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

offhand.
    Jeannette said, “Oh, I know who that is!”
    I was just about to ask who when George glanced over curiously. I leaned in toward Jeannette and said, “Who?”
    “Oh, let me think! Gosh. Karen has an excuse. What’s mine? I can’t remember my own name lately. George insists it’s my pain medication, but I’m not giving that up.”
    I tried not to bite my lip in frustration. Just as George turned back to fawn over a well-dressed male customer, Jeannette said, “Isn’t that funny. I remember the house and the town, but not the name. We delivered a stack of lovely books over to Burton not that long ago. A very keen collector and a gorgeous example of Arts and Crafts near the downtown, not far from the statue of Hamilton Burton. It was almost enough to make me think of leaving Nevermore.”
    There wasn’t much chance the Beckwiths would ever give up their charming yellow clapboard farm on its manicured acres, and little more that Jeannette would remember the name of the collector. But I almost did a dance of joy. With luck, I had enough to go on.
    It was not easy to extricate Karen from the fair. I’ve had less trouble dragging Uncle Lucky away from a winning hand at the poker table. Every dealer had to have a word and the more demonstrative needed a hug or a hand squeeze. At least Karen would have something to hold on to: the thought of getting back to business and getting her life on track. For the moment, she was almost too exhausted to hobble back to the van. She leaned on her walker, swaying slightly.
    “Tomorrow,” I said when she was settled and comfortable, “we go to Burton.”
    All I heard back was a charming little snore.
    It didn’t matter. The town of Burton wasn’t that far away, and how hard could it be for the two of us to find a single distinctive house?
    • • •
     
    BREAKFAST IS SERVED at eight sharp at the Van Alst residence, and you are on time if you know what’s good for you.
    Vera was already installed in the conservatory when I arrived slightly breathless, my hair still damp from the shower and pulled back into a twist.
    Although the windowpane was now repaired, Vera’s wheelchair was parked at an angle from the table so that she didn’t face the gorgeous grounds, and she was sporting a moth-eaten blanket on her lap. Black Watch tartan, unless I was mistaken. Like every other morning, she was working at the
New York Times
crossword. That was fine. With the exception of regular stern reprimands and dismissive comments, I never expected small talk from her in the morning, or anytime really.
    Even though Vera never kept the heat at a reasonable level, I loved the conservatory almost as much as I loved the signora’s mountains of food. Again today the autumn leaves glowed magically outside the massive windows. Three sides of the Van Alst property were ringed with trees, a mix of deciduous and evergreen. We got all the benefits of every season.
    Vera glowered at me.
    I believe it was Tina Fey who coined the phrase “Blerg.”
Blerg
, I thought, channeling Liz Lemon in
30 Rock.
This was not a great start to the day, but I was used to it. Plus my uncles have always taught me to act the way I wish things were.
    “Spectacular foliage,” I chirped as the signora bore down upon us with a platter of scrambled eggs and Canadian bacon. Perhaps a few lumberjacks were about to pop in and join us. ”Eat! Good for you! Eat! You eat, Vera.”
    Vera ignored her and continued to scowl.
    “Nothing but a nuisance.”
    I gasped. Vera could be harsh and insensitive, but it wasn’t like her to actually insult Signora Panetone.
    She added, “I hate leaves. Nothing but a big mess.”
    Ah. Just a little nature hating with our meal.
    Of course. We were without a gardener or a handyman at the moment. No big surprise, as Vera wasn’t the ideal employer and word travels. If you are the most hated woman in your community, it can be very inconvenient keeping your acreage pristine. The way they