Publishable by Death

by A C F Bookens

  The table was filled with the sounds of satisfied eating for several minutes until Mart pushed back her plate, leaned back in her chair, and said. “Man alive, did I need that or what?”

  I couldn’t even find words. I just nodded. I was satiated and relaxed . . . and wiped out. Totally wiped out.

  “Oh, did I forget to mention that there’s cupcakes?”

  Daniel groaned. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have had that third bowl of soup.”

  “I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you.” Lucas grinned. “Besides cupcakes are, as my grandmother always said, highly squishable. Want me to poke around in your belly like she did just to prove you have room?” He pointed a finger toward Daniel’s stomach.

  “No, thank you. I fear that I may have more room than intended if you explored.” He let out a long sigh. “But I will take a cupcake . . . to honor your grandmother, of course.”

  “Of course.” Lucas got up and came back with a tray of the most amazing cupcakes I’d ever seen. They were huge – the size of those giant muffins you get in some bakeries – and topped with no less than three inches of icing. I immediately spied a white cake with white icing that had my name on it and lunged.

  Cate made her move for her cupcake of choice at the same time, and we smacked heads hard just under the chandelier.

  I sat back, cupcake in hand, and tried to focus while tears sprang to my eyes. It appeared, however, that Cate had gotten the worse end of our collision because her nose was bleeding . . . and worse yet, it was dripping into her cupcake frosting.

  Mart and Lucas sprang into action grabbing paper towels and removing the blemished cupcake before getting Cate to put her head over the back of the chair and applying pressure.

  “Oh, Cate, I’m so, so sorry.” I felt terrible. “Are you okay?”

  She let out a muffled laugh. “Oh yes, I’m just fine. We probably need to call our shots on cupcakes from now on, though. Dessert should not be a full-contact sport.”

  I still felt awful, but she recovered quickly, claimed another cupcake, and persuaded me to compete in an icing-licking competition with her. We could only lick with a flat tongue. No bites and no deep dives that weren’t really licks. The person who won had to clear the table.

  It was a fierce battle, but I was a baked good expert and I finally took her by a few licks. I felt a little light-headed from the blow to the head, my reduced oxygen intake during the competition, and the sugar rush, but I was still having a hard time remembering when I’d had so much fun.

  In the end, we all helped Cate clean up and then she showed me her 138 totes of books that she was bringing to sell in the morning. “Cate, woman, how are you going to get all these there?”

  “Oh, Woody’s coming by bright and early to help us load. We’ll be at the shop by eight-thirty or nine to set up . . . unless you need us earlier.”

  “No, ma’am. After all this work and the fact that I made you bleed tonight before taking your title as Icing Licker Extraordinaire, I wouldn’t dare ask for more.”

  Cate slid an arm around my waist. “Harvey, you’re our people. Sure glad you’re here.”

  I smiled all the way to the door, where we all hugged goodbye. I had found my people, and it felt incredible.

  Mart, Daniel, the two dogs, and I took the long way home via Main Street. I think we all needed a little time to wind down. The town was quiet. Televisions lit front windows with a blue glow, and, as we passed a couple of houses, the sounds of laughter reached us on the sidewalk. A few cars passed us slowly, no one in an apparent hurry to get anywhere, and while the night was cool, it wasn’t cold. In fact, the slight chill felt good against my tired skin.

  We didn’t talk much except to make sure we all knew our stations for the morning. We had just turned onto Main Street when I saw a moving light behind the art co-op. At first, I thought it was just someone’s headlights as they drove through the alley like a lot of folks did to avoid the single stoplight in town. But then, when it slid by my line of vision again, I saw it was a flashlight beam and shook my friends’ arms up and down before pointing.

  “Look,” I whisper-shouted, and we all stopped. Yep, someone was shining a light around behind the co-op like they were looking for something.

  I thought of all those TV shows where people are trying to find something in a dark house and shine their flashlights all around as if someone wouldn’t notice beams of light in an otherwise dark house. This person had clearly not watched enough television.

