Miranda James - The Silence of the Library

“Obviously not. I guess I’ll just have to find EBC on my own. I’ll make it worth her while to sign her name as many times as I need.” Ms. Duffy flashed what I took to be a smile of self-satisfaction and conviction.

Beside her Mrs. Taylor sighed and shook her head gently. “Della, you and Gordon are going to have to realize that you can’t just bully your way into getting what you want. Throwing money around isn’t going to accomplish anything, either. Charlie is right. EBC is an old woman, and I can’t believe you’re truly that blindly selfish.”

Before Ms. Duffy had a chance to respond, a voice hailed us from behind me. “What ho, ladies? What are you two lovely specimens of the gentler, fairer sex up to this beautiful day?”

Wondering who on earth talked like a character out of a third-rate English novel, I turned to find out.

An elderly man who had the appearance of an overripe cherub stood about six feet away. He beamed at the women like a chubby sun emerging from a cloud. No more than five feet tall, he sported a gray suit that wouldn’t have been out of place on Madison Avenue in the 1950s.

“Oh, goody, just what this little shindig needed.” The venom in Della Duffy’s tone startled me. “Winnie, shouldn’t you be back in your hobbit hole finding another dead writer to rip off?”

“Good morning, sir.” The cherub advanced toward me, smile intact, hand extended. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before. Winston Eagleton, publisher.”

I shook his hand as I responded to his cheerful introduction. “Charlie Harris, librarian. Pleased to meet you, sir.”

He nodded and moved toward the bench. “Carrie Taylor, what a sight for an old man’s eyes you are, to be sure. Lovely and girlish as ever.”

Mrs. Taylor regarded Eagleton blandly. “You’re as full of the blarney as ever, Winston. Either that, or you’re decades overdue for an eye exam.”

“You and Della-the-ever-delightful will have your little jokes.” Eagleton offered Ms. Duffy a smile no less genial than those he gave Mrs. Taylor and me. “Della, you know very well indeed that I reprint only out-of-copyright material, or copyright material with the appropriate permissions.” He wagged a finger at her in a playful gesture. “You really must stop saying such things, or Winnie might have to sue.”

“Tell Winnie that he knows very well indeed that I have enough money to hire a lawyer who will bury him in that hobbit hole for the rest of his smarmy little so-called life.” When she finished delivering that mocking, menacing statement, Della Duffy got up from the bench and pushed her way past Eagleton and me. She headed down the sidewalk to the parking lot, got in her car, and peeled out of the lot while the rest of us watched in silence.

“I don’t know who did a wee in her porridge this morning,” Eagleton observed in a cheery tone, “but our Della is in a right old slather.”

“Isn’t she always when she doesn’t immediately get what she wants?” Mrs. Taylor sounded tired. “Put her and Gordon in a gunnysack, shake them up, and who knows which one would fall out first.”

I hadn’t heard that expression in a while, and I couldn’t argue with Mrs. Taylor’s observation. Della Duffy appeared to be every bit as arrogant and self-centered as Gordon Betts, and with the two of them around, our event with Electra Barnes Cartwright could end up a disaster.

“How quaint.” Eagleton sat down beside Mrs. Taylor. “Carrie, I have the most wonderful news, and I wanted you to be the first to hear it as the publisher of the EBC newsletter.”

“What wonderful news?” Mrs. Taylor didn’t appear all that interested.

Eagleton chuckled merrily. “Why, the news that I’m going to publish the long-lost volumes of Veronica Thane’s adventures.”

EIGHT

Mrs. Taylor snorted in an unladylike manner. “Winnie, where did you get such an idea? A few years ago EBC wrote to me and told me that when the publisher canceled the series, she was happy to move on and write different things.”

Eagleton continued to beam, and I began to wonder if the man was on medication that kept him in a permanently sunny mood. Nothing seemed to deflate him. “Carrie, dear Electra might have told you such a taradiddle in the past, but I happen to know better.” He laid a finger to the side of his nose and winked. “I have another source who tells me that there is a trunk in the attic—I’m speaking metaphorically, you understand—that has five unpublished Veronica Thane novels. Five . Isn’t that astounding?”

“That’s one word for it,” Mrs. Taylor muttered.

Despite Mrs. Taylor’s obvious disbelief, I had to hope that Eagleton’s source was right. After all these years, how fun it would be to have new Veronica Thane adventures to read! Perhaps childish enthusiasm on my part, but I had loved the books fiercely as a boy. Many adults, I supposed, had a small corner inside them that occasionally longed to relive the pure joys of a childhood experience.

I decided to give the man encouragement. “That’s exciting news. I would love to have copies when they’re published.”

“Who is this so-called source of yours?” Mrs. Taylor’s voice had a snarky edge to it. Her reaction might perhaps stem from jealousy because Eagleton had scooped her on this. With her position as the editor of a newsletter dedicated to all things EBC, she would be annoyed she hadn’t heard about the unpublished books first.

“Dear EBC’s daughter, of course.” Eagleton sounded gleeful as he continued. “Even you, Carrie dear, must admit that the great lady’s own daughter should, above all others, know what she’s talking about.”

Mrs. Taylor’s tone was grudging when she responded. “I suppose you’re right, Winnie. If anyone knows the truth about it, Marcella certainly would. I have to hand it to you. When are you going to publish these manuscripts?”

For the first time Eagleton lost his overly perky demeanor. He frowned. “We haven’t settled the details yet, but I hope to take possession of the books sometime in the next few days. Marcella promised she would call as soon as the great lady is ready to receive her humble servant.”

“In other words, EBC hasn’t agreed to let you have the rights to publish them.” Mrs. Taylor grinned. “You scurried down here all the way from Ohio because you’re hoping to snap up the rights before a bigger publisher comes calling with a fat bankroll.”

“The big houses in New York won’t be stumbling over one another to publish these books.” Eagleton appeared cheered by this thought. “As much as we admire and revere EBC and Veronica Thane, the books have been out of print for thirty years. No other publisher has expressed interest in them before now, and I really can’t see that I’m going to have competition.”

“There are precedents for both small and large press reprints of books like the Veronica Thane series.” I decided that a few pertinent facts couldn’t hurt. “In recent years Applewood Books reprinted the whole Judy Bolton series, and they even published a title cowritten by two fans and illustrated by one of Sutton’s daughters.” Warming to my theme, I added, “Springer reprinted the Cherry Ames series, and Random House reissued Trixie Belden, though I’m not sure whether they’re still available.”

“I know about all those.” Mrs. Taylor’s expression made it clear she wasn’t all that impressed with my knowledge. “With the exception of that one new Judy Bolton title, however, they weren’t continuing the Cherry Ames or Trixie Belden series. And they certainly weren’t claiming to have a trunk full of unpublished manuscripts in the attic. That sounds more like the plot of one of these series books than actual fact.”