“Pardon me,” said a young man in a flat Midwestern accent as he stepped onto the porch. “Can we take your picture?” He ducked his head, suddenly turning shy. “I mean, you girls are real Southern belles, aren’t you?”
Inhaling deeply, Ava turned her megawatt smile on the handsome young man. “We sure are, sugar,” she told him. “Best the South has to offer.”
Chapter 10
B
OO strutted along Dauphine Street, her Shar-Pei head held high, tail curled into a tight, furry doughnut, wrinkles jiggling gently. Carmela had dropped by her apartment earlier and changed into blue jeans and an
I Brake for Whales
T-shirt in anticipation of what would probably prove to be a dusty, dirty prowl. Boo had watched solemnly, her shiny bright eyes following Carmela’s every move, hoping for an invitation. And Carmela had figured,
Why not?
Why not bring Boo along to Biblios Booksellers? Because, let’s face it, the little dog had already been in half the shops in the French Quarter, and conducted herself quite properly, thank you very much. Except for that tiny little incident with Teddy Morton’s Siamese. And who’s counting
that!
Lights were on and Wren was already moving around inside the bookstore when Carmela and Boo arrived.
“Knock knock,” said Carmela, rattling the doorknob and peering through the frosted glass window on which
Biblios Booksellers, Rare and Antiquarian Books & Maps
had been painted in flowing gold script.
Wren came scampering to the door to let them in. She was also dressed in blue jeans and wore a chambray shirt knotted at her waist. “Hey there, Boo Boo,” she called, reaching down to scratch Boo’s tiny triangle ears. “Make yourself at home. There’s a nice cozy sofa up in that half loft if you want.” And Boo, ever grateful for an invitation to catch a snooze, scurried up the stairs to investigate.
“Have you started going through Jamie’s records yet?” asked Carmela.
“No,” said Wren. “I was waiting for you. I didn’t know exactly what to look for, and you’re . . . well, you’ve got business experience. So I thought I’d just sit tight.”
Carmela gazed about the bookstore. Leatherbound volumes gleamed from tall wooden shelves and faded Aubusson carpets covered the floors. Cozy leather club chairs and worn velvet wing chairs were stuck wherever an impromptu seating area presented itself. To Carmela’s right was a huge, ornate wooden flat file that boasted dozens of extra-wide drawers. That, she figured, was probably the repository for the antique maps. To her left, six narrow steps led to the loft where Boo was snuffling about; ten feet ahead and two steps down led to a small business area with a desk, file cabinets, and counters piled high with books.
“I love this place,” said Carmela. Her dad, though he’d long since passed away, had instilled in her a deep and abiding love for books, and she had never lost that feeling. Books were her ticket to untold journeys, her storehouse of knowledge, her refuge. To this day, Carmela loved nothing better than to curl up with a good book and a steaming cup of tea.
Carmela’s early love for books and short story collections had probably served as the impetus for her collection of antique children’s books. After a dozen years of combing flea markets, bookstores, and antique shops, her collection now included three dozen early Nancy Drew books, the thick ones from the thirties where Nancy still drove a spiffy, red roadster; at least two dozen Big Little books; Albert Payson Terhune’s entire
Lad, a Dog
series; and an early copy of L. Frank Baum’s
The Wizard of Oz.
“This is an amazing collection, isn’t it?” said Wren. Now that she was back in the store and had a purpose, she seemed much more relaxed. Happy almost, to be among these tall, sagging bookshelves.
“Did you know that Jamie also did book binding and book conservation?” asked Wren. “Collectors from all over Louisiana would bring Jamie their precious but ailing books and he would repair the leather bindings. Or sometimes he’d completely re-bind them or just get pages unstuck. Then there were the people who’d discover old books that had been stored in attics or stuck in musty old trunks for decades. Jamie would treat the pages with archival preserving spray and try to undo the damage done by mildew, heat, mold, and insects.”
Carmela nodded approvingly. She was no stranger herself to working with acid-free paper and archival spray. Old photographs were just as delicate as the pages of old books.
