“I’m sure you have something up your sleeve.”
“Indeed.” Elaine walked to the sofa, picked up three books, and placed them in the center of the table. “Here’s the story. Tessa left Memphis in 1985 and moved here for good. As we know, her will left her estate to her three children in equal shares. It had a provision leaving you twenty thousand dollars in cash for college. She had six other grandchildren—Connie, Holstead’s bunch out in California, and Jane’s only child, Sarah. You were the only one who got a specific bequest.”
“I was the only one she really loved.”
“Right, so our new story goes something like this. After she died, you and Connie were going through her personal items, the small stuff that’s not mentioned in the will, and the two of you decided to divide it. A few items of clothing, some old photos, maybe some inexpensive art, whatever. Create the fiction you want. In the deal, you received a box of books, most of them kids’ books Tessa had bought for you over the years. At the bottom, though, were these three books, all first editions from the public library in Memphis, all checked out by Tessa in 1985. When Tessa moved to the beach, she either intentionally or inadvertently brought these three books with her. Thirty years later, you have them.”
“Are they valuable?”
“Yes and no. Look at the one on top.”
Mercer picked it up. The Convict by James Lee Burke. It appeared to be in perfect condition, its dust jacket pristine and encased in Mylar. Mercer opened it, turned to the copyright page, and saw the words “First Edition.”
Elaine said, “As you probably know, this was a collection of Burke’s short stories that got a lot of attention in 1985. The critics loved it and it sold well.”
“What’s it worth?”
“We bought this one last week for five thousand dollars. The first printing was small and there aren’t many of these left in circulation. On the back of the dust jacket you’ll see a bar code. That’s what the Memphis library was using in 1985, so the book is virtually unmarked. Of course we added the bar code and I’m sure Cable will know someone in the business who can remove it. It’s not that difficult.”
“Five thousand dollars,” Mercer repeated, as if she were holding a gold brick.
“Yes, and from a reputable dealer. The plan is for you to mention this book to Cable. Tell him its story but don’t show him the book, at least initially. You’re not sure what to do. The book was obviously taken by Tessa and she had no legitimate claim to it. Then it was taken by you, outside her estate, and so you have no legitimate claim to it. The book belongs to the library in Memphis, but after thirty years who really cares? And, of course you need the money.”
“We’re making Tessa a thief?”
“It’s fiction, Mercer.”
“I’m not sure I want to defame my deceased grandmother.”
“ ‘Deceased’ is the key word. Tessa’s been dead for eleven years and she didn’t steal anything. The fiction you tell Cable will be heard by him only.”
Mercer slowly picked up the second book. Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy, published by Random House, 1985, a first edition with a shiny dust jacket. “What’s this one worth?” she asked.
“We paid four thousand a couple of weeks ago.”
Mercer laid it down and picked up the third one. Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry, published by Simon & Schuster, also in 1985. The book had obviously been passed around, though the dust jacket was pristine.
“That one is a little different,” Elaine said. “Simon & Schuster was anticipating big numbers and the first printing was around forty thousand, so there are a lot of first editions in the hands of collectors, which, obviously, suppresses the value. We paid five hundred bucks, then put a new dust jacket on it to double the value.”
“The dust jacket is a forgery?” Mercer asked.
“Yes, happens all the time in the trade, at least among the crooks. A perfectly forged dust jacket can greatly increase the value. We found a good forger.”
Mercer once again caught the “we” angle and marveled at the size of the operation. She laid the book down and gulped some water.
“Is the plan for me to eventually sell these to Cable? If so, I don’t like the idea of selling fake stuff.”
“The plan, Mercer, is for you to use these books as a means to get closer to Cable. Start off by merely talking about the books. You’re not sure what to do with them. It’s morally wrong to sell them because they really don’t belong to you. Eventually, show him one or two and see how he reacts. Maybe he’ll show you his collection in the basement or the vault or whatever he has down there. Who knows where the conversation will go. What we need, Mercer, is for you to get inside his world. He might jump at the chance to buy The Convict or Blood Meridian, or he may already have them in his collection. If we have him pegged correctly, he’ll probably like the idea that the books are not exactly legitimate and want to buy them. Let’s see how honest he is with you. We know what the books are worth. Will he give you a lowball offer? Who knows? The money is not important. The crucial aspect here is to become a small part in his shady business.”
“I’m not sure I like this.”
“It’s harmless, Mercer, and it’s all fiction. These books were legitimately purchased by us. If he buys them, we get our money back. If he resells them, he gets his money back. There’s nothing wrong or unethical about the plan.”
“Okay, but I’m not sure I can play along and be believable.”
“Come on, Mercer. You live in a world of fiction. Create some more.”
“The fiction is not going too well these days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Mercer shrugged and took a sip of water. She stared at the books as her mind raced through various scenarios. Finally, she asked, “What can go wrong?”
“I suppose Cable could contact the library in Memphis and snoop around, but it’s a big system and he’d get nowhere. Thirty years have gone by and everything has changed. They lose about a thousand books a year to folks who simply don’t return them, and, being a typical library, they have no real interest in tracking them down. Plus, Tessa checked out a lot of books.”
“We went to the library every week.”
“The story holds together. He’ll have no way of knowing the truth.”
Mercer picked up Lonesome Dove and asked, “What if he spots this forged dust jacket?”