Roux the Day Read Online Free

book?” came the final broadside.
    Mrs. Gracewell withstood the blast commendably. “I regret to say it’s been sold,” she replied.
    The answer certainly hit me between the eyes. I even forgot to use the copy of Boulestin as a cover and lowered it. The blonde girl gave Mrs. Gracewell a withering look.
    “Sold! How can it have been sold! The auction hasn’t started yet!”
    The auction was, in fact, just about to start. A gray-haired man in a tuxedo had tested the microphone and adjusted it on the dais. Others went to and fro, bringing books and papers.
    Mrs. Gracewell had clearly been on more committees than the blonde girl had eaten po’boy sandwiches. She remained unruffled as the blonde girl’s look turned on her. It would have curled the edge of a steel plate but Mrs. Gracewell was as unperturbed as if she had just heard that a coffee spoon was in the wrong place.
    She gave the other a slight smile, not apologetic but with a tinge of commiseration. “This is a charity function, as I’m sure you know. It seems that earlier this morning, a person came in and made one of our volunteers an offer for the book. This lady reasoned that the amount offered was considerably more than might be realized at the auction. She sold the book.”
    There it was, concise and unarguable. Well, it should have been but the blonde’s need for the book seemed to be immense. She harangued poor Mrs. Gracewell, who gave tiny nods of agreement and mini-smiles of sympathy. Finally, a shortage of breath produced a short break.
    “The least you can do is give me the name and address of the person who bought it,” were the first words after the break.
    Mrs. Gracewell hesitated. “Well, it may be considered confidential, I’m not sure—”
    “Nonsense!” snapped the blonde. “This is an open auction. If the book were to be sold here, everybody in the room would see who had bought it. Give me the person’s name and address!”
    Mrs. Gracewell thought for a couple of seconds. “Very well,” she said. “This book is clearly important to you so I see no reason why you shouldn’t know. Please come with me.”
    The blonde followed Mrs. Gracewell with an angry but elegant stride, leaving me standing there with the copy of Boulestin in my hand. I had several points to consider. Who was this blonde and why was Arturo Belvedere’s book so important to her? It had a certain historical value, that was sure, especially here in New Orleans—perhaps book historians were after it. But why this sudden interest in it? Presumably it had been lost for some time after Ernesto’s faculties had declined—so why now? The next question was, how could I get that name and address too?
    I went out of the room just as the auctioneer was rapping his gavel and welcoming everyone. Several cubicles took up space in the anteroom. All were filled, noisy and busy. I stood for a moment, then the blonde came out of one of the cubicles. Mrs. Gracewell was saying something to her but I couldn’t hear what it was—no doubt a polite excuse or two although they were being wasted, as the blonde stalked out without a word or a backward glance. She was stuffing a piece of paper into her handbag as she left so she had presumably got what she wanted—well, after losing the book.
    Mrs. Gracewell returned to the main auction hall to attend to other duties. I waited a suitable length of time, realizing during that time that I still had the copy of Boulestin in my hand. I went to the lady in the first cubicle. On her desk was a check with engraving in light purple. It was the only one I could see so I was sure it was payment for the Belvedere book and the one from which she had just copied an address.
    The lady was tiny, birdlike and with a soft smile. She didn’t seem too devastated by the blonde typhoon who had just swept out; nevertheless, I gave her my best sympathy smile.
    “Wow, glad to see her leave! What a terror!” I waved the book in my hand, a badge of