All too well. A creature of habit, Bert Laubenstein would be settled in his easy chair with his morning coffee, immersed in three newspapers. He’d go from sports section to comics, and on to puzzles, timing how long it took him to complete them. Crosswords, sudokus, acrostics. He was in a decades-long race against himself. Lila never did puzzles, but she was an enabler. In doctors’ offices, she tore the puzzles out of the magazines and brought them back for Bert.

“There,” Lila said a minute later. “I’m on the balcony. It’s a beautiful day. The fog’s burned off. And you’re asking for help. What more could a mother ask?” She cackled. “Which of my many areas of expertise are we talking about?”

“We’re helping a woman deal with a collection she inherited from her husband. Some of the books and prints are in rough condition. Mold. Mildew. We’re trying to figure out if they’re salvageable, and how many of them are library copies.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to tell. Libraries clearly mark their discarded books. Crooked book dealers know how to hide the evidence, but usually I can tell.”

“I know. That’s why I called you. There’s also a lot of documents. They’re mostly stored in tubes and I think they’re in good shape.” Emily hesitated, then said, “One of them is a map. I googled it and found one that looks the same online. At auction, it was estimated to bring twelve thousand dollars.”

“Twelve thousand? No library worth its salt would discard a twelve-thousand-dollar map. Did you look for a library stamp? It could be embossed or printed, probably near the edge of the page.”

Emily opened the tube and slipped the map out again. Sure enough, overlapping the lower right margin there was an oval stamped in black ink. Inside the oval, it read PROPERTY OF BLAINE FREE LIBRARY. “Blaine Free Library,” Emily said.

“The Blaine,” Lila said. “That’s in Maine. Hang on. Let me get to my computer.” Emily heard their balcony door slide open and shut. She imagined her mother crossing her living room and continuing down a hallway to the guest bedroom that doubled as her office. A minute later, typing. Then, “Right. Private library set up in the thirties. A couple of Richardson buildings with a collection of fine books and prints. And it’s got a trust to fund it in perpetuity as a library for locals. I’ll bet it’s a lovely place to work. No politics.”

“There’s always politics, anytime there’s more than two of you,” Emily said.

“Since when did you get so smart?”

“Google this,” Emily said. “See if you can find what I did.” She read her mother the label: “William Alexander Map of the Northeast.”