Classified As Murder

“No, I don’t.” I appreciated his concern, but thanks to my inheritance from my dear aunt Dottie, my pension from Houston, and my modest salary from Athena College, I was very comfortably situated. “I’ll do the inventory because Mr. Delacorte wanted me to. From my limited acquaintance with him, I liked and respected him, and I’d like to carry through with his wishes.”

“I can understand that.” Sean pulled out a chair and sat down. “But surely you can understand why I’m worried about this.”

“I do. But you’ll be there with me, and with you watching over me, I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” I drained my glass and got up to refill it. “Will you bring Dante?”

Sean considered that for a moment. “I don’t see why not. If he’s alone in the house, he’ll get bored. He might tear something up.”

“True enough,” I said. I remembered the mess I’d found Saturday near the front door. “How about some dinner? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Sean drained his beer and set the bottle on the table. “How about some pizza? Any decent delivery place here?”

“Yes. Pizza sounds good. What kind do you want?”

“Thick crust with lots of meat and cheese,” Sean said. He got up to dispose of his empty bottle. “That okay with you?”

“Sounds fine.”

“If you’ve got the number, I’ll call it in.” Sean walked over to the wall phone.

“It’s there on the pad by the phone,” I said, gesturing toward a notepad hung on the wall.

Sean called the order in. He pulled out his wallet and extracted several bills. “This ought to cover it. About twenty-five minutes, they said. While we’re waiting, I’d like to check my e-mail and look up a few things on the Internet.”

“Thanks for the pizza.”

“My pleasure.” He headed upstairs to retrieve his laptop. Both animals trailed along behind him. Diesel seemed determined to keep his new playmate in sight.

The pizza arrived thirty minutes later. I set it on the table and then went to let Sean know it was here. He and the two animals followed me into the kitchen.

Sean had ordered a large pizza, and I wondered whether he should have ordered a medium instead. When I saw him pile half the pizza on his plate, I didn’t wonder any longer.

“Mind if I eat out on the porch?” Sean grabbed some paper towels. “There’s some stuff I still need to finish up on with e-mail, and I might as well get it done.”

I was disappointed, but all I said was, “Sure. I guess I’ll start going through those instructions and copy of the inventory Alexandra Pendergrast left with me.”

“See you later, then.” Sean headed out of the kitchen, a very excited poodle running along with him.

Diesel stayed with me, and I rewarded him with a couple of bites of pizza. We didn’t have it often, and the bits of cheese and meat were a treat for him. I decided to wait to read the file until my hands were completely free of pizza grease.

I managed three of the four pieces of pizza Sean had left and then closed the box. I had a feeling the last piece would be gone before long.

Upstairs, hands washed, pajamas on, I climbed into bed with the file. Diesel jumped up beside me and settled down for a nap.

By the time I finished skimming the list of the collection, I felt like I’d strained my eye muscles from the many times my eyes must have turned into saucers. James Delacorte had amassed an amazing collection, not only of early American printed books, but also of fine examples of the earliest European printers. I couldn’t wait to get back to the collection and locate some of the gems. For a rare book cataloger, the Delacorte collection was the equivalent of heaven.

The list of instructions was brief. The main thing Mr. Delacorte wanted was to ensure that the collection remained intact. He was quite insistent on a thorough inventory. I wondered when he had drawn up these instructions.

He already thought some items were missing. Perhaps he feared the thief would loot the collection after his death. There were definitely many items that could fetch significant sums at auction. The first editions of Faulkner’s works, many of them signed and in apparently fine condition, would command an eye-popping sum on their own.

A family member who tried to steal any of the books had to be pretty stupid, however. The theft would be detected right away. Surely none of the Delacorte heirs was that desperate, or that dumb. I would know better after hearing the terms of the will tomorrow morning, I figured.

After I completed the inventory, my next task was to prepare it for the move to its new home. I grinned with pleasure when I read that the collection was to go to the Athena College library. There were provisions for a significant sum of money to be given as well, for the upkeep and cataloging of the books. I would be working on this collection for years to come.

I regretted deeply, however, the manner in which the collection was coming to my care. But all too often death was the event that triggered such magnificent gifts.