“Did you say chinchilla?” Skye asked. “Like the coat?”
“Shh!” Risé held a finger to her lips. “Beelzebub and Cherub are sensitive about that.”
“Sorry.” Skye giggled, then sobered. “FYI, you may want to reconsider that one name, considering what those women outside were protesting.”
“Good point.” Risé tapped her chin. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“How much is this?” A young woman interrupted them, holding up a delicate porcelain letter opener.
“Excuse me,” Risé said to Skye. “I’ll be right back.”
While she waited, Skye wandered over to a table stacked with copies of If I Have a Wicked Stepmother, Where’s My Prince?, a young adult novel she had read at the request of one of the girls she saw for counseling.
She was paging through one of the trade paperbacks, remembering how much she had enjoyed the story, when Risé returned and said, “Those are ten percent off.”
“Thanks, but I already read it.” Skye returned the book to the display.
“Well, then”—Risé motioned to Skye to follow her—“let me show you the treats part of our store.”
When they entered the café, Skye noticed a table covered in cream moiré with a display of decadent chocolates in fancy gold boxes and coffee beans whose foil bags bore exotic names like RAINFOREST WINTER DARK, SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE, and MAUNA LOA SILK.
She commented to Risé, “I see you sell quite a few items other than books.”
“That’s true. In today’s economy a store has to be diversified in order to turn a profit. That’s why we decided to have the coffee and sweets and the gift items. We even have some used books.” She hurriedly added, “But we only accept ones in pristine condition, and in the three most popular genres.”
“Sounds like you’ve really thought this out.”
“Running a bookstore has been our dream for a long time.” Risé’s eyes shone. “Now, how about some refreshments?” She swept her arm toward the selection of pastries in steel-and-glass cases. “What can I get you?”
“These all look wonderful.” Skye scrutinized the array of goodies, spotting a tray of pale tan squares. “Are those shortbread?”
“Yes.”
“Yum.” Skye’s mouth watered. “I’ll take some of those, please.”
“Here you go.” Risé handed Skye a plateful. “They’re my husband’s specialty.”
“Did he make all of these?” Skye gestured to row after row of desserts.
“Yes. He was a cook in the army and loves baking.”
“Was he career military?” Skye took a bite of cookie, closing her eyes to savor the melt-in-your-mouth buttery goodness.
“No.” Risé’s expression was hard to read. “Once he left the army he became a book scout.” Risé must have seen the question in Skye’s eyes because she explained, “Someone who goes to yard sales, thrift stores, estate auctions, etcetera, looking for rare and valuable books and special collections.”
“Ah.” Skye wiped her mouth with a napkin. “And I bet that humongous bookcase near the entrance is full of his best finds, right?”
“Yes, those are his babies.” Risé wrinkled her brow, then said almost under her breath, “I just wish he’d waited to display them until the cabinet was more secure.”
“I’m sure no one will steal them.” Skye figured most Scumble River citizens wouldn’t have any idea the books were valuable.
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Risé shook her head, then seemed to put on her professional persona. “Now, what would you like to drink? We have our usual menu, plus wine and beer.”
“I don’t mind helping myself.” Skye nodded toward the jam-packed room. “I can see how hectic things are, so don’t worry about me.”
“Thanks.” Risé hurried away.
At the coffee bar, a short, wiry man in his late fifties was busy steaming milk and grinding beans. His pale yellow polo shirt had ORLANDO’S TREATS embroidered on the pocket. Skye got in line and waited her turn, then introduced herself and asked for a mocha latte.
“Nice to meet you.” He wiped his hand on his apron, then held it out. “I’m Orlando Erwin. My wife mentioned she met you yesterday.”
They shook hands, and Skye said, “I hope she doesn’t judge me by my relations.” She felt warmth creep up her neck. “My cousin Hugo and I rarely agree on anything.”
“Sounds like my own family.” Orlando’s laugh was contagious, and Skye found herself giggling for no reason.
“Where are you from?” Skye asked as he turned toward the machines to prepare her drink.
