The Book by M. Clifford Read Free Book Online Page B

only thing that covered the must of molding antiques and, for a fraction of a moment, it was refreshing.
    The man spat a fevered barrage of words. “I told you already, I don’t have any books. I don’t sell any books. No one does. It’s not worth the suffering we would go through. What are you here for? Who sent you here?”
    Holden lifted the page he was still holding, stumbling over his tongue as it got in the way of his defense. “I’m just looking for this book. That’s all.”
    “You’re lying to me and I’m going to find out who sent you here.”
    “I’m not lying. I’m serious. I found this page from my favorite story and something wasn’t right when I compared it to my Book. I just want to see an original copy.” Holden fought the man’s grip and it loosened. “Just tell me…do you have a copy of this book? I’ll pay anything. I need to read it.”
    The shop owner apologized with conscious embarrassment. “I am sorry. I’m afraid that I can’t help you. For your own sake, I suggest you forget that we ever had this discussion. The world of thought is not safe these days...”
    Holden watched as the man’s expression gradually shifted to a well-controlled concern. He began studying the area around them, at the many boxes of remarkable items, and seemed suddenly more concerned that he had dragged someone into a space he never wanted anyone to see. Holden didn’t care about the contraband or paraphernalia the man was harboring. None of that mattered. It had been a mistake to come into the antique store, and that man, while he may have had a book or two hidden in that back room, did not have The Catcher in the Rye .
    The long walk through the rain was shameful and when Holden returned to his home, if that was what you called it, he found messages blinking his answering machine again. Talk about antiques, that archaic machine had been getting more use that week than ever!
    A short, delightful message from Jane compelled Holden to pick up the phone and call her back. They spoke for a short time about really nothing at all. Pleasant nothings between dad and daughter. When Holden hung up, he listened to the second message, which was far less enjoyable. Numbskull’s voice rattled the speaker in eagerness.
    “I know you need another day of work like a hog needs a side-saddle, but a job has opened up for tomorrow morning and hey…luck of the draw, right? Side job, so off the books…which means cash, baby. If I don’t hear back from you by nine, I’ll assume your holiness is going to church instead.”
    As the message crackled to a finish and beeped its last breath before deletion, Holden’s face lit up, and not from the hope of cash in hand. The answer to the question that was picking away at his brain had been on his answering machine the whole time, waiting for him.
    He went to his fridge and cracked open a beer, nodding his head in realization. He wouldn’t be working a side job tomorrow. Holden had finally figured out where he would be able to find a copy of The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger.
    And the drive would take forty-five minutes.
     
     
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    007-12549
     
     
    The ladders clanged atop Holden’s wide, windowless, semi-white van, jerking the ropes taut as he banked a corner on Sheridan Road and drove further into the forest encroached suburb of Wilmette. He hadn’t slept last night. Two things had kept him awake: the lasting, raspy words of the antique shop owner, the world of thought is not safe these days and the message from Numbskull about a side job for cash. Throughout the night Holden watched as the sun gently rose through the milky bay window in his living room, knowing that he had finally figured out where he could find a copy of his favorite book and that the answers to so many unasked questions were only a wily, lie away.
    At the end, when everything would make sense, Holden would recall this day, driving to Wilmette, as the culmination of seemingly