Publishable by Death

by A C F Bookens

  The mother-daughter team was in full swing with carafes of coffee – dark roast and medium roast in the full-strength kind plus decaf for those who needed it – and a veritable tower of cinnamon rolls. They’d also stocked the pastry case with an assortment of scones and spring-decorated cookies, and I thought I even spied small quiches as I gave them a big thumbs up on my way back outside.

  As I darted beneath the ringing bell, I saw Daniel helping Cate and Lucas set out the books, and he gave me a smile that made my heart bounce just a bit. I looked up the street, and the other businesses were pulling out tables and setting up displays as far as I could see. Next door, the garden center had brought out a variety of hydrangea and viburnum. In front of the large shrubs, they placed smaller containers of these flowering bushes that had dark-green leaves and these beautiful purple or white flowers that hung gently from stems. I caught the owner’s eye and pointed, “Hellebores,” she said. “Lenten rose.”

  I grinned. I wasn’t much of a church-goer myself, but I did know that Fat Tuesday was coming up, and if their name was any indicator, these beauties were blooming right on time.

  Marcus, Lucas, Cate, and I spent the better part of the next hour laying out Cate’s books, trying to organize them at least a bit into broad categories – photography, painting, sculpture, etc. Fortunately, Lucas was able to convince Cate that we didn’t really have enough tables or space to break them down by genre or time period, or else we might have been sorting when the street festival ended.

  Finally, about eight-thirty, I told Marcus I needed to check on Divina’s art and decided to take the opportunity to walk Mayhem quickly before the crowd really arrived. Although, by the look of Main Street, people were already shopping, and some shop owners looked more than ready to begin their sales. The two older gentlemen who owned the hardware store next to my shop had put out a collection of odds and ends that looked like they could draw in the American Pickers. A bit further down the road, I noticed that Max Davies must have overcome his fear because he had a member of his waitstaff outside with coupons for twenty percent off an evening’s meal as well as surprisingly cute recipe cards for a chocolate soufflé and his Duck a l’Orange.

  The folks at the hair salon were offering discounts on walk-in haircuts that day, and I wished I had time to stop and have my do trimmed. When you have thick curly hair cut short like mine, you can’t go too long between trims or you start to look like Lyle Lovett. That guy’s music is great, and the hair is great on him . . . not so much on me.

  Elle Heron had out vegetable starts – lettuce and broccoli, cabbage, and maybe kale. I never quite understood kale or the rage around it, but she was already doing a brisk business. I gave her a little wave as I passed.

  At the co-op, a young man with the largest ear gauges I’d ever seen was just opening the door, and he said, “Ms. Beckett?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Ms. Stevensmith wanted me to let you know that her piece is here and to show you where it is.”

  “Oh good. Thanks!” I must have looked worried because he gave my arm a little squeeze as he walked past me to lead the way down the hall.

  And there it was, right in the middle of the main gallery space at the center of the building. The piece was exquisite – exquisite and huge. It stood almost two stories tall, reaching up to the bottom of the handrail on the second-floor catwalk above. The colors were stunning – all pinks and purples, some gentle blues – all pieces of paper cut and folded to give the appearance of movement.

  I knew the piece was a study of our town, a study done in the dark, if the title was literal, and I could see it if I looked hard – the cupula on the top of the courthouse, the jettison roof of the maritime museum, even the thin rails of ship masts lined up at the marina – but the beauty of the piece was that it could be almost anything the viewer wanted to see. One minute, I contemplated the flower-like appearance of the paperwork, and the next I felt like I was looking at the ocean after a nighttime squall. It was absolutely magnificent, and I found myself unable to move away.

  “So you like it then?” Divina said as she came into the gallery and stood beside me.

  I looked at her with awe. “Like it? Ms. Stevensmith, it is, it is . . . oh, I don’t even have the right words. Incredible, breath-taking, poignant.”

  She smiled and kept her eyes on her art. “It is one of my favorites.” She glanced quickly at me. “I know that probably sounds prideful of me to say, but I’ve always thought that if an artist doesn’t love her work, then how could anyone else?”

