The Narrows

"He and his wife wrote it before he died."
    "Nonfiction?"
    "Yeah, it was real stuff."
    "I'm talking about a navel. When was the last time you read one?"
    I shrugged. I didn't remember.
    "That's what I thought," Thomas said. "If she doesn't want the book bring it back and I'll get it to somebody who'll read it."
    "Okay, Ed. Thanks."
    "Be careful out there, Harry."
    "I will be. You, too."
    I was heading to the door when things came together-what Thomas had told me and what I knew about the case. I snapped my fingers and acted like I just remembered something. I turned back to Thomas.
    "Hey, I got a friend lives all the way in Nevada but he says he's a customer of yours. Mail order probably. You do mail order?"
    "Sure. What's his name?"
    "Tom Walling. Lives all the way up in Clear."
    Thomas nodded but not in any happy sort of way.
    "He's your friend?"
    I realized I might have stepped in it.
    "Well, an acquaintance, you could say."
    "Well, he owes me some money."
    "Really? What happened?"
    "It's a long story. But I sold him some books out of a collection I was handling and he paid very promptly. Paid with a money order and everything was fine. So when he wanted more books I sent them before I got his money order. Big mistake. That was three months ago and I haven't gotten a dime from him. If you see this acquaintance of yours again, tell him I want my money."
    "I will, Ed. That's too bad. I didn't know the guy was a rip-off artist. What books did he buy?"
    "He's into Poe, so I sold him some books out of the Rodway collection. Some old ones. Pretty nice books. Then he ordered more when I got another collection in. He didn't pay for them."
    My heart rate was kicking into an upper gear. What Thomas was telling me was confirmation that Backus was somehow in play here. I wanted to stop the charade at that moment and tell Thomas what was happening and that he was in danger. But I held back. I needed to talk to Rachel first and form the right plan.
    "I think I saw those books in his place," I said. "Was it poetry?" "Mostly, yeah. He didn't really care for the short stories."
    "Did these books have the original collector's name in them? Rodman?"
    "No, Rodway. And yes, they had his library seal embossed in them. That hurt the price but your friend wanted the books."
    I nodded. I saw my theory coming together. It was more than theory now.
    "Harry, what are you really up to?"
    I looked at Thomas.
    "What do you mean?"
    "I don't know. You're asking a lot of-*
    A loud ring sounded from the back of the store, cutting Thomas off.
    "Never mind, Harry," he said. "It's more books. I need to go take a delivery."
    "Oh.'*
    "I'll see you later."
    "Yeah,"
    I watched him leave the counter area and head to the back. I checked my watch. It was noon. The director was stepping before the cameras to talk about the explosion in the desert and say that it was the work of the killer known as the Poet. Could this be the moment Backus chose to strike Thomas? My throat and chest tightened as though the air had been sucked out of the room. As soon as Thomas slipped through the doorway to the stockroom, I moved back to the counter and leaned over to look at the security monitor. I knew if Thomas checked the backroom monitor he would see that I hadn't left the store, but I was counting on him going right to the door.
    On the corner of the screen showing the stockroom I saw Thomas lean his face up to the rear door and look through a peephole. Apparently unalarmed by what he saw, he proceeded to turn the dead bolt and open the door. I stared intently at the screen, even though the image was small and I was viewing it upside down.
    Thomas stepped back from the door and a man entered. He was wearing a dark shirt and matching shorts. He was carrying two boxes, one stacked on top of the other, and Thomas directed him to a nearby worktable. The deliveryman put the boxes down and then took an electronic clipboard off the top box and turned back to Thomas for a delivery confirmation signature.
    Everything seemed all right. It was a routine delivery. I quickly got off the counter and went to the door. As I opened it I heard an electronic chime sound but I didn't worry about that. I headed back to the Mercedes, running through the rain after putting the autographed book under my raincoat.
    "What was all of that, with you leaning over the counter like that?" Rachel asked once I was behind the wheel again.
    "He's got a security box. There was a delivery and I wanted to