“Will you?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
“No.” The word escaped the girl’s lips like an explosion. “Not if my parents have anything to do with it. Which they do, ’cause right now I can’t travel to auditions or sign any contracts on my own.” Tara’s dark eyes narrowed. “Maybe I could convince Mom, but my dad …” She shrugged. “He refuses to even consider something like that.”
My lips twitched. “I don’t think those TV shows are that bad, but I do wonder if it’s really the best way to start a lasting career.”
Tara spat out a word I had heard plenty of times from my students but tried to avoid using myself. “That’s ’cause you’re old. You don’t get the way things are done today. It’s like my dad telling me I have to study at a conservatory if I decide to pursue such aperilouscareer, as he calls it.” Tara made a face. “And he even fights me on that idea, so what am I supposed to do? Go to college and learn a bunch of lame stuff that I don’t care about just so I can work at some job I’ll hate?”
I shrugged. “I doubt that’s the best choice, but perhaps studying music at a good conservatory or university program would open the same doors for you as one of those reality shows. Or even give you better options.”
Tara’s lips curved downward. “Yeah, sure. Meanwhile, other girls will be getting the record deals and concert tours. While I age out of ever breaking into the business.” She audibly sniffed. “You old people are all the same, thinking things have to be done the way they were back in the dark ages, when you were kids.” She rolled her eyes as she stalked past. “Spare me the lectures, okay?”
“Sure thing,” I said, as the girl strode out of the room.
I sighed.What was I thinking, sharing my opinion with a young person I don’t know?It was force of habit, I supposed. I’d slipped into teacher mode without considering the fact that Tara, like her parents, was a guest at Chapters.Your job is to be a hostess, not an instructor, I reminded myself.
I waited a few minutes before I followed Tara out of the parlor. I was still determined to steal a few moments of quiet in my bedroom, but a noise made me pause. I peeked into the adjacent room, which was Chapters’ extensive library. One of my guests was balanced on the sliding ladder that allowed access to the library’s top shelves.
I stepped into the library, identifying the culprit as Lincoln Delamont even before he glanced over his shoulder. “Can I help you find something?”
“No thank you, Ms. Reed. I’m just examining the collection.” Lincoln flashed me a roguish grin. “As you know, I’m a rare-book dealer. I simply can’t resist a library like this.”
“I wish you’d asked me first.” I pointed at the pile of books scattered across the room’s massive wooden desk. “Some of the items on the upper shelves are fragile. I prefer to pull those for our guests myself, specifically for that reason, as I’m sure you can understand.”
I didn’t mention that some of those volumes were also quite valuable. Lincoln would know that just by looking at them. But even if he was breaking one of the bed-and-breakfast’s few rules, I reminded myself that my hostess status meant I had to stop short of accusing him of any wrongdoing.
When I inherited my great-aunt’s extensive library along with her house, I’d shifted all of the fragile and rare books tothe top shelves, leaving the sturdier, and generally more popular, books on the shelves that could be reached without deploying the rolling ladder. In my welcome speech I informed guests that they could freely use the library, but asked them to limit their selection of books to the lower shelves. If they wanted anything else, they had to run that by me, and if the book wasn’t too fragile, I’d pull it for them. Not only did that prevent any unfortunate spills from the ladder, but it also allowed me to keep tabs on who was handling the more valuable volumes.
But Lincoln Delamont had obviously not heard my instructions, or had decided to deliberately flout them. I tapped my foot against the pine plank floor. “I’m sure you’re fascinated by my great-aunt’s collection, but I must ask you to get down. As I mentioned when you arrived last night, I prefer that guests not use that ladder.” I twitched my lips into what I hoped was a pleasant smile. “Insurance liability being what it is, it just isn’t safe, for you as well as for my pocketbook.”
Lincoln climbed down to one of the bottom rungs before leaping to the floor. As he turned to face me, his sharp nose twitched like the pointed muzzle of a fox. “I assure you, Ms. Reed, I have more than a passing acquaintance with library ladders. Many of which are much less stable than this one.”
“I’m sure, but those aren’t located in my bed-and-breakfast.” I strolled over to the desk and picked up a leather-bound volume. “You do have a good eye,” I said, examining the title page. “A first editionRomance of King Arthurillustrated and signed by Arthur Rackham is quite rare, as I suppose you know. You wouldn’t be searching for items to buy, would you?”
“Not exactly.” Lincoln dusted off his hands. “But I am very interested in Isabella Harrington’s library. Particularly in how she acquired it.”
I placed the leather-bound volume back on the desk. “That’s easy—she purchased the books. Sometimes individually, but also in large lots from estate sales or from those downsizing and selling entire collections. Why do you ask?”
Lincoln lowered his pale lashes over his blue eyes. “Having conducted a little research on your great-aunt, I’m curious how she was able to afford the initial investment. Didn’t she start out as a maid in the early 1950s? It was at some grand estate on the James River in Virginia, but still, hardly a way to amass a fortune.”
“True, but she apparently came into some money after that, before she bought this house.” I frowned. “She never really explained how that came about.”
“I bet she didn’t.” A smirk twisted Lincoln’s thin lips.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I took a breath and reminded myself to temper my tone. Despite his annoying air of superiority, the bookdealer was a guest. “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t understand your point, Mr. Delamont.”
“Please, call me Lincoln.” Tracing a spiral pattern in the rug with the tip of his expensive leather loafer, the bookdealer didn’t meet my searching gaze. “I just find it interesting that a former maid was able to acquire so many valuable books. It takes a great deal of money to accumulate a library like this, you know. I assumed she must’ve inherited something from the family. As you did,” he added, casting me a sly smile.
“I know nothing about that. My family on that side were farmers. I doubt she inherited a fortune from them.” Annoyance hadsharpened my tone, but I decided Lincoln Delamont was being provocative enough to warrant my displeasure. “I’ve always assumed she made some shrewd investments. And I know she occasionally sold some of her original acquisitions to buy other books.”
“Yes, I recall seeing some of them on the market. A bit beyond my reach at the time, I’m afraid.”
I studied his face, wondering why he looked so smug. “Anyway, since I did inherit her library as well as the house, it’s my job to take care of both. Which is why I have an inflexible rule about guests not accessing the more fragile volumes. And staying off that ladder. How and why Isabella Harrington started her book collection is not really my concern.”
“Perhaps it should be,” Lincoln said. “I’d hate to see your reputation tarnished by a relative’s past misdeeds.”
I instinctively cast a glance toward the hall. Lincoln’s voice was unusually loud and resonant, and I wanted to reassure myself that no other guests were loitering nearby. “Excuse me, is that a threat?”
Lincoln Delamont shrugged. “Just a warning. Based on my investigations, I’ve discovered something about your great-aunt’s past that you, and indeed the rest of your family, might not know. A fact that, if disclosed, could be very bad publicity for your bed-and-breakfast. Very bad indeed. It might even force you to sell …”