“Long Island,” he said over his shoulder.
Ah, that was the accent she’d been trying to place. “How did you end up here?”
“Via the Ho Chi Minh trail.” His tone was casual, but Skye noticed his shoulders tighten. “An army buddy of mine lives here. So when Risé decided to exit the rat race and wanted to open a bookstore in a small town, I remembered his stories about Scumble River and suggested we look here.”
“So you’re running the café.” Skye noticed he said Risé had decided, not they had decided. “And Risé is in charge of the bookstore?”
“Risé’s in charge of everything.” He winked. “But since she doesn’t bake . . .”
“I see.” Skye grinned. “But you’re the expert on old books, right?”
“I guess so.” He raised a brow. “You got some you want me to look at?”
“If you have time. I inherited an old house several years ago, and I’ve been sifting through the contents ever since.”
Skye had helped an old woman when an unscrupulous antiques dealer tried to take advantage of her, and since the woman had no relatives and had decided Skye was her reincarnated daughter, she’d left her estate to Skye. The only condition was that she fix up the house and live there. “I have several boxes.” Skye’s tone was apologetic.
“No problem.” Orlando smiled. “Bring ’em by tomorrow around nine forty-five. Since I’m here early to do the baking, I can take a look before the store opens and we’re interrupted.”
“Thanks.” Skye appreciated the chance to get rid of some clutter. And if the books were valuable, all the better. She could always use some extra cash. “So what do you think of Scumble River so far?”
“It’s not exactly what I pictured from Ryan’s description.” Orlando handed her a steaming cup. “But I’m sure we’ll get used to it.” As he took the next person’s order, he added, “At least here you don’t have to worry about getting killed for the few bucks in your pocket.”
“True,” Skye agreed before moving away from the counter. Obviously Orlando hadn’t heard about Scumble River’s recent spate of murders, and she wasn’t about to enlighten him.
Juggling the mocha latte, the cookies, and a spoon, Skye scanned the café for a place to sit. At first glance, all the chairs seemed to be occupied with groups enjoying the chance to socialize on a Saturday afternoon. She had seen the sign near the exit reading NO FOOD OR DRINK BEYOND THIS POINT or she would have gone into one of the other rooms.
Ready to give up and eat leaning against a wall, she saw an arm waving and heard Trixie shout, “Over here.”
Not surprisingly, the table was covered with plates of pastries. Trixie had been a size four since Skye had met her their freshman year in high school. Trixie didn’t exercise, ate her weight in snack food, and never gained an ounce. If they weren’t best friends, Skye would hate her.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Skye demanded as she nudged aside dishes of strudel and minicheesecake in order to put down her cup.
“No.” Trixie waved a book with a red high heel on the yellow cover. “I picked up this first.”
“Is it any good?”
“So far.” Trixie took a huge bite of lemon pound cake, then spoke around the crumbs, “Isn’t this the cutest shop?”
Skye had just opened her mouth to agree when she heard a commotion in the next room.
<
br /> “What’s that?” Trixie craned her neck.
Skye twisted around but couldn’t see anything. “Maybe they’re raffling off a prize.”
“Maybe.” Trixie munched thoughtfully. “But I thought I heard a scream.”
“The winner?” Skye guessed, when another, even louder sound reverberated. The chatter of the other diners halted as if someone had pushed the STOP button on a DVD player, and Skye turned in her seat. “Should we go see if everything’s okay?”
“Yeah.” Trixie half rose from her chair. “Maybe we’d better.”
As Skye stood, she heard a shriek, then what sounded like a stampede. She and Trixie looked at each other. What on earth was going on?
A nanosecond later May ran into the café and yelled, “Giant rats are loose in the store. Run for your life!”
In the midst of people shouting and scrambling for the door, Skye grabbed her mother and pulled her to one side. “Calm down.” It was no secret that May hated animals and was terrified of most all of them. “Stay here with Trixie, and I’ll be right back.”
