The Hercule-ean Discovery

Kristin drummed her fingers on the choppy wood of the old desk. Dum dum dum. Dum dum dum. Only three hours left of her shift. She pushed back in the leather-bound chair, stretching her arms and arching her back to loosen the tension that came with sitting at the reception desk of the Purdue County Library for six hours a day. She sighed at the empty foyer. The storm outside had kept people away for most of the day - not that she ever saw many people anyway. Being a big, rural place only few of the folks that called Purdue County home had much need for libraries. Purdue was a farming community and Kristin's family was one of the few non-farming families that called it home. Many of the other local teens used the summer months to help their families on the farm while school was out of session. Kristin spun around in her chair and stared at the fluorescent lights beaming along the ceiling. Her mom had been adamant that she picked up a job to keep busy like the rest of her friends, so she put together a quick cover letter and resume (one that consisted of mostly volunteer work) and send it in to three different employers. She had heard back from the library and the ice cream shop. She wondered vaguely if the ice cream shop would have been more her speed but shook off the feeling. Mr. VanderFrost had been so persuasive about the library, offering to pay her double whatever the ice cream shop would have offered. He was a bit of an outsider, choosing to keep to his office all hours of the day, and only offering a polite hello and goodbye to Kristin as walked in and out of the doors. To most, his offer for double profits seemed strange, but Kristin didn’t mind. She needed the money to buy the new iPhone that had been announced this weekend. She stretched at the desk one more time before the crack of thunder outside reminded her that she wasn’t seeing many visitors for the day. Standing up and pushing her chair back, she wandered the stacks slowly, seeking something to read. She browsed the section on 1960s hairstyles, slowed down to read the spines of historical mysteries, but eventually found herself in the detective fiction aisle. Kristin pulled down an Agatha Christie novel, her favorite, and headed back to the front reception desk. She placed the book in front of her on the wood and pulled her chair back before the loud bang of a door and the frightful sound of two men with raised voices berated the quiet peace of the library.

“End of the month, VanderFrost. That’s all the more I’m giving you.” A smartly dressed man with a briefcase yanked an umbrella out from nowhere and strode away. Kristin blanched at the sudden appearance of the man. As the doors slid shut behind the strange man, Mr. VanderFrost strode out of his office and stood next to Kristin. His hands tucked behind his back, he turned to Kristin and sighed.

“Truthfully I was hoping you didn’t have to witness that, but the pension for human greed is too great to hide, unfortunately.” He managed a weak smile. Kirstin took note that his wrinkles seemed deeper than usual. She had only been at the library for a month, but she had grown fond of the old man and his strange ways.

“Who was that man? What did he mean by the end of the month?” Kristin asked. Mr. VanderFrost pulled up one of the chairs from the reading area next to the reception desk and sat down across from Kristin.

“I might as well tell you, since it’ll affect you here shortly.” He sighed. “You may or may not know, but the library is not publicly funded. It was my grandfather’s life dream to bring education to this county. He poured his life savings into this library, but we lost our funding some years ago. I’ve been trying to garner support since then and I have mostly been able to help fund it with my teaching salary, but unfortunately my retirement fund can’t support both me and this dream, so it might be time to let it go. That man is from the bank. He’s asking for the money I owe for the bills.” He looked defeated. Kristin’s heart broke for the old man.

“There has to be something we can do.” She whispered back.

“Oh, I’ve tried, my dear. Several fundraisers and grant letters later and I’m still fifteen thousand dollars in the hole after the solar panels we put on the roof to offset the electricity bill.” He rubbed his face. “My grandfather leaves me his life’s work but nothing to fund it with. Cruelty at its finest.” He turned his head to watch the rain through the glass panes of the automatic doors. “It’s getting late dear, and the storm is only supposed to get worse. Why don’t you take the rest of today and head home? Give your mother my best. I’ll see you next week.”

Kristin slowly opened the door to her house, still trying to process the news of the library.

“Honey? Is that you?” Came a voice from the kitchen. Kristin smiled.

“It’s me, mom!” She called into the room. She flicked off her soaked rainboots and dropped her bag by the door. She walked into the kitchen, slumping down onto one of the barstools and began the rhymical drumming of her fingers on the table.

“Welcome home dear. I was worried about you getting caught in that storm. I tried to call you a few times, but your phone went straight to voicemail. Dad was thinking about going out looking for you a few minutes before you got back.”

Kristin frowned and patted her pockets. She gasped.

“I think I left my phone at work!” She groaned. “How am I supposed to trade it in this weekend?” She slumped in her chair further than she thought possible.

