Murder of a Bookstore Babe srm-13

by Denise Swanson

  “Shoot.” Skye got out of the Civic and tugged her black jeans into place. “I hope that doesn’t keep people away.”

  “There was quite a crowd by the entrance, so I think today it’ll be okay. During normal business hours, when they aren’t giving away free refreshments, it might be a different story.” Trixie linked an arm with Skye’s, and they headed toward the shop. “Anyway, walking is good for you.”

  “If that’s true, why does the mailman look like Jabba the Hutt?”

  “You are so not funny.” Trixie snickered. A few minutes later, she said, “Look.”

  “At what?” They were a block away from Tales and Treats, and all Skye could see was that the half dozen wrought-iron tables and chairs arranged in front of the large front window were fully occupied. “You knew it would be packed.”

  “Not that.” Trixie pointed to the entrance. “That.”

  “Crap.” Skye hadn’t expected Pru to rally her troops so soon, but a small group of women holding protest signs was marching in a circle in front of the store’s entrance.

  “Get a load of Pru’s Crew,” Trixie hissed.

  “Yeah, but where’s their leader?” Skye asked.

  As Trixie lifted her hands in puzzlement, one of the women thrust a leaflet into it. “Have you found Jesus Christ?” The picketer was a young blonde with long straight hair held back with a cornflower blue headband.

  “Yes.” Trixie crumpled the flyer and deliberately dropped it on the ground. “He was behind the sofa the whole time.”

  “If you’re a good Christian, you won’t go in,” the blonde persisted.

  Skye gripped her friend’s arm, not sure what Trixie would do, but before she could say anything, an older woman with snow-white hair and a face that looked like a dried apple joined the first and said, “Now, dearies, just turn around and go home. I’m sure sweet girls like you have no idea this place is a den of iniquity.”

  “The hell we don’t.” Trixie narrowed her eyes. “Censorship is the real evil.”

  While Trixie was arguing with the protesters, Skye read the various protest signs. ROMANCES ROT YOUR BRAIN. SCIENCE FICTION IS THE WORK OF THE DEVIL. DO YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER READING PORN? STICK TO JANE AUSTEN AND JULES VERNE.

  Skye didn’t catch what was said, but suddenly the Alice in Wonderland look-alike slapped Trixie in the face.

  “That was assault!” Skye moved in front of her friend. “Which means if all of you don’t get out of our way, I’m calling the police.”

  “Just try it!” Alice screamed.

  The protesters linked arms and chanted, “No cash for this trash.”

  The picketers formed a circle around Skye and Trixie when they attempted to walk into the store. Skye blew out an irritated breath, then grabbed her cell phone from her purse, but before she could dial, two of the male demonstrators pinned her arms to her sides. Trixie seized the waist of one of the men, but another guy took hold of Trixie’s shoulders.

  Just as Skye was wondering if they would end up forming the world’s record for a human chain, a long-legged, middle-aged redhead whom Skye knew all too well, dressed in hot pink capris, a matching spandex halter, and stilettos, barreled into the fray. She wielded her huge magenta pocketbook like a giant flyswatter, whacking protesters aside as if they were mosquitoes. A sturdily built teenage girl wearing cropped camo cargo pants, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops was right behind her swinging a backpack with the same precision.

  “How can you do this?” the dried-apple-faced woman sobbed as the demonstrators scattered. “Aren’t you concerned about the morals of your community?”

  “I used to care about stuff like that,” the redhead said, raising a perfectly plucked brow, “but I take a pill for that now.”

  Once Skye had stopped laughing, she thanked her rescuers, then turned to the redhead. “Bunny, what are you doing here?”

  Bunny Reid, aka Skye’s ex-boyfriend’s mother, was a former Las Vegas dancer with a penchant for clothes from Victoria’s Secret and men who broke her heart. She was the last person Skye would have expected to see at a bookstore.

  Bunny enveloped her in an Obsession-scented hug. “Frannie talked me into it.” Bunny was the manager of the local bowling alley, which her son owned and where Frannie Ryan, the teenager with the backpack, worked part-time. “She’s got me hooked on those Harlequin romances. Those hot ones are better than a copy of Playgirl magazine.” Bunny winked. “When I finish one of those I just want to find some stud and say, ‘Squeeze me like a grape and make me wine.’”

  “Do you like those, Frannie?” Frannie was one of Skye’s favorite former students. They were extremely close, and Skye was surprised the teen hadn’t mentioned her plans to attend the Tales and Treats grand opening.

  “No.” Frannie shook her head. “But I remembered you saying that in order to get people to read, it’s important to give them books that will interest them, not what you think they should be reading, and Ms. Bunny is interested in . . .” She trailed off, her cheeks red.

  Skye hadn’t meant to embarrass the girl and was trying to think of a way to change the subject when Trixie came to her rescue by asking, “How did you get such a good parking spot, Bunny?” She looked pointedly at an old red Camaro, parked smack-dab in front of them.

  “I’ve got my ways.” The redhead nodded to a handsome older man sitting at one of the outdoor tables. “In fact, I’d better go thank him. When I saw you two under attack, I forgot my manners.”

  Skye wondered briefly whether Mr. Distinguished was Bunny’s new beau, but Frannie distracted her by saying, “Let’s go inside. I want to say hi to Kayla.”

  “Are you two friends?” Skye asked.

  “Sort of.” Frannie opened the shop’s door. “We were both interested in some of the same colleges and went on campus visits together, but she still really wants to get out of Scumble River, and me, not so much anymore.”

