"John, Anthony wants to see you. Right away." Monica's voice was theatrically heavy with implication. I was supposed to gather from the way she said it that I was in really deep trouble. She loved teasing me, especially when she could remind me that I was only a lowly intern archivist, whereas her boss, Anthony, was Head of Accessions.
"Thanks, Monica," I replied in a suitably dead voice. "Do you think..., I mean, could we, uh, still have lunch, even if its..., well..., you know? I mean. If I'm still employed here, of course."
She didn't know anything. I knew that. She knew that I knew that, too.
"I am fearless. I will attend you at luncheon. I disregard my reputation in the name of equality." She rang off. I went to Anthony's office at the end of the hall, knocked quietly, and waited.
"Come in, John. Have a seat. How are you?"
When he starts off like that I know something unpleasant is about to be brought down upon me. "I want to show you a file. To be truthful, I need your help."
I looked in the manila folder. There were a couple of letters and two photographs. The first photo was of a bookshelf with books in it. This being a university library, it was just the sort of thing we have around here in abundance. Unlike the untold thousands of books the library has, though, the photo showed only 15-20 leather bound books. A second photo showed a box containing what looked like papers. The letters took a little longer to look at. They were letters from a creator to the University Archives, offering to donate the books and papers herein photographed upon the creator's demise.
A second letter was a copy of the return letter from the library acknowledging the first and promising to get right out there and look them over within the next week or so. The letters were dated two months ago. I looked up from the letters to show that I had gotten the gist of them at least. I hoped I had a questioning look in my eye, but I get that look mixed up with the one of sheer terror, so I'm never sure.
"To be truthful, I never got out there and have not seen the books myself. Now look at this." It was always important for Anthony to be truthful, as he said himself often enough, and what he showed me was a copy of a very small obituary from the Pleasant Valley Gazette of one week ago. "Monica happened to see the newspaper yesterday and remembered that we had some sort of business down there." The slight emphasis on the word "Monica" was to let me know that he would have preferred that I had seen the clipping, but that he was pleased that someone in his office was being attentive to work.
I had not seen the clipping, and I did not remind Anthony that I was unaware of any business we had in Pleasant Valley, so would not have remarked the clipping had it been headlined on the front page of the New York Times. I was the new boy, wondering how long I would be here at all. There was a pause, and I realized that Anthony was waiting for me to say something. I could think of absolutely nothing to say. Anthony liked having me in that position. I felt sometimes that we weren't having a conversation at all, but rather some sort of complicated verbal chess game. If so, I was clearly in check. I tried to move a pawn.
"Do we have the collection? The letters seem to say they were ours."
"No we don't." Rook to King 1. "Monica only saw the newspaper yesterday. This is the first we've heard of his death. That's why I need a favor. Can you take time off from your duties here and go down there, crate up the books and papers, and bring them back here? You can take one of the vans and a credit card for the gas. We can only afford $50 per diem, but of course you will continue to receive your regular salary."
I guess when I can say stuff like that with a straight face, I can become Head of Accessions. Right now, I was attempting to keep my face still while I thought it over. First, I had nothing else to do. I was too new to have much of a regular work schedule. Second, if I slept in the van, I could probably make it on $50 per day. I admit, fifty dollars per diem sounds a lot more important when said in Latin, but it was going to be spent in the vulgar language. And third, I needed the experience. At this point in my career I could use all the experience I could get. This was therefore an Opportunity. I said so.
Anthony smiled. "I'm sorry I can't give you any more information, but we weren't expecting this. I don't suppose Mr. Honeycut was either. Perhaps the funeral home will know who the executor is. The county courthouse will also know, I expect. Get in touch with whoever he is and go see him. Show him the letters and we'll hope he believes us. With luck, he already knows about the bequest. It might be noted in the will. We need to get on this right away, these things need to be done quickly or things get lost."
"I can leave this afternoon," I blurted out, without thinking. I didn't even know which state Pleasant Valley was in. And I wasn't going to ask. Anthony had given me the folder. It would have addresses in it. We shook hands and I left. The chess game would continue later, probably the moment I got back.