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his politics. You Yanks don’t seem to like pacifists much.”
    “Especially during the run-up to war,” said Ray. “But they probably weren’t too popular in the UK either when the Luftwaffe was making daily visits.”
    “Right, but pacifists were tolerated. We’re a small, densely populated island with vastly different political and social views and a whole lot of eccentrics. We probably were forced into tolerance so we could all occupy the same space. In point of fact, I was reading a letter to the editor today in The Record-Eagle. The author, a woman who I would guess to be rather elderly, suggested that people who did not share her views were not real Americans, whatever that is, and she went on to intimate that they were deserving of some major violence. Quite frightening, actually.”
    Ray nodded his head. “I worry about another homegrown Tim McVeigh, who might decide to take out the local police agency because in his fantasy world we’re conspiring with the UN and God knows who else to take over the country. There’s a lot of lunacy out there on the Internet and talk radio. But getting back to Robinson Jeffers.”
    “Yes, he’s quite good, actually,” said Phillip. “I certainly knew the name, but I have to admit that I was unfamiliar with his work. I started thumbing through your book after it arrived—hope you don’t mind, white gloves on, of course—and it is sort of the prerogative of Ye Old Book Shoppe to understand the literary tastes of our customers. To better serve you, I actually read most of the book. I hope you want me to continue to look for more of his work. I’ve become quite a fan.”
    “Sure. Find out what’s out there. Most will be in the used book market. Get some prices and we’ll talk. Right now I need to know about something else, a book by a local author, self published.”
    “And the title is?”
    “Al Capone’s Michigan: The Secret Lost Treasure by Vinnie Fox.”
    “It should be right here with the locals.” Phillip came around the counter to a bookcase in the front corner of the store. “That is, it should be right here if it hasn’t been nicked yet.”
    “Nicked?” ask Ray.
    “Strangest thing, actually. I seldom lose anything. It’s a small store, and I can see what’s going on. Although, I did have a problem with audio books a few years ago. Far too many left the store without going through the cash register. As soon as I stopped carrying them, the problem went away. But this Capone book is becoming a real nuisance.”
    “Tell me about the author, Fox,” said Ray.
    “Vinnie comes in every few days, especially during good weather. I don’t see him quite as much in the winter. He is a reader, and he has money to buy books. A very good thing, especially when the tourists aren’t around.”
    “And his literary tastes?”
    “Quite astounding, actually. He likes action-adventure, the kind of books that usually appeal to adolescent boys—Ivanhoe, Captains Courageous, Two Years Before the Mast. Old stuff, the classics of the genre. He’s also big on Native American history. Deems himself quite an expert on the topic, although I’ve never been able to figure out exactly what his heritage is. A bit vague there.”
    “What about his book?”
    “Yes, the book. Vinnie came in sometime last fall, asked me if I would stock it.” Phillip paused and made a little pout. “This happens about once a month, sometimes more, and it often involves a regular customer. People who like books seem to want to write at least one during their lifetime.” He sighed. “Puts me in a bit of a tight place, actually. This is a tiny shop. To stay alive I’ve got to be exceedingly careful about what I stock. That said, I don’t want to antagonize valued customers. But most of the self-published stuff doesn’t sell. Some of it’s not that terrible, but there just isn’t a market. I told Vinnie I’d keep two copies on consignment and see if they sold. Much to my surprise they