Miranda James - The Silence of the Library

“What was his problem?” Lizzie frowned. “I didn’t hear what he wanted. I can’t imagine what would be worth trying to bribe you for, Charlie.”

I shook my head. “In all my years working in libraries, that was a first. I have no idea who that young man is, but he is a complete and utter jerk.” I started to explain what he wanted from me, but the voice of Carrie Taylor interrupted me.

“His name is Gordon Betts, and he’s got more money than he knows what to do with.” She grimaced. “If he’s here, then the other nutcases can’t be far behind.”

SIX

“Nutcases?” I asked, taken slightly aback. The young man was rude, but a nutcase?

Mrs. Taylor shrugged. “Sorry, but they sure seem like nuts to me.”

“Who are they ?” Teresa frowned as she stepped from behind our visitor.

“Collectors.” Mrs. Taylor rolled her eyes. “They can be absolutely nutty when it comes to children’s series books. Well, at least some of them are. I don’t want to make you think they’re all lunatics, like Gordon, but there are a handful who go to extremes to complete their collections.”

“I didn’t realize books like that are so collectible.” Bronwyn leaned on the reference desk as she regarded Mrs. Taylor.

“What kind of extremes?” Lizzie wanted to know.

Diesel had wandered over to sit in front of Mrs. Taylor. He meowed plaintively, and she glanced down with a smile. “Cats don’t care about these things, do they, sir?” She turned to regard Lizzie and Bronwyn. “Oh, my, yes, these series, especially Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, are very collectible. Those are probably the two most famous, but there are plenty of others that collectors go after.”

Like the Veronica Thane books, I thought. A couple of weeks ago, in preparation for lending items from my collection for the library’s exhibit, I checked values for a few books on the Advanced Book Exchange website. Early copies of the first two Veronica Thane books in fine condition were going for mid–three figures.

“But what about the extremes?” Lizzie asked.

“I know of at least two cases when collectors hounded the families of authors for memorabilia and copies of books the authors might have had in their own collections.” Mrs. Taylor shook her head. “I imagine some families might be glad of the money collectors are willing to pay, but it still seems indecent to me to badger people because they don’t want to deal with you.”

“Are these children’s books really expensive?” Teresa asked. “Along the lines of first editions of literary fiction, for example?”

Mrs. Taylor shook her head. “I have no idea what kind of prices literary first editions might command. I’m not really interested enough in them, frankly. But yes, a really fine first edition of one of the first Nancy Drew books, especially one signed by Mildred Wirt Benson, might go for six or seven thousand or more.”

“Dollars?” Bronwyn almost squeaked the word out.

I decided to rejoin the conversation. “Avid collectors with enough money will pay what they have to in order to get what they want.” I had bought a few first editions of treasured adult mystery novels over the years, though I never spent anything even close to a thousand dollars for one book, much less six or seven thousand.

“I think I’m going to look through my mother’s trunks in the attic this weekend.” Lizzie grinned. “She had some Nancy Drew books when she was a girl, and I could be sitting on a small fortune.”

“That’s entirely possible.” Mrs. Taylor smiled. “But if they’ve been up in your attic for very long, they may not be in the kind of condition that collectors will shell out much money for. Plus they need to have intact dust jackets.”

Lizzie’s grin turned into a frown. “Well, there goes my fortune. With the humidity here and the hot summers, there’s no telling what books packed away in a stuffy attic for twenty years will look like now.”

I almost groaned at the thought of books stored in those conditions. A woman who worked in a library ought to know better, but from experience I realized that librarians weren’t always as careful about their own books as they might be. One of my staff members in Houston, I had discovered to my horror, had a first edition of Gone with the Wind she kept on a shelf above her kitchen sink where the sun could hit it. The dust jacket had been discarded long ago, and the binding was riddled with spots and damage from the sun. A sad state for what could have been a valuable book, alas.

“Back to these collectors you were talking about.” Teresa frowned, and I could see she was concerned. “Will there be more people like this Gordon Betts showing up?”

“Without a doubt,” Mrs. Taylor said. “The news that Electra Barnes Cartwright is alive and going to appear at the library is probably all over the Internet—at least as far as the children’s book collecting community is concerned.” She smiled. “I helped spread the word, actually. Once I saw the information on the library’s website, I sent out a special electronic edition of the EBC newsletter I publish. There are several hundred subscribers to that.”

Teresa closed her eyes, and I knew she was centering herself with slow, deep breaths. She always did this when she was upset or worried. As a former public library director myself, I could easily imagine her thoughts. I was envisioning some of the same possibilities myself—hordes of rabid Veronica Thane fans descending upon Athena, desperate to see the author and demand that she sign their books.

To my chagrin, I realized we should have considered this possibility before we even went to talk to Mrs. Cartwright. I’d been so carried away by my own excitement over meeting her and having her involved with the library’s events that I hadn’t stopped to consider the implications. On the other hand, having Electra Barnes Cartwright appear at the library wasn’t on the order of hosting a superstar singer or actor, who could draw thousands of raving, out-of-control fans. In our situation, though, even a few determined—or even obsessed—readers surely wouldn’t wreak much havoc.

I’d been wrong before about situations like this, however, and I had the uneasy feeling I was wrong now.

While Lizzie and Bronwyn asked Mrs. Taylor further questions, I motioned for Teresa to step aside with me. In an undertone I said, “We should talk to Mrs. Cartwright about this and rethink our plan. She may not realize the furor that her public appearance could cause.”

“If Mrs. Taylor isn’t exaggerating.” Teresa grimaced. “That one person aside, do we really think everyone will behave that way? Surely he’s an extreme case.”

“Mrs. Taylor could be exaggerating, I suppose, but she doesn’t impress me as that kind of person.” I paused to examine the lady again. Nothing in her demeanor set off any alarm bells with me, and I had many years of experience dealing with the public.

Teresa folded her arms across her chest. “Wishful thinking on my part. You’re right either way. We need to talk to Mrs. Cartwright. I’ll go call her daughter and discuss the situation with her.”

“Good plan. If necessary, we can just say that Mrs. Cartwright will do the interview but is unable to sign books because of her health.”

Teresa nodded before she headed for her office. I turned back to the conversation with Mrs. Taylor.

“I never heard of Connie Blair,” Bronwyn said. “But I read Betty Cavanna’s books and never knew she wrote under another name.”

The Connie Blair series, written under the name Betsy Allen , featured a young woman who worked in advertising. Connie, like Cherry Ames the nurse and Vicki Barr the airline stewardess, was one of the “professional” girl detectives.