From the Queen by Carolyn Hart Page B

staggering debt that Ginny was piling up in school. An extra hundred dollars would mean a better winter coat for Ellen or a pair of shoes.
    Annie eased the book back into its dust jacket, held it with her fingertips. “A hundred dollars? This book is worth at least a hundred thousand dollars and I think more than that. A hundred and fifty, maybe a hundred and seventy-five.”
    Ellen managed to push out thin high words, “A hundred thousand dollars?”
    â€œMore.” Annie placed the book on the coffee bar, first making sure the surface was absolutely clean. “I’ll get a plastic cover for it.”
    Ellen stared at the book lying on the counter. Her lips trembled. “Oh, my goodness. But I don’t know what to do with it.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can find out.” Ellen needed to be careful with a book that was worth a small fortune. “I’ll make inquiries. I’ll check out some rare book appraisal firms and bring you the information. I think the best approach is to contact an appraiser and get a valuation and then we can find out how it can be put up for auction or offered to a high level rare bookseller.”
    The most collectible book ever owned at Death on Demand had been a first edition of S.S. Van Dine’s The Benson Murder Case , which Emma Clyde bought for nine thousand dollars. Sometimes when Annie and Max went to dinner at Emma’s, Annie browsed in Emma’s library which had a bookcase full of first editions, including The Dain Curse by Dashiell Hammett, A is for Alibi by Sue Grafton, and After Dark by Wilkie Collins.
    â€œA hundred thousand dollars?” Ellen scarcely breathed the words.
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    Ellen’s face looked suddenly young.
    Annie was touched by the transformation. This must have been what Ellen looked like before life plucked at her, eroding confidence, piling worries.
    â€œOh. Oh,” Ellen breathed. “That would be … That could be … oh, how wonderful. I can help Ginny. And I hadn’t told you but I went to the doctor and he said I had to get treatment for my eyes or I pretty soon I won’t be able to see but that new insurance has a five thousand dollar deductible and I don’t have five thousand dollars. Oh, Annie.” Sudden tears glistened in her eyes.
    Annie blinked back tears of her own. It was wonderful to be in the presence of unexpected happiness. “I’m so glad for you, Ellen. Now you can do what you want to do. I’ll help you find someone to buy it. Now, let me get the plastic cover.”
    When the book was carefully eased into its protective holder, Ellen held the plastic-sheathed edition carefully. “If they hadn’t told me she was a war bride, I likely wouldn’t have bought the box.” Her voice was shaky. “They wanted sixteen dollars for the postage. I didn’t really have that much extra. I started a letter to say I couldn’t send the money and then I decided I would do it, I would.” She peered at Annie. “Just to think … the book in that box of her things …”
    Annie slipped an arm around thin shoulders, gave a squeeze. “I’ll start checking. I’ll see what I can find out.”
    Ellen nodded, started up the aisle, stopped. “If it turns out to be so, I don’t have to be afraid any more. I don’t have to be afraid …”
    Annie walked with her to the front door. Ellen had arrived bedraggled, shoulders slumping a little in defeat, obviously tired, hoping for a little extra money. Now her thin face was alight, her faded blue eyes bright with happiness.
    Annie took a last sip of lukewarm coffee, slipped several sheets into a folder, glanced at her watch. A quarter to five. No reason not to go ahead and close up for the day. She’d had a grand total of two customers since she opened, the rector, who wanted the new Julia Spenser-Fleming book, and Hyla Harrison, an off-duty police