Several women were standing on chairs. Others seemed unsure whether they should stay or go. Skye reassured them as she hurried past. “I’m sure everything’s fine. Stay where you are. Keep enjoying your treats. No need to panic.”
When she arrived at the front of the store, a steady stream of screaming people was leaving as fast as they could. Risé tried to stop the tide, her voice rising above the hullabaloo, but just as it began to slow, there’d be another squeal, and the exodus picked up speed again.
Skye made a quick inspection of the remaining rooms. They were empty, with piles of abandoned books and broken ornaments strewn throughout. She returned to the central hub and found Kayla and Risé leaning against the counter. Both looked dazed. The door of Beelzebub and Cherub’s cage was open, and they were nowhere in sight.
“I take it the chinchillas escaped?” Skye asked.
“I’m not sure what happened.” Risé held her head. “Someone called me into the Professor’s Office with a question about the last Oprah pick. I was explaining that the novel really did end that way, and no, there was not a missing last chapter, when I heard a commotion coming from the front of the store.” Risé took a breath. “As I hurried in here, I saw a woman running into the other rooms yelling that the shop was infested with rats and telling everyone to get out.”
“Oh, my.” Skye patted Risé’s arm but didn’t share that the culprit was her own mother.
“I noticed that Beelzebub and Cherub’s cage was empty, and I tried to explain, but no one would listen.” Risé sagged. “They just all left.”
“Any idea how the chinchillas got out of their pen?” Skye inspected the latch. It seemed fine. “Could you have accidently forgotten to close the catch all the way?”
“No.” Risé’s chin went up. “I’m sure it was secure.” She looked at Kayla, who was tugging on the collar of her yellow polo shirt. “Did you notice anything?”
“No, ma’am.” The girl smoothed her khaki slacks. “I was in the mystery section when I heard the shouting. By the time I got up front, everyone was gone.”
“Someone must have wanted to pet them and opened the door,” Skye suggested.
“Beelzebub and Cherub wouldn’t have run out. They would have hidden inside their house.” Risé pointed to a three-sided plastic box. “Chinchillas are extremely skittish.”
“Will it be hard to get them back?”
“No.” Risé shook her head. “Once everyone leaves they’ll come to me if I offer them raisins.”
“The other rooms are cleared out.” Skye offered, “Would you like me to round up the stragglers in the café?”
“There’s no rush.” Risé straightened. “But if you’d let my husband know what happened, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure thing.” Skye patted Risé’s arm again, then went back to the café.
When she explained the situation to Orlando, he shrugged and said, “It’ll be fine.”
As Skye made her way over to her mother and Trixie, she admired the man’s calm but wondered at his remarkable serenity, which didn’t seem quite natural.
Trixie had her arm around May and was saying, “Take a deep breath. Everything’s okay. Maybe all you saw was a display of plush toys.”
Skye kept quiet, curious to find out her mother’s perception of what had happened.
“No.” May shook her head stubbornly, her voice taking on an edge of determination, or maybe hysteria. “It was a giant gray rat.” She held her hands twenty inches apart. “It was this big and it made the most awful sound.” She shuddered. “It went kee-kee-kee.”
Trixie eyed Skye and asked, “Did you find out what happened?”
“Yes. Risé’s pet chinchillas got out of their cage. She claims that even if the door was opened by mistake or someone wanted to pet them, they’d hide, not make a run for it.”
Trixie shot Skye a quizzical look. “What exactly did you see, May?”
“Well.” May elongated the word by taking a shaky breath. “The crowd had finally thinned out, and there wasn’t anyone in that middle room, the one with the register.” Her voice strengthened as she told the tale, her love of being the center of attention overcoming her fright. “I was looking at the cookbook display, waiting for Aunt Kitty and Glory to come out of the bathroom, when I heard a clink.”
“Was that the cage door being opened?” Even though she knew it was useless to try, Skye attempted to shorten her mother’s account. May employed the step-by-step version of storytelling.
“I suppose so.” May frowned at the interruption. “I didn’t actually see that part.” She took a seat and ate a bite of Trixie’s abandoned chocolate croissant. “You know, my throat is awful dry.”
