dickens and say this or that passage is hurried or belabored, it’s because, you see, he was customizing . It’s the same for certain Mozart pieces, no? Were you interested in Dickens? I mean, for your grandfather? Because if I’m not mistaken, he already has the Nonesuch—”

“We’re interested in everything!” shouted Lucy from the long hall, where autographs of historical figures were hung. With that, she threw the boys the evil eye, to egg them on.

“Well!” said Mr. Tabori, figuratively licking his chops. “I strongly suggest A Christmas Carol .” He plucked it from the shelf and turned it over with caressing hands. “Chapman and Hall, first edition, first issue: i.e., ‘Stave I’—foolscap octavo, green-coated endpapers, blue half -title, red and blue title . Four inserted hand-colored steel-engraved plates by and after Leech and four black-and-white text wood-engravings by W. J. Linton after Leech. Original cinnamon vertically ribbed cloth, all edges gilt, with the tiniest interval between blind-stamped border and gilt wreath equal to fourteen millimeters — with a perfect D in ‘Dickens.’ The slightest perceptible fading to the spine, with an early provincial bookseller’s label on the front pasted down. Spectacular! At fifty thousand dollars, it’s quite simply the best and brightest we’ve seen.” He cleared his throat, realizing he’d gone too far; these were children after all. “But I’m sure that’s in excess of your budget.”

Lucy returned, emboldened. The toddlers clearly needed her help — if she was going to stick this episode somewhere in Blue Maze , a dallying narrative would never do.

“Mr. Tabori,” she said forthrightly. “Have you ever had anything stolen ? From the shop?”

Tull and Edward refused to look at her, sharpening their attention on the host, who was amiably taken aback.

“Oh, once or twice. An autograph from the wall … George Bernard Shaw. A Kerouac. Some American ‘firsts’ were stolen — Hammett and Chandler. But we got them back.”

“This,” said Edward, following her lead, “would have been about thirteen years ago.”

“ ‘This’?” said Mr. Tabori, cocking his head.

Tull reached in his pocket for the letter, which he handed to Mr. Tabori.

“Yes,” said the bookseller, nodding his head as he examined. “I remember.”

“Was it by any chance written to you ?” asked Tull.

“No — that would have had to have been my brother Henry-David. He died two years ago. Colorectal cancer.”

“We’re so sorry,” said Lucy, and she really was.

“But I do remember — it was the sort of thing — one of those situations where — well, you see, he was a customer and we did know him rather well — we preferred not to call the police. We called the gentleman’s office —by then of course we were quite certain —there could have been no question —that he ‘took’ the item. The gentleman didn’t respond; Henry-David might have sent a follow-up note. That would have been H.D.’s way. My brother was the least threatening of men, so the … communiqué referred to here couldn’t have been too — but the gentleman was outraged! We were doing him a favor , not calling the police. Finally, we had no recourse. And then—” A light shone in his eye; he cocked his head again. “The gentleman who wrote this letter. He was connected to … your grandfather , no?”

“That’s right,” said the cousin.

Mr. Tabori nodded and stared into space, his gaze falling somewhere over Samuel Johnson’s Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets . “There was a scandal, no? A marriage — he was … a flimflam .”

Tull spoke up. “Was it a book that was taken?”

“Yes. Nothing of excessive value.”

“Did you recover it?”

“I’m afraid that one got away.”

“A purloined antiquity!” huffed Lucy, authorial glands fairly salivating. “And you called the police?”

“We were about to … when a private investigator came out — who was it? Had a funny name. Employed by Louis Trotter. He asked a few questions, then made good on the amount that was in dispute.”

“If you could just tell us more about—”

Of a sudden, Emerson Tabori gave a great sigh, as if having reached a regretful conclusion. He sat down upon one of Tara’s chairs and bid the children do the same. Edward looked amazing against the high-backed red velvet throne; Pullman clambered from camp and resettled, a spotty bedouin dead to the world.

The dealer’s tone became intimate, avuncular, almost morose. “I see that perhaps you came for more than just the selection of a gift. I’m not a gossip and am afraid I’ve spoken too much. Your grandfather is a valued client and, I like to think, a friend. Whatever happened those many years ago was a private affair. I wish I could help, but simply don’t have the information — nor would I feel comfortable imparting it if I had.”

With that he stood, a kindly smile radiating from his face. The children, who looked more like children now than when they’d come in, were downcast. Tull and Lucy helped Edward stand; and were soon joined by Mr. Tabori and staff as in the raising of the Iwo Jima flag. The crestfallen trio began trudging to the door when Tull turned back to face their admonisher.

“Mr. Tabori … that ‘flimflam’—he was my father.” The boy stood tall, and his lip quaked with passion. “For all my life I thought he was dead, but it wasn’t true. Trinnie — that’s my mother — Katrina Berenice Trotter Weiner — both she and my grandfather told me this, that he was alive, at least to their knowledge. They told me it recently , Mr. Tabori. You can imagine the effect that had; imagine what effect it would have had on you . And, well, to be honest, sir, I am trying very hard to find him — as any son would — and I will , one way or the other, with or without anyone’s help. Yes, our buying a gift was a subterfuge and for that I am sorry. Truly, we apologize! This sort of thing is new to us — to me. But you have my word that we came here today in the strictest confidence and would never think of doing anything to breach your relationship or trust … with our grandfather, or ourselves. But even if Grandpa were to know we paid a visit—”