by Meg Wolfe
countered, then looked at Helene. “They don’t want it to get to that point, because once you’ve identified whatever it is they’re looking for, it’s on the record. The time for them to get their hands on it is now, or while it’s in transit.”
Helene looked confused. “But they’re the ones who pushed for the early auction date. They want what Donovan owes them, and they want it now, right?”
Charlotte began to see things from Mitchell’s perspective. “We are obviously looking for something, which increases the likelihood of our finding what I’m fairly certain is another first edition of Least Objects. The sooner our search is stopped, the less likely we will find the book before they do. They’ve got the manpower to sift through everything between the house and the auction barn without our knowing about it.”
“Detective Barnes,” asked Helene, “what would happen if I break that contract, because I want to have more time? Why was Donovan so insistent that I don’t break the contract?”
“He’s afraid they’ll take even more drastic measures, Mrs. Dalmier. I believe your nephew was concerned for your safety, and by extension Charlotte’s.”
“I knew it!” Helene asserted, her fist firmly hitting the arm of the sofa. “If he’s concerned for our welfare, he couldn’t have hurt his mother, either.”
“There is that,” agreed Barnes. “He has had some minor run-ins with the law, but nothing violent, and certainly not against women. His outburst that the two of you witnessed is, in fact, uncharacteristic, and I believe indicates a high level of stress and frustration. We know that he owes Toley Banks money, and he would not be the first to act out from the pressure—or be forced to do things he doesn’t want to do. I’m inclined to advise the same thing, if it is at all possible.”
Charlotte recalled Lola’s frustration at still being forced to do favors for Banks, even after she paid back the money she owed. There were some things, however, that did not add up for Charlotte. “I’ve spoken to a rare book expert about Least Objects, and the auction houses do like to confirm provenance. If that book is what they’re looking for, and they steal it before Helene can confirm that it is part of Olivia’s estate, wouldn’t they have a hard time selling it?”
“Nah,” said Barnes. “Look at the other one, the one Bosley Warren found—how likely a story was that? Yet it was accepted, and sold with great publicity. All they have to do is concoct a similar tale. What matters most is that the book itself is authentic—and that nobody else can prove it was theirs.”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” said Helene.
“Not literally, but in the absence of clear and compelling documentation or testimony, the person in possession of property is assumed to be the rightful owner.”
Charlotte saw a now-familiar look of determination on Helene’s face. She was feeling it, herself. “I think,” she said to the detective, “we ought to have one last go at Olivia’s house before they come for her stuff.” Helene nodded in agreement.
Barnes sighed and nodded in resignation. “Got me on speed-dial?”
After the detective left, Charlotte and Helene put together everything they knew about the notebooks and the assumed second copy of Least Objects.
“I have to admit, Charlotte, that after all the grief those loan shark people have caused, I almost want that book as much or more than I want the last notebook. How sure are you that that is what they are looking for?”
“Just short of positive. My reasoning is that Olivia herself contacted Wesley Warren about such a book, after there was so much publicity about the one Bosley sold. This is what Donovan himself said, that she told Wesley that she had a copy ‘even more valuable than the one they sold.’ Now, even if she didn’t know that Donovan had already let go of the copy we know about, it’s reasonable to assume she’s not talking about the same book. The one she has in mind has something to distinguish it from the one that was sold, something to make it more valuable.” Charlotte made certain Helene was following her line of reasoning, then continued.
“That is why I talked to the rare book dealer, to ask him what version of Least Objects would be more valuable than the one sold, assuming Olivia knew what she was talking about. And—given all the years she’d been buying and selling off collectibles—she probably knew what she was talking about more than those people who lined up with their books outside of the pawn shop after Bosley Warren made the news.”
“That would be reasonable to assume, yes,” Helene agreed.