  Daniel pointed to us and then down the street and then at himself and toward the co-op. “You want us to walk away and leave you here,” I said.

  He scowled . . . and then nodded with exaggerated fervor.

  “We’re three blocks away. I don’t think they can hear us.”

  “Alright.” He looked like I’d taken away all the excitement. Maybe he’d wanted to pretend we were special forces or something. “Yes, you guys go down the street and call Sheriff Mason. I’ll get a closer look. But here, take Taco. He can’t sneak up on dinner.”

  I wanted to argue, to remind him that the moment when people split up was the moment when the killer got them, but he was already headed toward the alley. At this point, my safest course of action was to call the police, and I didn’t want to be overheard . . . even if I did think that was unlikely still.

  Mart and I tried to look casual as we walked as fast as we could past the co-op and down to my shop. Then, I dialed 911, told them what we’d seen, that Daniel was checking it out, and that we needed someone as soon as possible.

  Then, we stood there, huddled together with the dogs straining to go sniffing down the road. The cold air didn’t feel so great anymore.

  Just as Sheriff Mason pulled up in what appeared to be his own vehicle, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looking a little bleary-eyed, Daniel came around the corner of the co-op building with Divina Stevensmith.

  “You guys are always in the thick of it, huh?” the sheriff said as Daniel and Divina came down the street.

  “It appears that way. But I give you my word that this time, we really were just walking home and saw a light,” I said, feeling chagrined no matter the truth of my words.

  The sheriff gave me a skeptical look but turned his attention to Daniel and Divina as they reached us.

  “I’m so sorry to worry everyone. I just lost one of my good knives out in the back of the co-op sometime recently, and I didn’t want to risk it cutting someone at the fair tomorrow.”

  “What kind of knife was it, Divina? Maybe we can help you look.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but I saw the sheriff cut his eyes toward me.

  “Oh, you know, it’s one of those pencil-like ones that has a razor blade on the end . . . I think scrap bookers use them a lot.”

  Ah, so not the knife used to kill Deputy Williams. I was surprised to find I was both relieved and a little bit disappointed. For a minute there, I thought we had a good lead.

  “Should we all go look?” Daniel asked, and our little huddle moved back to the co-op and around the building.

  None of us but the sheriff and Divina had flashlights, so we used our phones to search the ground. I checked right up against the building with the idea that that kind of thing can easily fall in the transition from outside to inside or vice versa, but didn’t find anything.

  Then, I started to fan out, searching the lot, including the space where Divina said she usually parked. All of us looked and even wandered into the grass in case a squirrel or crow with a penchant for shiny things had tried to make off with their booty.

  We were just about to give up and tell Divina we’d take a sweep again in the morning when she squealed from over by the co-op’s back door. “Oh, I found it. It was right here.” She pointed to a spot to the left of the door. “Thank goodness. I wouldn’t have wanted some child to pick it up and get cut.”

  I walked over and looked at the knife that was about as long as a ballpoint pen. “So weird. I looked over here and didn’t
see it.” I stretched my back. “But I’m exhausted, so my eyes are a bit wonky.”

  Divina patted my arm. “You’ve had a busy few days, and an even busier one tomorrow, I suspect. We best all be getting home. Thank you all for your help and kindness.”

  She headed to her hot pink Volkswagen beetle and climbed in. “I’ve always admired that about Divina. She’s loaded, but the only sign of that is the custom paint job on her very sensible car,” Daniel said.

  I shook my head. “Not a color I’d pick.” Then I looked at the sheriff. “You know all of us searched that spot by the door, right? That knife was not there.”

  He looked at me. “I did. I am a trained police officer.” He gave me a wink. “But yes, that is odd.”

  “Maybe she found it in her bag while she was searching and felt embarrassed so she fake-dropped it.” Mart didn’t sound convinced by her own theory.

  “Maybe,” the sheriff said with a worried look on his face. “Maybe.”

