Part 18 (1/2)
”Hold on,” Baker called, rus.h.i.+ng up to her and taking the box from her. ”I didn't mean you should have to cart all these boxes around by yourself. I'll put them on the table and you can go through them, okay?”
Chivalry was not dead after all. ”That would be fine,” Tricia said.
They set to work. One by one, Captain Baker s.h.i.+fted the boxes, Tricia unfolded the interlocking flaps, looked inside each one, and pushed it aside.
”I'm really sorry you're losing your morning to this,” Tricia said after ten minutes had gone by and they'd s.h.i.+fted at least as many boxes. ”I really didn't think the books would hold any value for you. They're just old books.”
”Is that how you feel about the books in your shop?”
”Of course not. They're mysteries.”
Baker laughed. ”Ms. Miles, I do believe you're a sn.o.b.”
Tricia looked up sharply. ”I am not.”
”Then why don't books other than mysteries intrigue you?”
”I never said that.” She folded the flaps in on another box, pus.h.i.+ng it aside on the table. ”I do read other genres. My sister has been working on a new cookbook. I'm helping her edit it. I can also repair books--although I haven't had the time to do it since I opened my shop. Not only have I read the cla.s.sics, from Shakespeare to Tolstoy, but every Harry Potter book, too.”
”I stand corrected,” Baker said, the hint of a smile gracing his lips, and placed another box of books on the table beside her.
Tricia opened the box, took out several books, and looked through the contents. She spied a copy of The Three Roads by Kenneth Millar--otherwise known as Ross MacDonald--and flipped open the cover, thumbing to the copyright page. She froze, her heart pounding. Yes! A first edition. The dust cover had a couple of nicks and wrinkles, but it was in very good condition--something a collector, not unlike herself, would covet.
She carefully set the book aside. Would Lois let her buy some of these books before the sale? She'd have to ask . . . and, she decided, she'd pay a bit more attention as she went through the rest of the boxes. There could be many more surprises.
”You forgot to put that book back in the box,” Baker commented.
Tricia feigned surprise. ”Did I?”
”Yes.”
Tricia met his gaze. ”I don't think so. May I have another box, please?”
Baker took the box she'd just pushed aside, set it on the floor by the other cartons she'd already inspected, and picked up a new one for Tricia to look at. She opened the flaps. ”And what is it you read for pleasure, Captain Baker?”
”Certainly not mysteries. They're a little too close to what I do for a living. When I read, I want to relax, not feel like I'm doing homework.”
”Then I take it true crime is out, too?”
”Definitely. Don't laugh, but I actually do read cookbooks.”
”Why should I laugh? Most of the greatest chefs in the world are men. Probably because it's women who have to do the drudge work at home.”
”Ah, you're a feminist, too?” he asked.
She turned a level glare at him. ”Some people don't like that word.”
”Do you?”
”I think it's rather a tribute.”
”Why's that?”
”Let's just say I don't like to see women treated as second-cla.s.s citizens. How do you feel about reporting to a woman?”
The captain's expression grew somber. ”My boss was elected to the job. If she'd come up through the ranks . . .” He didn't have to say any more.
Tricia finished with another box. ”What do you make?”
He leaned in closer. ”I beg your pardon?”
”What kind of food do you like to cook?” she clarified. ”Barbecue?”
He frowned. ”Now who's making a.s.sumptions?” He didn't wait for a reply, and plowed ahead. ”As it happens, I'm rather good at baking. After all, my name is Baker.”
”What do you bake?”
”Bread, mostly. My grandmother taught me. Do you cook?”
”Not unless I have to. My sister got all the cooking talent in our family. That's why she opened a cafe.”
”And has a cookbook about to be published,” he added. ”From Penguin. In June. Easy-Does-It Cooking,” he recited from memory.
Tricia laughed. ”Exactly.”
She pushed aside yet another box. The captain moved it to the discard pile and gave her another.
”By the way, Captain; did you get a call from the Stoneham post office?”
”No. Why?”
”Because, they're holding a letter there addressed to Pammy, in care of General Delivery.”
”Why didn't you tell me this before?” he asked sharply.
”I only found out yesterday. I did encourage the clerk to call you. I guess he didn't feel it was necessary. I hope he hasn't had it returned to its sender.”
”I'll check into it as soon as I leave here. Thank you for mentioning it.”
Tricia nodded and opened the flaps on the next box. She recognized several of the t.i.tles. ”This is it.”
Baker whirled round. ”Don't touch the books.”
”Why not? I've already handled them. And it's unlikely you'll find any decent fingerprints. Besides, it was Pammy who handled these books before me, not my mysterious caller.”
”Just the same,” he said, taking custody of the box and moving it away from her. He carefully folded the carton's flaps back in.