screeched into the lot as Florence was scampering out of his Very Private Office.
âSorry, I overslept,â he apologized, settling into the front seat. âGood thing you sent Fido to wake me. I thought it was one of your dogs scratching at the bus until I looked out the window. I canât imagine why he ran away when he saw me.â
Kadota backed the car out of the lot so swiftly he nearly ran down a woman with a package the size of a shoebox under her arm.
âFiggs!â hissed Mrs. Lumpholtz.
Florence spent the long drive explaining the difficulties of completing a Joseph Conrad collection to Mona. âMany of the first editions are still easy enough to find. Even his first book, Almayerâs Folly , is obtainable, though it is expensive. But the true 1913 edition of Chance is rare, very rare.â
âWhy do you need first editions when you can read a book in paperback?â Kadota asked.
âWhy do you collect dogs?â Mona replied. Kadota remained silent for the rest of the trip, trying to think of an answer.
Florence continued. âThe impossible book to find is the original The Nigger of the Narcissus.â
Mona gasped.
âThe British printed only seven, for copyright purposes. The Americans then published what is now considered the first edition, under the title Children of the Sea . â
âThatâs much better,â Mona said.
âI donât agree,â Florence replied, âbut read the book, even in paperback if you have to; then decide for yourself.â (Read, Mona, read, he thought to himself. Find friends in books when I am gone.)
âHere we are,â Kadota announced. âAnd if my eyes donât deceive me, the sign is another one of Truman Figgâs misspelled masterpieces.â
There was still time to examine the books before the sale began. The Conrads were in fine condition. Mona counted the pages of advertisements at the back of the books to make certain the first editions were complete.
âLook at this, Mona.â Florence was studying a colorplate book of butterflies. âSee how the colors change subtly from lavender to purple to violet?â
Mona glanced hastily at the engraving, then surveyed the shelves of books to be auctioned. âCan we bid on other books if they are good buys?â
Florence sighed. âLetâs just concentrate on the Conrads, and you can do the bidding.â
Delighted, Mona rushed to the front row to save two seats. She wanted to be sure of being seen by the auctioneer.
âNumber 34,â the auctioneer called out. âClemens. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Whoâll start the bidding at a hundred dollars? I have a hundred. One-ten. One-twenty....â
Mona had been twisting around to locate bidders on the earlier lots; now she sat forward, biting her lips, eyes fixed on the auctioneer, afraid of missing her opportunity.
âSold, at one hundred and seventy-five dollars to the gentleman in the third row.â
One more number to go.
âNumber 35. Coleridge. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner . I have a bid for twenty-five. Thirty, thirty-five. Fifty. Do I hear fifty-five? Sold, at fifty dollars, to the lady standing in the rear.
âNumber 36. Conrad. The Secret Agent. I have a bid of twenty-five. Thirty in the fifth row, forty in the rear, forty-five, fifty, sixty dollars is bid by the gentleman in the seventh row, seventy in the rear. Do I hear seventy-five?â
Monaâs mouth was too dry to speak. Florence, arms folded, calmly waited for her to enter the bidding.
âGoing at seventy, going, going....â
âSeventy-five,â Mona gasped, waving her catalogue in the air. The auctioneer looked at Florence, who nodded his approval.
âI have a bid of seventy-five dollars in the first row. Anyone say eighty?â
The seconds passed like hours as the auctioneer scanned the silent audience.
âSold at seventy-five dollars to the young
Learning to Kill: Stories