  12

  I collapsed into bed as soon as I got home. I was exhausted from work and planning the street fair. But more, I was just worn down by the weight of all this sleuthing. The sheriff must be tired all the time, I thought. I felt Aslan climb up next to me – forsaking Marcus, it seemed – just before I fell asleep.

  I felt like I’d only been asleep a few minutes when I wrenched my body over with a start and felt a strain in my shoulder. I was gasping and covered in sweat, and Aslan was sitting at the end of the bed staring at me.

  The dream had been so real. I was in the bookstore by myself shelving books and just generally cleaning up after the day when I heard a thud from the back of the store. Thinking Mayhem had knocked a book off the shelf, I casually walked back to pick it up when a hand reached around and grabbed me by the face, silencing me and cutting off my airways all at the same time.

  In my dream, I thrashed and kicked and tried to scream, but the person attached to the hand was far stronger than I was. I couldn’t get free. They dragged me into the storeroom and locked the door, and when I looked up, it was Lucia Stevensmith. She was clearly still dead, but she was also clearly angry.

  “You need to figure out who did this to me. You and your stupid books and your stupid store in this stupid town. Figure it out so you can get out.”

  Her voice was so angry that it stung. “I’m not leaving St. Marin’s, hopefully ever. So I guess you’re stuck with me.” I was impressed and terrified by my own valor.

  Lucia came and stuck a bony finger in my face. “You’re digging up stories that needed to stay untold, woman. Stop poking at the past. Let it die. We don’t need to dredge up old history.”

  I stared at her for a long while, and then, she just evaporated . . . and that’s when I woke up. I drew Aslan to me and sat snuggling her for a long time, despite her desire to sleep in a ball on the extra pillow. My subconscious was obviously trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t put my finger on what about the past I was missing.

  My clock said it was two a.m., and I had to be at the store by seven. I’d have to figure out what Lucia didn’t want me to put together another time. Now, I needed to sleep, and Aslan agreed. I snuggled back under the comforter, and she rolled over to rest her haunches against the back of my leg. Comforting, if not entirely comfortable.

  Later that morning, I awoke to my alarm. My body ached from exhaustion, but my mind was not going to let me sleep a minute past six. We had work to do. I crawled out of bed and made my way to the coffee pot, only to find it was already brewing. I tried to open my eyes enough to look around, but I ran into Marcus, who was sitting at a bar stool with his own cup of joe, reading Possession. “Oh, sorry,” I said. “You’re up early.”

  “Wanted to get an early start at the shop, but first, I had to read a bit more about what Roland and Maud are finding.”

  It took me a minute, but then I realized he was talking about the characters in the novel and smiled. “Glad you’re liking it, and thanks for planning to come early. We have a LOT of setting up to do.”

  “No problem. I hope it’s okay, but I asked my mom to come by, too.” He looked over the top of his book with trepidation.

  “Of course it’s okay. I’m so excited to meet her . . . but if you’ll excuse me, I really need to drink some of this fine coffee you have made, and you have another few pages to squeeze in.”

  He grinned and tucked his nose back into his book while I dug out the coffee mug I’d won at a college holiday party. It was the size of a large soup bowl, which seemed about right for today.

  Mart, Marcus, Daniel, and I were at the shop by seven, a time Aslan even refused to acknowledge with her presence. Mayhem, however, was eager to get out for an early morning sniff-and-pee until we got to the shop, that is. At that point, she climbed onto the tiny dog bed in the window display – meant for a visiting teacup poodle or dog-loving cat – and passed out. Only her chest fit on the bed, so she made quite the sight with her belly up, all four paws in the air, and this little pink pillow below her shoulders. I took a picture and decided it would be the first image on the Instagram page I wanted to create for the shop.

  By seven-thirty, Rocky and her mom had arrived with trays and trays of baked goods. “Gifts from the ladies at church,” Ms. Phoebe said. “You know those women are always just looking for an excuse to bake.”