“Honey, is it really the end of the world that you don’t get the iPhone until Monday?”

“Actually mom, I was going to scrap that idea and see if I could downgrade for an older model. They give you a cash rebate this weekend if you choose to do it that way, and I was hoping to donate it to the library.” Kristin told her mom the story of Mr. VanderFrost as she helped prepare dinner. .

“Hmm. Why don’t I take you back to the library when the storm settles to get that phone? And we can try to brainstorm some fundraiser ideas on the way there. We’ll do our best to help the man. Poor Mr. VanderFrost.”

An hour later, Kristin and her mom hopped in the sedan and sped off towards the library. Kristin had a key, Mr. VanderFrost had trusted her with one since the first day she started. It was dark out by the time they pulled in front of the stone staircase. Kristin hopped out of the car, promising her mother that she’d be quick. She tapped her key card into the sensor on the wall next to the automatic doors. Nothing. The storm must’ve knocked the power out, she thought to herself. She peered into the dark through the doors. A faint glow was emitting from Mr. VanderFrost’s office. Curious, she tried the doors. They weren’t locked, so she continued to pry them open. The doors slid eerily on the tracks, making a high pitched squealing noise as they parted ways. Kristin stepped into the foyer of the dark library and made her way to Mr. VanderFrost’s office with caution. She pushed open the cracked door to see the faint glow grow stronger. She sighed when she saw it was emanating from Mr. VanderFrost’s silicone bunny desk lamp. The lamp must be battery powered, she thought to herself again. She turned to go when she noticed a few books had fallen out of the shelves in the back of his office. She checked her watch and decided she had a few minutes to help clean up. She walked around the desk and picked a few books off of the floor, sorting them back on the shelves in alphabetical order - Mr. VanderFrost was a stickler for making sure the books were easy to find. Kristin was down to one last book, another Agatha Christie novel. She frowned quizzically when she noticed there was another book in its place. It was small and black, with a leatherbound spine and no definitive markings. She tugged on the book, but it wouldn't budge. Kristin reached up on her toes and tried to pull the book over the shelf by using the top of the spine as leverage. She fell back empty handed when the book gave way, but it stayed on the shelf, like a hinge. Kristin heard a distinctive clicking noise. She spun around in the direction of the click, noticing now that a hidden compartment underneath of the desk had come open. Open mouthed and wide-eyed, she clamored over to the compartment.

On her hands and knees, she crawled into the leg space under the desk, sticking her hand into the compartment. She pulled out a letter, stained yellow with age. She opened it and scanned the page, gasping when she reached the bottom. Kristin tossed the letter into her bag and bolted back to the car completely disregarding the phone she came back to retrieve.

A half hour later, Kristin and her mother sat on stools in the kitchen of Mr. VanderFrost’s home, drinking steaming cups of coffee while he read the letter.

“Kristin my dear… where did you find this letter? The library you say?”

Kristin nodded and recounted the events of the past hours that had led to the discovery. “The desk compartment was opened by a little black book on your shelf.”

“Those books and that desk both belonged to my late grandfather. I never felt the need to replace them. I’m glad I didn’t.” Mr. VanderFrost set the letter down on the counter in front of Kristin, rubbing his forehead in disbelief.

“My dearest Luther,

Your consistent and unyielding support has been a beacon of light in this incredible time. I often feel steadied knowing you and Eloise support my work. I have enclosed a small check in the amount of royalties I feel you are owed for your help with The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Hercule Poirot would have never come to fruition without you. Love always my dears,

- Agatha Christie”

Kristin’s eyes fell onto the penned date at the top of the page. The letter had been written on December 4th, 1926, just a day after the mysterious disappearance of Agatha that sparked panic and mystery. The check in question was sitting adjacent to the letter, the years having stuck them both together, but even twenty thousand dollars couldn’t overshadow the news that Agatha Christie had been a friend of Luther & Eloise VanderFrost.

The next day, the group contacted the American’s Writer’s Museum. Within a week, collectors and curators alike were meeting with Mr. VanderFrost to offer on the discovery. As expected, the check held no value so long after it had been written, but collectors lined up to purchase the artifacts to donate to the museum. Kristin stood by the museum curator as the final paperwork was signed, the letter and check had been framed, a placard describing Luther VanderFrost’s commitment to the character of Hercule Poirot was produced, and Mr. VanderFrost was $17,000 richer. Kristin smiled to herself as she stepped away from the commotion on the outside staircase and into the library. Kristin snuck a look into Mr. VanderFrost’s office and scanned the room. All was quiet. Her eyes fell onto the back shelves and lingered, just for a longer moment, on the little black book.