  I smiled. “I completely agree. And Divina – is it alright if I call you Divina?” She nodded. “Thank you. I’m so grateful for your gift. You didn’t have to be so generous.”

  She smiled and then turned, and I thought I heard her say, “Oh, but I did.” But she moved off quickly, so I didn’t get to ask her what she meant.

  I glanced down at my watch. 8:50. I had to get back. I thanked the man at the desk, untied Mayhem from the light pole outside, and walked as quickly as I could without looking ridiculous. It just wouldn’t do for me to be late to my own street fair.

  The next two hours went by in a blur. Fortunately, Cate and Lucas had come with a cash box and plenty of change since they were doing a swift business outside, and I couldn’t spare a person to help them. Marcus was masterfully handling the Mystery Book table, and when we’d already almost sold out, I sent him to the children’s section to get more– “Pick the ones you like.” The grin on his face told me he appreciated my trust.

  Mart wasn’t doing tastings until eleven, but already, she had folks stopping by to ask about the wine and pick up a bottle or two, and when they needed refreshment, they got coffee and a cinnamon roll or scone from Rocky and her mom. Business was brisk, and people were happy.

  Meanwhile, I staffed the register and tried to – as politely and clearly as possible – point customers to the right sections for the books they were seeking. When Daniel came in and offered to run the register, I didn’t even take the time to ask him if he knew how before I scampered off after a teenage girl who was looking for the new Leigh Bardugo title but was headed right for our small section of erotica.

  When Sheriff Mason and his wife, Lu, arrived at noon with a full tray of tacos, I was ecstatic. “Bring me the tacos,” I said in a low, growling voice.

  The sheriff took a step back in pretend horror, but Lu stepped right forward and said, “I hear that voice. That’s the voice of a woman with a business to run. Give that woman a taco, Tuck.”

  “Yes, ma’am, don’t want anyone else getting hurt around here,” he said as he leaned over to me with the tray. “Harvey, this is amazing.”

  I shoved half a taco in my face, and then said, “Thanf oo or uh baffos.”

  He laughed. “You’re most welcome. You eat. I’m going to deliver the rest of these to the crew.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and headed out to play waiter.

  I finished my taco in record speed and took a deep breath. “Seriously, those tacos are incredible.”

  “Why, thank you!”

  “Wait. I know these tacos. What?! You run the taco truck?!”

  “Indeed I do. Lu is short for Luisa. . . as in Luisa’s Lunch Luxury.” She grinned.

  Then, I remembered. That was the name on the taco truck . . . painted in a swirling script above a woman’s face, Lu’s face I realized. “Well, if I didn’t already plan to be in St. Marin’s for a very long time, your tacos would be the deciding factor.”

  Just then, Daniel walked over, a taco in each hand and the Taco trailing behind. “Daniel, do you know Lu Mason?”

  He looked at his hands and then made quick work of one taco before shaking Lu’s hand. “I don’t know you personally, but I have eaten many of your jalapeno-chicken tacos. Thank you.”

  “Ah, yes, the mechanic. My young assistant knows you well.” She raised her eyebrows at Daniel, and I felt my heart rate quicken. I had competition.

  “Oh yes, I know y
our assistant. Long blond hair, beautiful brown eyes. About eighteen inches tall.”

  Lu laughed, but I wasn’t getting the joke. “Yes, that’s her. Sandy is a sucker for a dark-haired man.”

  My smile had fallen away, and I was looking from Lu to Daniel and back. Daniel took a step over and stood beside me, letting his arm fall casually over my shoulder. “Harvey’s a dog lover, too. That’s her girl Mayhem over there with my Taco.” He pointed over to the bed beside the fiction section.

  Then it clicked. Sandy was a dog. I was fairly sure my face was the color of Lu’s enchilada sauce. At least my heart was beating again. “What kind of dog is Sandy?” I asked trying to look like jealousy hadn’t been keeping all my synapses from firing.

