Page 32 of By the Book
“It was their tones,” Millie said—although how she would know, I had no idea.
I turned a dark look on her.
“Kind of like your tone,” she informed me. “Like remember that time Fox ate the last twice-baked potato, and you said, ‘I hope you enjoyed it,’ only because of your tone, everybody knew you didn’t mean that you really hoped they enjoyed it.”
Keme nodded. “You meant go—”
“It doesn’t matter what I meant,” I said in a rush.
“Mrs. Shufflebottom wasmad,” Millie said—apparently based on her much lengthier communication with Keme. “And Stewart too. And Keme and I have a PLAN!” She bounced on her toes as she said it. “Are you ready? You go talk to Stewart, and then I’m going to DISTRACT HIM!”
At that volume, I thought, it would be hard not to be distracted. For that matter, it would be hard not to be concussed.
“A plan for what?” I asked.
“Just go talk to him, you donkey,” Keme said.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was that.
I gave Keme and Millie sixty seconds to get a head start. And then I headed toward the circulation desk, whereStewart was checking in books and organizing them on a cart. Thrilling reading:1902 History of the Town of Hastings RockandAlphabetical List of Ship Registers, Astoria, Oregon, andKlikamuks Bay, being an ancient neighborhood of Hastings Rock, with an Historical Address, and yes, I’m sure you were wondering, evenThe History of Ridge County, as told by Sarah Gage to her Granddaughter.
When Stewart saw me, he said, “Dash!” It wasn’t exactly a shout, but it was certainly an enthusiastic whisper. His fatigue seemed to be forgotten, and now he looked a littletooexcited to see me. When I got closer, he said in a slightly less enthusiastic whisper, “I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.”
“If it’s about the mayor, I can’t say anything. The sheriff asked me not to talk about it.” That wasn’t quite true, but I thought it sounded plausible. “Stewart, I heard Mrs. Shufflebottom—”
Stewart adjusted his Coke-bottle glasses and spoke over me. “I wanted to talk to you about Hemlock House.”
In my mind, I jumped from Stewart’s previous conversation about Hemlock House to the topic of Nathaniel Blackwood’s diary. I decided to go with it. “Well, I don’t know anything about the diary, either.” Then a thought occurred to me. “Wait, did you tell me they never let you look at it?”
With a shake of his head, Stewart said, “Not even a glance. The ‘expert’ said he didn’t want a layman to damage it. Layman?” Outrage made the Coke-bottle glasses tip forward on Stewart’s nose. “I told him I work in the rare books room all the time. I mean it’s not actually ararebooks room, but look.” He motioned to the books on the cart. (Another one wasThe Lives of the Van Deusens, Hastings Rock, Ridge County, Oregon.It sounded like the stuff extremely dry nightmares were made of.) “It’s our genealogy room, but still. In Hastings Rock,that means dealing with valuable items. Most of these books are irreplaceable.”
“But you let people check them out?” I asked.
“No,” he shook his head. “These were on loan to the historical society. I’m making sure everything’s here. Some of our members are, uh, overzealous about protecting our heritage.”
For a moment, I entertained the possibility that someone from the historical society might have taken the diary. But since I had no idea who was in the historical society, that didn’t seem helpful.
Stewart was still talking, I realized, and I tuned in to catch the end of what he was saying. “—he didn’t like that. And hereallydidn’t like it when I told him Nathaniel Blackwood couldn’t have left a diary because his widow burned all his papers.”
“Who, George?”
Stewart nodded.
“But it’s possible, right?” I asked. “I mean that happens sometimes. She might have missed the diary. Or he might have hidden it. A servant could have found it or rescued it. It could have stayed in a family for generations before someone decided to sell it.”
“But why would it have been in that woman’s family?” Stewart asked. “The Hastings Rock Historical Society—I’m the president—has done a lot of good work over the years on Hemlock House. Lots of research into how it was built and furnished. When the house fell into disrepair, we saved a lot of the original paperwork. We helped with the restoration projects. And Vivienne always consulted us before she made any changes. Well, she did ignore us when we told her she couldn’t add cable, but most of the time she was very respectful.”
“And you’ve never heard anything about a diary?”
Stewart gave another—even more emphatic—shake of his head. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“It wasn’t?” That seemed hard to believe—if there was a hotter topic than the mayor’s murder and a stolen rare book and Mrs. Shufflebottom being arrested, nobody had told me. If this conversation ventured into “you wear glasses too, so we should date” territory (it’s happened before), I was going to book it (PUN! Wait, is that a pun?), even if it meant crawling out a return chute.
“Have you ever thought about turning Hemlock House into a historical site?”
“Uh, no. Should I?”
“You definitely should. It’s a fantastic way to ensure adequate funding to preserve locations of historical significance.”
