The Poe Baxter Books Series Box Set - volume 1

Chapter 2-2

Mr. Stovall’s mouth tipped up at one corner, and once again, I saw that I was clearly negotiating with a man who knew the rules on these sorts of transactions innately. I was going to have to be at the top of my game.

“I’m glad you find the book to be what you expected. I am prepared to retrieve it from secure storage for you, but in the meantime, here is a copy of the terms of sale from when I came to acquire the book. I cannot, of course, vouch for anything before my purchase, but given how many people know the book, I think you should be able to find that information easily enough.” He passed me a sheet of cream-colored paper.

I picked it up and read the legal jargon that proved he had, indeed, bought the book from Davis MacDonald. He’d paid 25,000 pounds just four years ago. I was authorized to pay up to 40,000, so I assumed that this would be an easy conversation.

I should have remembered the saying about what happens when someone assumes.

“This looks to be in order,” I said, passing the paper to Beattie, who had reviewed far more provenance documents than I had. “I’m prepared to offer you 30,000 pounds for the book if it is in the same condition it appears to be from the photos.”

Stovall’s eyes grew very wide, and he sat back so far in his seat that I thought he might tip over backward. “Ms. Baxter, I am certain you feel this is a generous offer, but the book, of course, is worth far more than that.”

I kept my gaze steady while my brain whirled around what my next steps might be. My intuition lit on a memory from last semester when a young man had tried to negotiate a D in my class, even though he had not turned in a single paper and had slept through most of the class. “Ms. B,” he’d said, “I’m a good guy. I made some poor choices this semester, but you know I know this stuff. You know I don’t need to take this class again.”

The student wasn’t wrong. He did know the stuff. All the writing he’d done in the class had been solid, very good, actually. But having the knowledge and demonstrating the knowledge were not the same thing. He had failed and then egged my office door as a response. I had been furious, and a bit hurt, but I had also reported him, and when the security footage from the office hallway had been reviewed, the student had been expelled. Demonstrating poor restraint and bad judgment had even more consequences than laziness, this man had learned.

However, this student had taught me two things that I could use in this moment as Mr. Stovall pushed to get more than he had demonstrated his item was worth. First, I didn’t have to do anything in this moment because I had done what I had done well and in good faith. Second, arguing this point was not going to result in a better outcome, even if I went up to my full authorized offer of 40,000 pounds. From his reaction to my initial offer, he clearly thought the book to be worth far more—perhaps exponentially more—than I could offer, and given the wealth I could see displayed prominently around me, he wasn’t in a position to need to sell.

I took a deep breath and said, “I see. Well, if I may, I’d like to take a couple of days, gather more research, and discuss the situation with our client. If it suits, I will come back on Friday to see the book in person and to provide you with our best and highest offer.”

Mr. Stovall smiled and leaned forward. His kind expression was still there, but now, I could see the steely glint of victory and satisfaction behind his eyes. “Very well. I will look forward to continuing this discussion at the end of the week.” He reached across the table, and I shook his giant hand.

“Thank you,” I said and felt quite content to let him believe he had just successfully lobbed the first volley. In reality, my researcher’s resolve had firmed up immensely, and I knew Beattie and I were about to go deep to find out more about this book so that we could either indeed offer more money while still guaranteeing our client a great return on her investment or we could find anything that might make the book worth less than what Mr. Stovall believed it was. Either way, we had plenty of time to find a lot of information.

As Beattie and I walked back out onto the High Street of Inverness, I was feeling a swirl of emotions beneath my tornado of plans. I was a bit disappointed that I hadn’t been able to secure the book in this first meeting, but my intuition was telling me there was much more to be had in many ways if we took our time here.

I was just turning to propose a plan to Beattie when a woman’s voice called my name from behind us. When I turned, I saw a slip of a girl in jeans and a thick wool sweater jogging toward us. Her red curls were bouncing as she approached us, and as soon as she got closer, I could see that she was kin to Mr. Stovall. She had the same kind, square face and strength but in a tiny frame. “I’m sorry to bother you. Elsie Stovall.” She put out her hand, and I shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Stovall,” Beattie said. “Did we just meet your father?”

“Uncle, actually. I spend summers here when I’m off from school in Edinburgh.” Her smile was wide, and her accent was softer, somehow, than her uncle’s. “I wanted to ask if he sold you the book.”