  “Oh, she’s a Cocker Spaniel. Spoiled as anything. Every night, Tuck gives her a serving of my tres leches cake. Soon, I’ll have to get a cart to carry her because her belly will drag the ground.”

  Daniel laughed. “She is a little portly.”

  “A little portly. You are kind. If she gets fatter, she’ll be round, and we’ll be able to just roll her around town.”

  I was laughing so hard that I almost didn’t notice when Galen Gilbert came in. If he hadn’t stopped to pet Mayhem and Taco on his way to the mystery section, I might have missed him altogether.

  “It was nice to meet you, Lu. Maybe I can try some of Sandy’s tres leches cake some time,” I said as I scooted after Galen.

  He had already scooped up a handful of mass markets – mostly culinary cozies this time, I noticed. I slipped a copy of Avery Aames The Long Quiche Goodbye onto the top of his pile before he noticed me, and when he glanced down, he smiled. “Oh, I love that series.” Only then did he look up to see who had placed the book on his teetering stack.

  “Harvey. You have good taste in mysteries.”

  I grinned. “Thanks. I just love a punny title . . . and Providence, Ohio, is one of my favorite towns where people die all the time.”

  Galen roared. “Yes, goodness, if the murder rates were as high in major cities as they are in these fictional small towns, we’d run out of cemeteries.”

  “Let me take these for you, hold them at the desk if that’s okay?”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  “No, Galen. Really, thank you. You gave us a huge gift in sharing a piece of your Insta feed with us. Our business has been booming for much better reasons now.”

  He looked down at the bookshelves again. “It’s the least I could do. I want more people to read, and I think small bookshops like yours are part of the key to helping that happen.”

  “Well, thank you. Now, what brings you to town today? I thought you were a usual Tuesday visitor.”

  He walked with me back to the counter, where Daniel was managing the line with aplomb. “I am, but I read about the street fair on your Instagram feed and couldn’t miss it. Besides, on Tuesday, I have to run another errand so can’t come then.”

  His face had grown serious, so I put his books down beside Daniel and took a step closer to Galen. “Everything okay? I mean I don’t want to pry—“

  His chin shot up, and I saw a glint of mischief in his eye. “Oh yes, I just have a date that afternoon is all.”

  “A date. Ooh la la. Who’s the lucky woman?”

  “A Bulldog named Mack.”

  I cackled. “As in Mack the Mack Truck spokesdog?”

  “That’s the one. He’s at the local SPCA, and I’ve decided I need a roommate.”

  “Well, Galen, when Mack is ready for primetime, I hope you’ll bring him by.”

  “Oh, he’ll be here for mystery Tuesdays, don’t you worry.”

  I helped Daniel bag Galen’s purchases and then told Galen I looked forward to seeing Mack’s introduction on Insta. He grinned, winked, and headed toward the door before turning and saying, “Oh, I want to bid on that art piece. How do I do that?”

  Daniel stepped forward. “I have to walk that way to get something at my garage. I’ll show you . . . besides, I want to take a peek myself.” Daniel winked as he held the door open for Galen.

  A few minutes later, Ralph Sylvester stepped through the doors of the shop, and immediately, I saw a smile cross over his face as he stood in front of the display Mart had put together. He lifted a copy of The Green Book and gently let the pages spin past his fingers. Then, he set it back down carefully, gazed at it another minute, and then picked up a copy of Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns before heading to the armchair next to Mayhem and Taco and beginning to read.

  I looked around the rest of the store – most of the chairs were full of people reading or talking with one another. The café was buzzing, and Mart’s tasting line was impressive, even with the extra help she’d called in from the winery. As Marcus swung by after doing a quick pick-up of the store, I asked him to take over the register so I could step out and take a look at the fair and see how Cate and Lucas were doing.

  When I walked out onto the sidewalk, I took a deep breath of warm spring air. It was gorgeous out here. The sun was sharing her perfect spring glow, making everything sparkle just a bit, and I figured the temperature was in the mid-sixties. I couldn’t have ordered a better weather day. The sheriff had been right.