  I laughed and said, “Please thank them for me. You’ll keep track of what I owe everyone?”

  Phoebe took a step back. “Woman, no. These are gifts. All the money goes to the scholarship fund.”

  I already felt the tears coming to my eyes, and we hadn’t even started the day. “That is so kind. Maybe I could host a women’s book club for them here . . . do they like to read?”

  She smiled. “Some of them do. But don’t tell the preacher, now: most of us love romances.”

  “You got it, then. A clandestine romance book club that we’ll call, “Lovin’ On” just to seem holy.”

  She arched her back and laughed so loudly that I felt it in my throat. I liked this woman.

  Outside, Marcus had gotten all the tents set up and had hung two banners that he had ordered the day before on the front and side of the building by the garden center.

  “Used Books – $1.00. All proceeds go to the Skye Williams’ Scholarship Fund.”

  In the corner of each banner, there was a small stack of books and a very cute logo for the shop . . . I’d been hoping to design one, but apparently, Marcus had taken care of that for me. I was pretty sure that young man would be the assistant manager here before long.

  Up and down the street, I saw the shop owners putting out tables and hanging decorations. The garden center had outdone themselves with the hanging baskets for the street lamps, and the town had offered their employees time and a half if they wanted to work the fair – hanging baskets, emptying trash, answering questions, etc. Already, the street was more full than on a normal Sunday, and we were just the folks working.

  I heard the sheriff coming before I saw him. His patrol car was playing “Uptown Funk” over the loudspeaker as he drove into town, and I saw even the most stoic among us start to swing our hips. I was outside helping Cate and Lucas unload their totes of books, and the sheriff stopped and rolled down his window when he saw me.

  “You done good, Harvey Beckett. Real good.” He grinned. “This is a great day already . . . and I have it on good authority that the weather is going to be perfect.” He leaned out of the car window and winked at Woody.

  “That’s right. Red sky last night . . . sure does look like it’ll be delightful. Maybe even hit seventy today.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” I said as I waved to the sheriff’s departing car. I was trying figure out how to best display Cate’s beautiful art book collection. “These are incredible, Cate. Are you sure you’re okay with parting with them? “

  Cate gave me a look that said, “This again.”

  “Okay. Okay. But really, only a dollar? We could get more for them.”

&
nbsp; She looked at the books and said, “We could, but we don’t need to. And I really like the idea of people who don’t have fifty dollars to spend on an art book getting one for just a dollar. I plan on staying here all day and telling people about the artists and answering questions.”

  “Just don’t scare the customers away, my love,” Lucas said as he hefted another tote onto a table. “Not everyone wants to know about the reason behind Frida’s unibrow.”

  “Wait, she had that facial hair for a reason? Oh man, I want to know that story, but I have to get inside. I just remembered, I haven’t gotten out the mystery books yet. Tell me later?” I waved as I rushed back into the shop.

  Inside, I stopped in my tracks when I saw what Mart had done with the front table. It was an entire display of books about segregation and the Jim Crow South, and at the center, she’d placed The Negro Motorist Green Book. Its forest-green cover shone like a beacon, and I wondered how people would feel about it. I hoped our black customers would find it honoring, especially given the history of the building. A couple of days ago, I’d looked it up and found that they’d made a reproduction of the 1940 book . . . and Mart had, somehow, managed to get copies to feature here in the shop. I loved that woman.

  I couldn’t wait to show Divina, and I sure hoped Mr. Sylvester would stop by. I really wanted them to know I’d heard them and was doing all I could to honor the memory of Berkeley Hudson. As I rushed past the check-out counter, I made a quick note to myself so I wouldn’t forget to take care of something as soon as the festival ended.

  But now, I had to get out those mystery books because I could see the foot traffic outside starting to pick up. I grabbed the box of books from the storeroom, trying not to think about Lucia Stevensmith when I darted in and out – and laid the box on the table for Mart to sort. “Got it,” she said as I sprinted off to check on Rocky and Phoebe.