The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

mention of the book fair had upset her. She was always pale. Was she a bit paler now?
    Best thing was to act naturally and help her to feel that all the places in her world could soon be normal again.
    I said, “It’s quite possible that the same buyer has seen some of the other vendors and possibly asked for purchases to be delivered. I think I’ll pop by tomorrow and sound people out.”
    Karen’s face fell. I knew she was sad about missing out on the book fair and yet probably apprehensive about going. There was so little I could do for her. But I could do this.
    “So tomorrow, got any plans you can’t break?”

Chapter Two

    A T ELEVEN ON Saturday morning, I felt my back stiffen as we turned the Cozy Corpse van into the parking lot of Saint Sebastian’s Hall and the Antiquarian Book and Paper Fair. The van did not handle nearly as well as my Saab, but we needed it for Karen’s walker. In the passenger seat, she was breathing quickly. Never mind. It was time for both of us to get back on that horse. With Karen’s disability parking permit attached to the rearview mirror of the van, we eased into the space next to the door. I could feel my heart rate rise. I could only imagine what Karen was feeling, returning to this spot. Still, Saint Sebastian’s was where the fall book fair was happening and it was where we needed to be. I extricated Karen’s walker from the side door of the van and set it up. She was trembling slightly as she got out of the passenger seat and gripped the handles. Together we walked toward the table to pay our five-dollar entry fee. The woman behind the table dropped her coffee cup when she spotted Karen. She paid no attention to the brown liquid spreading on the patterned carpet. “No charge for you!” she squealed. “Welcome back, Karen.”
    Karen’s grin was shaky. But that was a good start.
    There was no charge for me either, which was excellent, as most of my money went automatically into my college savings account. I was in my usual state of flat-busted broke, to use my uncle Danny’s expression.
    We wobbled through the big double doors into the exhibit hall. Karen’s knuckles were white on the handles of her walker. We’d nicknamed the walker Winged Victory one day while joking about a drag race between Vera and Karen. I noticed the carpet had been upgraded to a smart, modern filigree pattern in a neutral color. It still had the triple under-padding. Nice. I guess the bloodstains never did come out. That under-padding certainly made it nicer for the folks that were on their feet all day working these events.
    I inhaled the familiar and tantalizing smell of aged paper and leather bindings. I stared back at the clump of pale, gawking faces. I heard nothing. Not a peep. The room was silent. Then the tall, stooped, gray-bearded man at the map booth began to clap. Soon the room erupted in applause. “Welcome back, Karen,” the woman from the booth with the vintage children’s books shouted.
    Karen was well on her way to putting the ghost of her attack behind her. I’d had my own trauma about this place, but this visit helped me to see it the way it should be and not as it appeared in my nightmares. In those nightmares the building was darker and my feet were heavier and I didn’t get there in time to save Karen.
    But I still had my task to take care of: finding some clue to the person who had bought the Sayers collection from her. As people pressed toward her, I helped her to a chair where she’d be able to hold court with everyone who wanted to say hello or squeeze her hand wordlessly. I leaned in and whispered, “If something shakes a memory loose, let me know right away.” I didn’t want to diminish the moment by adding, “before you forget.”
    In the meantime, I made the rounds, admiring the books, maps, old photos and sketches. I loved this stuff. I could only imagine how much Karen had missed this part of her world these past few months.
    Finally, I reached Nevermore