  I gave Cate a wave as I stepped out into the street and looked back at the shop. She was busy telling people about her books, and I could see Lucas nearby doing the same. Several people had stacks of books in their hands, and the smile on Cate’s face confirmed that she was happy to have made the decision to donate her books for the scholarship fund.

  The middle of the road was full of people – many with cups of coffee from our café and the other restaurants – and I noticed a fair number of cinnamon rolls and the tell-tale remnants of icing on a few faces. Most of all, though, people looked happy . . . that kind of happy that comes when you are outside on the first warm day of spring, when you have the promise of a garden to plant and picnics to plan, when everything feels like it’s opening up after the long, dark days of winter. Right then and there, I decided this would have to be an annual affair, and I thought how lovely it would be to schedule it the same time we did the Welcome to Spring event at the shop. Maybe call the whole thing The Welcome to Spring fair.

  I was letting myself daydream about Stephen and Walter coming in to coordinate the event, maybe even construct a small stage for music at the end of the road, and seeing Galen as our media chair with Marcus managing the shop while I coordinated the readers and advertising. I could feel myself smiling as I realized that all my hard work over the past six months, that the utter change in my life since moving from San Francisco, had been worth it in every way.

  I was content.

  And then, I heard the shouting. It was coming from up the street, just beside Max Davies’ shop. “You enabled her, you old coot.” Max was angry. His voice was all screechy, and clearly, he wasn’t worried about drawing negative attention because his voice could beat the band.

  I hurried over, hoping to diffuse the situation before the pleasant mood of this Sunday morning was disturbed. In front of Chez Cuisine, I found Max towering over Divina Stevensmith, who looked both furious and dangerous. Her hands were bunched at her sides, and she had drawn herself up to her full height so she could get closer to Max’s face as he screamed at her. “You should have reigned her in. She was your daughter,” Max shouted.

  “Don’t you dare tell me how I should have raised my daughter, you ingrate. You have no idea!” All my interactions with Divina had given me a sense of her as a quiet, almost meek woman, but now, I was seeing her warrior side, and it was scary. I couldn’t help but root for her though, after all the man was insulting her daughter, her dead daughter.

  Their voices were getting louder as they continued to hurl insults at one another, and the crowd was gathering from up and down the street.

  Oh man, this isn’t good, I thought. The last thing we needed was to make this about murder when really it needed to be about the life of Deputy Williams.
/>
  Just when I thought I was going to have to step in and break it up, Elle Heron rushed over and stood between Max and Divina. I stepped closer with the idea of providing her back-up, but she didn’t need me. In a low, growl of a voice, she said, “You two are making a scene. Max, go back inside. I’ll come talk to you in a minute.” She glared at him until he stomped his foot like a three-year-old and then went into his restaurant.

  Elle then took Divina by the arm and led her away from the crowd, who had, thankfully, already started to disperse once the spectacle was over. I followed behind the two women, hoping I might be able to comfort Divina, get her a glass of water or something.

  As I got closer behind them, I heard Elle say, “Seriously, you have the gall to cause a scene. You! You think no one knows, but I know. I know Divina.”

  The tiny, older woman looked at her and said, “If you know, then, you know I’m not someone to be trifled with. You best mind yourself, Elle. I will do what I need to do.” Then Divina strode off back toward the co-op without so much as a backward glance.

  I had no idea what I’d just heard, but I didn’t think Divina had meant for me to hear that threat. Elle looked pretty shaken – but from anger or fear I couldn’t tell. Still, I had to know what she knew, so I slid up behind her and laid a hand between her shoulder blades. She jumped and let out a little squeal.

  “Oh, Elle, I’m so sorry,” I said as I stepped around in front of her with my hands up. “I just heard what Divina said and wanted to be sure you were okay.” I could see the tears pooled in her eyes, but I wasn’t sure they were there because I startled her or because of what Divina had said. “What’s going on?”

  She looked around quickly and then took my elbow and led me to her shop and then into the back cooler where she kept the flowers. I shivered. I’d had a bad experience in a cooler once, and given the circumstances, I didn’t love being in here with Elle, although it was looking less and less like she was actually a suspect.