“So Aldo Madiveros—that was the name of the man I talked to, he authenticated the copy that Bosley sold—Madiveros said a more valuable copy would have to be signed by Seamus O’Dair, or be O’Dair’s own copy. The only other possibility was that it was a first edition of the original version in French, but that was highly unlikely, as there were so few.” Charlotte went on to explain to Helene the role of Sibylline Press in publishing Least Objects, and the fact that Mr. Lamont, the founder of Beauregard Books, had by that time purchased the little press from the estate of her Aunt Sasha’s partner, Henriette.
“What a coincidence! Or is it?”
“I don’t think it was,” said Charlotte. “Your aunt was dead, and Henriette was not in the best of health, struggling to keep the book store and the publications going. She might have appealed to your parents, who in turn might have taken the request to Mr. Lamont. We may never know for certain.”
Helene looked thoughtful, as if trying to recall the events of so many years ago. “Let’s write out the dates, so I can see. We have the year Donovan was born, the year Mr. Lamont purchased Sibylline, and the year Least Objects was published. It was published well after Donovan was born.”
“The English-language edition was published after he was born. The French one right before he was born. Beauregard Books had O’Dair write it again in English, because he never translated any of his books, any more than he autographed them.”
“Moins d’Objets?” asked Helene. “That doesn’t sound right for the French title. Do you know what it was? I can’t remember.”
“Madiveros said it was Une Mort non Perçus.”
Helene smiled with satisfaction. “An Uncollected Death. Just like Olivia wrote.”
This time, Charlotte merely scanned the books at Olivia’s house, instead of looking inside one after another. After having spent so many hours looking at those shelves, she recalled seeing a cluster of books in French that she hadn’t paid much attention to, since they were not what she had been looking for. Within five minutes, she found it, the gold-leaf title and Sibylline logo nearly worn off: Une Mort non Perçus. No one would have noticed it if it wasn’t especially looked for.
Charlotte’s hands had developed a recurring tremor over the past few weeks from too much stress, caffeine and fatigue. But this time, her hands trembled at the realization that she was holding an extremely rare book of great value. This very book played such a large role in Olivia’s life, from her choice to abandon her career, to the way she met her death. A distinctive light pencil marking inside the cover showed the price, and Charlotte knew then that Olivia had purchased the book within the last few years from the original stock at Ramona’s Resale.
She handed it to Helene, whose expression relayed the mix of excitement and sadness, relief and fear, that Charlotte felt herself.
“She never read this edition until, perhaps, the past two or three years,” said Charlotte. “At one time, this book might have belonged to a long-ago French professor at Corton.”
Helene thumbed through it carefully, as if to see if Olivia had left any margin notes or other objects inside. “I read a reprint of this that came out when O’Dair won the Nobel, and found it to be quite different than the English version. It was less harsh, more poignant. Perhaps that explains the change in her tone in her final notebook—she’d read what he had written much closer to the time of their parting ways.” She paused and closed the book. “That’s not to say the story line is any diff
erent, but the attitude, the difference in perspective—.”
“The passage of time can do that, too,” said Charlotte. “Maybe there’s something in the first notebook that would explain it all.”
“This is it,” said Helene. “If we don’t find that notebook now, it might be lost for good.” Helene offered the book to Charlotte. “I’m putting this in your keeping for the time being. I just know that first notebook will have my sister’s version of what happened.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and put the book in her jacket pocket. “Well, then, let’s give it one more go. Snakes and Ladders. I’ll do the basement, since that is where the last one was found, and it is reasonable to think Olivia would have left the one before it there, too. I don’t know that you’d be too keen on those steps, though.”
“I’d rather avoid them, Charlotte. I’m going to have a look around the garage, there’s at least one ladder out there, and maybe there’s a plumbing snake. I found Olivia’s car keys, so I’ll check the Taurus, and in the trunk, too.”
“I’ll try the game box again. I still can’t shake off thinking it’s Chutes and Ladders.”
“Your guess is as good as mine at the moment,” Helene murmured as she went toward the back door.
Luck, thought Charlotte, maybe our luck will hold out. She looked around the