“I’ll get you a coffee.” Skye turned to fetch her mother a drink.
May called after her, “Black, no sugar.”
Once Skye returned and May had taken a sip from the cup Skye handed her, she continued, “Anyway, I heard a clank and looked up. At first, I didn’t notice anything unusual, but then the hair on the back of my neck rose and I froze. It didn’t feel like I was alone anymore.”
Skye stopped herself from sighing. She might as well accept the fact that there was no way to speed this up.
May wiped her mouth on a napkin, then continued, “I was about to shrug it off when I saw the rat scurrying towards me.”
“It was a chinchilla, Mom.”
“I don’t care what fancy name you give the thing. It’s still a rat, just one that has a nice fur coat.”
“Fine.” Skye rolled her eyes. “Go on.”
“The rat scared me to death. It was coming straight for my throat, and all I could think about was getting away from it before it attacked me and gave me rabies.”
“So you didn’t see anything else.” Skye folded her arms.
“Well, when I was running away, I might have seen someone crouched behind the register.”
“Did you recognize who it was, May?” Trixie asked.
“No.” May took out her compact and reapplied her lipstick. “All I saw before I ran in here was the top of a woman’s head.” May snapped her makeup case shut. “Whoever it was really needs to see Vince for a color and style. Her hair was a real drab brown, and she wore it in this ugly bun.”
Skye and Trixie looked at each other. That had sounded like Pru Cormorant. Was that why the English teacher hadn’t been with the protesters? Had she wanted to remain anonymous so she could sneak in and let the chinchillas loose in order to sabotage the store?
CHAPTER 6
To Kill a Mockingbird
The sun struggled to break through early-morning clouds as Skye hurried toward the church parking lot. She was considering Father Burns’s concluding remark; he always ended Mass with a nugget of wisdom hidden inside a humorous aside.
This morning the priest had said, “God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage.”
Sometimes she thought Fathe
r Burns could read her mind. Either that or he’d been sneaking a peek at her diary. Skye’s life had never been smooth, but so far, knock on wood, she had always landed on her feet.
A voice interrupted her thoughts. “Skye! Wait up.”
Skye battled the urge to pretend she hadn’t heard and duck into her car. Slowing to a reluctant stop, she turned and spotted Simon loping across the grass that separated the church from the rectory.
Shoot! What kind of stunt is he going to pull this time? She hated hurting his feelings. His recent attempts to win her back had been sweet, and she was flattered, but she’d explained it was too late. She was going to marry Wally. However, convincing someone as determined as her ex-boyfriend that she had made her choice was proving tougher than she’d imagined. Simon had always been an overachiever, and he wasn’t used to losing, or giving up.
As Simon got closer, the breeze tousled his short auburn hair and billowed the olive green jacket of his expensive suit, making it look almost like a cape. Everything about him was elegant, from his tall, lean physique to his long, tapered fingers, but it was his expression that struck a spark in Skye. His compelling golden-hazel eyes held a hint of sadness that hadn’t been there before their breakup.
“Hello, Simon.” Skye kept her voice cool. “It was a good service today, wasn’t it?”
The other parishioners streaming around Skye and Simon looked at them with curiosity. Several slowed, clearly intent on eavesdropping. Great! News of this conversation would reach May faster than an Internet instant message.
“Yes,” Simon agreed, “Father was in rare form.” He twisted the church bulletin he held. “Do you have time for coffee?”
Prior to Skye’s engagement, she and Simon had made a habit of having breakfast together after Mass. But that had been when she thought he only wanted to be friends. Now that he had declared his intention to win her back, she had put a stop to those get-togethers.
Skye shook her head and said, “You know I can’t see you anymore.”
“It’s not a date. It’s just coffee.” Simon seemed surprised to see the shredded remains of the newsletter in his hands and hurriedly stuck them into his jacket pocket. “Mom mentioned the fuss at the bookstore yesterday, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”
Murder of a Bookstore Babe Page 5