“I keep forgetting what an amazing inventory Jamie had,” said Wren. “No wonder collectors from all over sent him letters and e-mails with their want lists.”
“
Inventory
is the operative word,” said Carmela. “If Dunbar DesLauriers really does want to buy the whole shebang, you’ve got to get a handle on what you really have here.”
“I have an inventory list with Jamie’s suggested prices,” said Wren. “But that doesn’t include the couple hundred books shelved in the rare book cases.”
“That’s a problem,” said Carmela. “And, on a business note, we should regard this as a collection rather than just a store full of books. Collections always command higher prices.” She thought about what she’d just said. “I suppose that’s because someone has already invested considerable time and effort to bring like-minded pieces together and then categorize everything.”
“What if I went on the Internet and tried to get prices on the books that aren’t on the price list?” suggested Wren. “Some comparables.”
“That’s a terrific idea,” enthused Carmela. “Then we’d have a ballpark idea of the value of the total inventory.” She knew the more information they could give Jekyl Hardy, the easier his task would be to appraise the inventory. Or, if he couldn’t do it, Jekyl would find someone who could.
They both looked around at books strewn and shelved everywhere. It suddenly seemed like a daunting task, even for a bookstore pro.
“Of course, I’m going to have to do some organizing first,” amended Wren. She, too, seemed suddenly overwhelmed by putting a price tag on all this.
“First things first,” said Carmela, realizing they were getting side-tracked. “Job one is we go through Jamie’s business papers.”
“Which ones?” asked Wren.
Carmela shrugged. “Bank statements, the building lease, payables and receivables, his partnership agreement with Blaine Taylor if we can find it. Hopefully a last will and testament,” she said as Wren flinched. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” said Wren.
Taking a deep breath, Carmela sat down at Jamie’s desk and began to paw through his drawers and files. Jamie hadn’t exactly subscribed to the organized desk theory, so Carmela had to sort through a lot of junk, too. Letters from book collectors, price lists, catalogs from other book dealers, invoices that had been marked “paid” but never filed. But in the second drawer, she began to unearth the beginnings of the mother load, finding Jamie’s business checkbook.
“Checkbook,” said Carmela, laying the green plastic book atop the desk.
“You peek,” said Wren. “I’m too nervous.”
Carmela flipped through the pages. Jamie’s commercial account for Biblios Booksellers wasn’t all that different than a personal account. He used the same type of check register to keep track of deposits and the checks he’d written. Carmela figured he probably gave the checkbook to his bookkeeper or accountant and let them get quarterly information that way.
“Is there a balance?” asked Wren.
Carmela’s eyes sought out the last number in the column. “Yes, there is,” she said. “Sixteen thousand and change.”
“Sixteen thousand
dollars?
” said Wren.
Carmela nodded.
“Is that good?” asked Wren.
“It is if the rent, heat, and light bills are paid,” answered Carmela, scanning the check register. “And they seem to be. Through January in fact.”
“So I’ve got some breathing room,” said Wren.
“You’ve also got a salary,” said Carmela. Her hands went to the adding machine that sat atop Jamie’s desk. “Let’s see. Forty hours a week times approximately twenty-five weeks is one thousand hours. Times . . . let’s say twelve dollars an hour . . . that’s twelve thousand dollars due to you, my dear.” Carmela turned and looked at Wren. “Or do you want me to figure it at fifteen dollars an hour?”
Wren shook her head, “Twelve is fine.”
“Okay then,” said Carmela, “back to the search.” She looked up at Wren. “If there’s something else you want to do, go right ahead.”
Wren thought for a few seconds. “Jamie kept an old four-drawer filing cabinet in the basement. What if I go down and look through that? See if there’s anything worthwhile?”
“Go for it,” said Carmela, as Wren walked to the back of the store and pulled open a door she hadn’t noticed before. Wren flipped a switch, then disappeared down a steep set of wooden stairs.
Carmela could hear Wren clattering down the last few steps even as her fingers flicked over a bundle of statements from Kahlman-Douglas Certified Public Accountants. She pulled one out, took a quick look.
Good. Now we know who Jamie’s CPA firm was. Gonna make things a whole lot easier.
