" 'You don't know me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventure of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly...'
The lines were written in a large, expressive hand. The paper, half-sheet sized was yellowed and antique. There was lots of paper under that first sheet and more in another shoebox sitting on Paul McDonald's secondhand coffee table.
What McDonald had, courtesy of his friend Booker, was the manuscript of a large chunk of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Booker had, of course, stolen the boxes - he does things like that now and then, even though he's in therapy.
Booker may be a burglar, but he's a burglar with a strong moral sense. So, would McDonald help him find out who the manuscript belonged to? After all, a stewardess shouldn't have had something like this in her closet. But she did, and now she's dead.
In the midst of his hunt for answers, McDonald discovers that other literary hunters are prowling the San Francisco streets - and that someone has purloined the stolen manuscript."