“They’ve taken your Aunt Gert to the hospital.”
Ainsley walked as fast as she could down the sidewalk toward Sbooky’s. She didn’t feel like smiling, but she did to those who smiled first. Bob had let her take the lunch hour off, and she had to get to the hospital. She’d visited Gert at home yesterday, spent the evening with her, and knew she did not look good.
Please, God
, she thought as she wrapped her scarf around her neck to block the cold wind,
please let me find that little book
.
Once there, she made a beeline to the back of the store and for ten minutes searched the shelves for the little book.
“May I help you?”
Ainsley turned around to find a middle-aged, short and round man standing near her. His eyes were bright and his smile was friendly. “I hope so.”
“I’m Hardy Bishop. I own this store. I don’t know that we’ve ever met. I know all my customers.”
Ainsley tried to sound pleasant. “Yes, well, I’ve only been in here a couple of times.”
“Oh? Not a big reader?”
“Not of what you sell.” Ainsley lowered her head, hoping she didn’t sound too crass. But it was true, and she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t. She looked up at Hardy, who was still smiling, apparently unfazed by the comment. Ainsley took in a deep breath and continued, “I’m looking for a children’s book by Frank Baum.”
“Ah. Mr. Baum. Yes. I’m a big fan of
The Wizard of Oz
.”
The tightness in Ainsley’s chest released, and she even smiled. “You know his work?”
“Why yes.” He pulled a book off the shelf. “We always stock
The Wizard of Oz
.”
“I’m looking for a rare children’s book he wrote. You see, my aunt, the only relative I have left on my mother’s side, is dying of cancer, and this was a book that they shared together as children, and it would just be awfully wonderful if I could find this book for her. She adored it and speaks of it today, but her copy burned in a fire.” Ainsley felt her eyes moisten with emotion as she spoke. “It’s called
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus
.”
The bright smile Mr. Bishop had worn only moments before faded with each word Ainsley spoke, until the corners of his mouth drooped with a certain sadness. “I’m sorry, sweet lady,” he said. “But you won’t find that book here.”
“You don’t carry it?”
Mr. Bishop shook his head and guided her to the front of the store. “No, it’s extremely rare. In fact, I can’t say that we’ve ever carried it. It is a wonderful story, though.” He smiled eagerly at her as he made his way behind the counter. “What is your name?”
“Ainsley. Ainsley Parker.”
“Ah, Sheriff Parker’s daughter, I presume. Well, Miss Parker, let me call someone for you. They own a bookstore that specializes in rare books. They’re in Indianapolis.” He picked up the phone and dialed the number. Ainsley listened intently and gathered the news was bad. Mr. Bishop hung up the phone and shook his head sadly. “They had one copy. But it sold. I’m sorry.”
Ainsley felt a lump in her throat. “Oh my. What terrible timing.”
Mr. Bishop nodded. “Apparently went for a pretty hefty price tag, too. The owner of the store said he sold it for more than a thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“Yes. Apparently it’s very sought after. The buyer paid what old Harrison was asking. First edition in prime condition. I guess it was worth it.”
Ainsley nodded, trying to hold back the disappointment thatflooded her heart. She had no idea the book was
that
rare. Her voice quivered when she spoke, and she was embarrassed. “Well, thank you so much. You were so kind for going to the extra trouble—”
From the corner of her eye, Ainsley noticed a Polaroid snapshot of Wolfe Boone hanging on the counter. She glanced over at the life-size cardboard replica of him near one of the bookshelves. It was as if she were looking at two different people. The cardboard man she thought she knew well. The small
Ainsley walked as fast as she could down the sidewalk toward Sbooky’s. She didn’t feel like smiling, but she did to those who smiled first. Bob had let her take the lunch hour off, and she had to get to the hospital. She’d visited Gert at home yesterday, spent the evening with her, and knew she did not look good.
Please, God
, she thought as she wrapped her scarf around her neck to block the cold wind,
please let me find that little book
.
Once there, she made a beeline to the back of the store and for ten minutes searched the shelves for the little book.
“May I help you?”
Ainsley turned around to find a middle-aged, short and round man standing near her. His eyes were bright and his smile was friendly. “I hope so.”
“I’m Hardy Bishop. I own this store. I don’t know that we’ve ever met. I know all my customers.”
Ainsley tried to sound pleasant. “Yes, well, I’ve only been in here a couple of times.”
“Oh? Not a big reader?”
“Not of what you sell.” Ainsley lowered her head, hoping she didn’t sound too crass. But it was true, and she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t. She looked up at Hardy, who was still smiling, apparently unfazed by the comment. Ainsley took in a deep breath and continued, “I’m looking for a children’s book by Frank Baum.”
“Ah. Mr. Baum. Yes. I’m a big fan of
The Wizard of Oz
.”
The tightness in Ainsley’s chest released, and she even smiled. “You know his work?”
“Why yes.” He pulled a book off the shelf. “We always stock
The Wizard of Oz
.”
“I’m looking for a rare children’s book he wrote. You see, my aunt, the only relative I have left on my mother’s side, is dying of cancer, and this was a book that they shared together as children, and it would just be awfully wonderful if I could find this book for her. She adored it and speaks of it today, but her copy burned in a fire.” Ainsley felt her eyes moisten with emotion as she spoke. “It’s called
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus
.”
The bright smile Mr. Bishop had worn only moments before faded with each word Ainsley spoke, until the corners of his mouth drooped with a certain sadness. “I’m sorry, sweet lady,” he said. “But you won’t find that book here.”
“You don’t carry it?”
Mr. Bishop shook his head and guided her to the front of the store. “No, it’s extremely rare. In fact, I can’t say that we’ve ever carried it. It is a wonderful story, though.” He smiled eagerly at her as he made his way behind the counter. “What is your name?”
“Ainsley. Ainsley Parker.”
“Ah, Sheriff Parker’s daughter, I presume. Well, Miss Parker, let me call someone for you. They own a bookstore that specializes in rare books. They’re in Indianapolis.” He picked up the phone and dialed the number. Ainsley listened intently and gathered the news was bad. Mr. Bishop hung up the phone and shook his head sadly. “They had one copy. But it sold. I’m sorry.”
Ainsley felt a lump in her throat. “Oh my. What terrible timing.”
Mr. Bishop nodded. “Apparently went for a pretty hefty price tag, too. The owner of the store said he sold it for more than a thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“Yes. Apparently it’s very sought after. The buyer paid what old Harrison was asking. First edition in prime condition. I guess it was worth it.”
Ainsley nodded, trying to hold back the disappointment thatflooded her heart. She had no idea the book was
that
rare. Her voice quivered when she spoke, and she was embarrassed. “Well, thank you so much. You were so kind for going to the extra trouble—”
From the corner of her eye, Ainsley noticed a Polaroid snapshot of Wolfe Boone hanging on the counter. She glanced over at the life-size cardboard replica of him near one of the bookshelves. It was as if she were looking at two different people. The cardboard man she thought she knew well. The small
Similar Books