The middle drawer was stuffed with inventory lists. But they were all computer printouts, so obviously a master list existed on the Dell computer that sat on Jamie’s desk.
It wasn’t until Carmela pulled open the bottom drawer of Jamie’s desk that she found what she was really looking for. The heart of the matter. Tucked in a light blue legal-sized envelope was Jamie Redmond’s Last Will and Testament.
Should I read it?
wondered Carmela.
Or give it to Wren? This is, after all, a very personal document.
Then she figured,
The heck with it. I’m gonna go ahead and read it. That’s why Wren asked me to come here in the first place.
The first few pages were fairly standard, probably boiler-plated by Jamie’s attorney. The fifth page was the crux of the matter. The information they really needed to know.
Carmela closed all the desk drawers and did a fairly plausible job of straightening the desktop. Then she climbed the half-dozen narrow steps up to the loft to see what Boo was up to.
When Wren came upstairs some ten minutes later, clutching an armload of dusty file folders, she found Carmela stretched out next to Boo, looking serene, reading from Pablo Neruda’s
Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.
Carmela closed the book and smiled up at Wren. “You own it,” she told her.
“What!”
“The bookstore. All of this. It’s yours. Jamie put it in your name, same as the house. Except this seems to be free and clear, whereas the house has a mortgage.”
File folders slipped from Wren’s arms and her knees seemed to grow weak. She crossed one leg over the other and slid to a sitting position on the carpet.
“You okay?” Carmela asked.
“I feel like I just woke up from a bad dream,” said Wren. “All this time I’ve been thinking I had to hurry up and sell all this stuff in order to pay the bills. And that it would be a horrible, gut-wrenching experience. And now I find out that I own it.” She gazed around with a startled look on her young face. “And you know what?”
Carmela raised one eyebrow.
“I’m glad,” said Wren.
“Good for you,” said Carmela. “Now you’re showing real spunk.”
Wren swiveled her head around, as though she were seeing the bookstore for the very first time. “There’s just one problem,” she said finally. “I’m terrible at this. Business stuff, I mean.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” said Carmela. “Business can be fun.”
Wren wrinkled her nose and snorted. “Fun? How can you even say that?”
“Don’t get me wrong, running a business is a tremendous challenge,” Carmela told her. “But it’s a real character builder, too. Helps you discover what you’re really made of. And, in a funny way, running a business helps you prioritize what’s really important in your life.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad thing,” admitted Wren. “But I really don’t know any of the . . . what would you call them? Business fundamentals?”
“It’s not that tricky,” said Carmela. “In your case, you have a retail shop. So your business mission is to deliver a good product, a unique product, and make sure your customer enjoys a positive buying experience. That all relates to inventory and customer service.”
“I think I can handle that,” said Wren, glancing around.
“You also have to do concentrate on sales and marketing,” said Carmela. “You have to figure out who your audience is. Who your
market
is. Your target market.”
“You mean I shouldn’t advertise to everyone and his brother?” said Wren.
“Exactly,” said Carmela. “In the case of this bookstore, I’d probably generate a few pieces of direct mail and target area book collectors.”
“I think Jamie
did
have some kind of mailing list,” said Wren, suddenly sounding hopeful.
“And I’d for sure go after the tourist market,” said Carmela. “After all, you’ve got a fabulous location here in the French Quarter. Tons of people who are knowledgeable about antique collecting flock here every year. Chances are, a good portion of them collect antique books and maps, too.”
“You make it sound like fun,” said Wren.
“Business can be fun, once you get the hang of things,” said Carmela. “The most important thing to remember is there are no hard and fast rules. Some of the best, most serendipitous business opportunities occur when you think outside the box.”
Wren gazed around the dusty shop with a hopeful look on her face. “So you really think I could run this place? All by myself?”
“I think with a couple terrific employees you could definitely get Biblios Booksellers humming along,” said Carmela.
“What kind of employees?”
“If this were my shop,” said Carmela, “I might look for a retired college professor or somebody with a library background. Librarians are very smart cookies, you know. They’d bring organization to the business and lend credibility, too.”