I looked at my watch. 1 had stopped listening. I knew he was lost, drifting through that vast and wonderful world that all true bookmen know. The most hypnotic business a man can do, like making love to a beautiful woman.
“You ever read that novel, Dr. J?”
1 shook my head. I didn’t know what novel he was talking about.
“My kinda stuff, baby. Just makes my blood go all tingly when I take it out of the box and it looks like it came off the press an hour ago. Yeah, we’ll do great on this buy, even if we have to wholesale a few items to keep the wolf at bay. It’s like a shot of new blood, you know what I mean? It puts joy back in your heart, makes the world right again for a little while. Wait a minute, there was more…”
“That’s enough, Ruby.”
“Oh wait, I haven’t given you much more than half of it, yet.”
“It’s enough anyway. I think I’ve got what I need.”
“I don’t understand you. What the hell’re you lookin‘ for?”
I looked at my watch. “How’s your sense of time, Ruby?”
“I don’t understand.”
“How long do you think we’ve been sitting here talking— just since I asked you what was in those boxes? How long do you think it’s been?”
“Couldn’t be much more than a minute. Two minutes at the outside. Couldn’t be any longer than that.”
“How about seven minutes and twenty seconds.”
Surprise flicked across his face.
Then a flash of horror.
50
I juggled the pieces on the drive north. It gave me a sick, hollow feeling that deepened as we drove.
Rita knew that something had changed between us. She was very sharp that way.
“What’s the matter?”
I shook my head and shrugged it off.
“What’s wrong with you?” she insisted.
“Nothing.” I looked at her and raised my voice to emphasize the point.
I saw her back stiffen. You couldn’t bully her or force your will. You could mandate silence by being silent, but you couldn’t make the mistake of believing that her own silence meant she was putting up with it.
We went at least ten miles before she spoke again.
“Where’re we going? You mind telling me that?”
“Going to see a fella.”
“What fella?”
I looked at her again. “You ever hear of Emery Neff?”
“I don’t know…I guess I’ve heard that name. He owns one of the bookstores, doesn’t he?”
“You never met him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You never had occasion to sell him any books?”
“How do I know? Do you remember everybody you ever sold books to? I’ll tell you something, I don’t much like the way you’re acting.”
“I’m not acting.”
She watched me for a moment, then turned away and lapsed into a curious wooden silence that matched my own. We couldn’t talk and we couldn’t be quiet: it was so deadly I had to turn on the radio, something I never do when I have people in the car. A couple of educated idiots were screaming at each other on KOA, giving a bad impression of what passes today for talk radio. I couldn’t stand it. Eventually I found KEZW, a nostalgia station. They were playing “Sam’s Song,” a vocal banter by Bing and Gary Crosby that I had heard four thousand times by actual count. At least I could stand that.
Ruby had answered my one essential question by drawing me a map. He had only been here once, almost a year ago, but he remembered it well enough to get me here. I spread the map on the seat as we rolled up the back highway, the mountains sprawling whitely to the left. I caught Rita glancing at the map. Our eyes met again. I stopped at a light and we just looked at each other for a moment. On the radio they were playing “I Hadn’t Anyone Till You.” Tommy Dorsey. Jack Leonard was singing the vocal refrain.
“Light’s green,” she said, and I started off again.
Then, without looking my way, she began to take me apart. She did it like a surgeon, without a tremor in her voice to betray her.
“It would seem that I’ve become a suspect again. I don’t like that, not from you.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Trust is a precious thing to me,” she said. “If I didn’t think you understood that, I promise you last night wouldn’t‘ve happened.”
“I know that.”
“Then talk to me, you bastard.”
Even when the words were loaded, her voice remained calm, icy.
“There may be a woman involved in it,” I said. “I don’t know what she did or why.”
“But you think it was me.”
“I don’t think anything.”
“Wrong answer, Janeway, and a lie to boot.”
I nodded.
“This is turning ugly,” she said.
“It’s always been ugly.”
“That’s funny, I thought it was something else. What happened to love at first sight?”
“Alive and well. It’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Then it can’t be much good.”
“Not true,” I said. “I’m just doing what a cop always does. Following my nose.”
“Is that what you were doing last night? You may’ve been following something, but it sure wasn’t your nose. You know what I think?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“You should be. It doesn’t put you in a good light.”
We were getting close to Longmont. My eyes scanned the road for the turnoff.
I knew the question was coming before she asked it: knew and dreaded.
“How long have you been thinking these things?”
I took a deep breath. “You want an honest answer?”
“You bet.”
“It’s always been there. I push it back in my head and try to smother it, but it won’t ever go away.”
“Then it was in bed with us last night.”
“It’s that goddamn appraisal. I just can’t square it.”
She gave a dry little laugh. “You’re pretty good, though, I’ll have to say that. You have a way of saying I love you that makes a girl believe it.”
“It’s true,” I said. “It is, Rita.”
“Ah,” she said in a small voice.
I thought that might be the end of it, but she said, “What I can’t figure out is why I’m supposed to have done this. It couldn’t be for money. You want to see my bankbook?” She flipped open her checkbook from First Federal Savings. It made me dizzy, trying to drive and look. What really made me dizzy were all those digits, and not a decimal anywhere in sight. It was like standing on the edge of a deep cliff, looking straight down.
“This is my traveling money. My book account is about four times this big. I have another account that I use for business not related to books. I have another account for investments: my accountant talked me into doing that last year. I seem to take in more money than I can decently spend now; I can’t even give it away fast enough. I make money while I’m lying in bed. Would you like to know how much I made last night while you were, ah, following your nose? I can calculate it, give or take a little. I’m making money this minute, for Christ’s sake. I don’t ever have to lift another finger. What work I do, I do because I’ve got to do something or go out of my mind. I was never made to be gracefully rich; I’m too restless to be idle. I don’t want any more money, don’t even want what I’ve got. So please tell me why I would lie and steal and kill for more stupid money.”
I shrugged sadly. Maybe for kicks, I thought: maybe for love. Who can ever know what people will do, or why?
“I’ve got one other account,” she said. “You could call it my fuck you account.”
I knew what she meant. I know all about fuck you money, mainly because I’ve never had any.
In that same flat voice, she said, “You are the most exciting man. All I have to do is think of you and I just tingle. Even that first night. I walked out of your bookstore and it was so powerful I had to stop and lean against something. I thought, there’s my guy. It was absolutely terrifying, the most thrilling moment of my life. Couldn’t wait to see you again. But you’ve got no faith, and that’s the most important thing. You’ve got no faith, Janeway. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”