I glanced at Beattie and then back at Elsie. “Don’t you think that’s something you should ask your uncle directly?”

She sighed. “I understand. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position. I’ll see if he’ll tell me.”

I studied her face for a minute and had a sense that her way of “seeing” was going to be a little snooping in his office. “He doesn’t share his business with you?” She was young, but not a child, maybe sixteen. Old enough to understand business, I figured, but then again, I didn’t have the care for any children, so what did I know?

Elsie’s face brightened. “Actually, most of the time he does, but not about the book.” She shook her head. “Too many curses.”

Once again, I looked at Beattie, and the small wrinkle between her eyebrows deepened. “You believe in the sea monster curse?” she asked.

“I don’t,” Elsie said with a violent shake of her head. “But Uncle Seamus does. Very much so.”

I frowned. “But if he believes the book curses who owns it, why didn’t he want to sell it as quickly as possible?” I realized as soon as I spoke that I’d told Elsie just wanted she wanted to know.

She smiled. “Well, that’s a good question. See, Uncle Seamus doesn’t technically own the book. I do.” She winked at me. “But since I am not of age yet, I cannot make my own decision about selling, you see.” Her face grew somber. “If I could, I wouldn’t sell, not for any amount of money. I’d simply donate it to the National Library. Let it go back where it belongs.”

“So Seamus Stovall is your guardian?” Beattie asked.

“He is. You can think of me like his ward, the Scottish Jane Eyre.” She smiled again, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

I shook my head. “I do hope this doesn’t mean you’ve fallen in love with your uncle.”

When the young woman’s face blanched, I laughed. “You might want to read the book before comparing yourself to its heroine.” I patted her arm. “Although, this book does seem a bit like Bertha Mason.”

Beattie laughed and then said to Elsie, “Jane Eyre’s guardian Rochester keeps his insane first wife locked up on the top floor of their house.”

Elsie looked puzzled for just a moment and then cackled. “That’s exactly right.” Then she turned to me, “But please, I’m not falling in love with my uncle. Ew.”

This time, I laughed. “That’s good to know for a number of reasons, Elsie,” I said. Then, I looked her right in the eye and said, “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but if your uncle believes this book is cursed, doesn’t it seem a bit cruel to leave you with the curse when he could get you out from under it?”

Elsie sighed. “He doesn’t see it that way. I don’t believe the curse, you see, and I definitely don’t feel plagued by sea monsters. Uncle Seamus has decided it’s because I’m not of age yet and, thus, am not affected.”

Beattie rolled her eyes. “That’s a lot of mental gymnastics to get himself more money.” Then she winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to speak ill of your uncle.”

“No, that’s what most people think about him. He does care about money, but only inasmuch as he can use it to help other people.” She moved her gaze from Beattie to me as she said, “He’s paying for my education as far as I’d like to take it, and he does the same for all the children of people on his staff. Plus, he gives a great deal to various charities. His goal is not to get rich, but instead to share his wealth.”

I studied the girl’s face for a moment, trying to decide whether she was well-informed or incredibly naive. I decided to go with informed, only because it felt better to believe that both about her and her uncle. “All right, then, so we’ll just have to see if we can get Uncle Seamus his due for this book,” I said to Beattie.

She nodded slowly. “Any tips on things we should look into?”

A slow smile spread across Elsie’s face. “Well, if you want my opinion.” She paused and looked from Beattie to me.

We both nodded, and she continued. “I’d start with Mr. MacDonald, the man who sold Uncle Seamus the book. He knew loads about it, and he believed in the curse. I mean, he really believed in it.” Her eyes grew wide, and she sighed. “Sometimes he doesn’t make much sense, but when he does, it’s fascinating.”

“You’ve talked to him?” I asked with surprise.

“Oh yes, many times. He lives just over the hill in Dalneigh. Loves visitors, but don’t call ahead. His nurse is a cretin and won’t let you in.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a receipt wrapped around a lip gloss, unrolled it, and scribbled out MacDonald’s address on the back. “You’ll let me know what you find?”

Beattie and I exchanged a look. “If your uncle says it’s okay, absolutely,” I said. “We’ll be back on Friday at two. Maybe we’ll see you?” This was the best I could do to give her information without betraying her uncle’s trust.