  Skye was about to follow Frannie and Trixie into the store when she heard her name being called. Turning, she saw her mother hurrying toward her, May’s four best friends bringing up the rear.

  “Hi, Mom.” Skye waved. “I didn’t know you were coming here.”

  “We decided to give it a look-see at the last minute.” Skye’s mother reached up and pushed a stray chestnut curl off Skye’s cheek, adjusted her daughter’s blouse, and brushed a piece of lint off her jeans. May’s own short salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly coiffed, and her brown tweed pants and matching jacket looked as if they had just left the ironing board—which they probably had. “Glory and Hester wanted to get some books, Maggie’s checking out the pastry competition, and Kitty and I are here just to be neighborly.”

  Skye nodded. She knew her mom and aunt never passed up an opportunity to socialize.

  May added, “Besides, Thea called and said there was some excitement here.” Like May, Thea was a dispatcher for the Scumble River Police Department. “People wanting to close down the store.”

  “Someone called the cops?” Skye wasn’t surprised her mother and her friends didn’t want to miss the action. Gossip was better if acquired firsthand.

  “The owner. She said there were protesters blocking her entrance.” May frowned. “But Wally said as long as they are on the sidewalk, which is public property, he can’t stop them. Some nonsense about freedom of speech.”

  “The police take the constitution pretty seriously,” Skye confirmed. “Wally had no choice until they attacked someone, like they did me a few minutes ago.” Oops! Skye knew she shouldn’t have said that the moment the words left her mouth.

  “See!” May’s voice was shrill. “How can you marry someone who won’t even protect you? Simon always tried to stop you from putting yourself in danger, but Wally goes and makes you the police psych consultant.”

  “Mother!” Emerald eyes that matched May’s own blazed. Her mom didn’t approve of Skye’s engagement to Wally, who was older, divorced, and not Catholic. There was nothing he could do about the first issue, an
d he was trying to get an annulment to address the second; Skye wondered whether her mother would come around if he converted, which would solve the third problem.

  “Yes?” May’s expression was angelic.

  “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, a fact Wally understands and applauds. I am not getting back together with Simon.” Skye gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t May accept that? Of course, Simon’s sudden determination to win her back at all costs wasn’t helping matters.

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’m marrying Wally as soon as he gets an annulment.” Skye and Simon had broken up more than two years ago, when he’d refused to explain how he “forgot” to mention that the college friend he was staying with on his trip to California was a woman. By the time he finally did clarify the situation, it was too late. “Deal with it,” Skye told her mother.

  “Look how hard Simon is trying,” May wheedled.

  He had actually shown up at her parents’ house last Sunday while they were all having dinner together and serenaded Skye with “Love Me Tender” from outside the kitchen window. His voice hadn’t been half bad, but the Elvis outfit was a bit much.

  “Drop it, Mom.” Skye crossed her arms. “I mean it. Unless you want me to elope.”

  May looked stricken. “Don’t even tease about something like that. I’ve been planning your wedding since you were born.” She clutched her chest. “I’m going to be at both my kids’ weddings if it’s the last thing I do.”

  CHAPTER 5

  All Quiet on the Western Front

  When Skye finally entered Tales and Treats, she was astounded by the clever design. The main room contained the register, gift items associated with reading and writing, and a massive glass-fronted oak cupboard with an engraved plaque that read, RARE AND FIRST EDITIONS. Radiating from the central hub were the café and four areas decorated according to the genre they held.

  She was immediately drawn to the mystery section. Elegant wood paneling and cushiony armchairs invited customers to relax as they made their choices. A jumbo magnifying glass hung over the fireplace mantel, and handcuffs, crime scene tape, and a variety of toy weapons were arranged on top of cherry occasional tables.

  Skye looked around for Trixie, sure her friend would be attracted to this setting, but there was no sign of her. She did see her mother’s pals Glory and Hester, their arms full of paperbacks. They lifted their chins in greeting.

  Next, Skye tried the romances, knowing that was Trixie’s second favorite read. Here the furnishings ran to a pink velvet chaise longue and a white wrought-iron daybed stacked with frilly pillows. Oversize champagne glasses and high-heeled shoes were placed on gilt tables, and a lace peignoir hung from a brass hook on the wall. Bunny was sitting on the floor, half glasses perched on her nose, engrossed in a book with a mostly naked cowboy on its cover. A flush tinged her cheeks, and she didn’t look up when Skye said hello.

  Trixie had to be somewhere, and Skye doubted her friend was in the science fiction/fantasy/horror section, which was bedecked in outer-space gear, fairy wings, and vampire fangs. With Trixie’s active imagination, reading anything too scary was likely to give her nightmares.

  Skye was also pretty sure her friend wasn’t in the literature alcove, which was decorated like a college professor’s office. They both agreed that they saw enough demoralizing endings in real life and didn’t need to read about them in their fiction.

  On her way through the main hub to check for Trixie in the café, Skye spotted a wire cage the size of a refrigerator box behind the front counter. It was draped on three sides with dark material, and she couldn’t see what was inside. Curious, she threaded her way through the crowd toward the register.

  As she got nearer, Skye saw a petite figure crouching down with her head and shoulders inside the pen, and called out, “Hi, Kayla. Are you enjoying your first day on the job?”

  “Sorry.” After closing the door of the cage, the person turned around. She was wearing a yellow polo shirt with TALES AND TREATS stitched in black across the pocket. Beneath the store name, RISÉ was embroidered in dark green. “I’m not Kayla, but I am enjoying my first day on the job.”

  “Sorry.” Skye felt her cheeks redden. “From the back, you two look very similar.”

  “No problem.” The shop owner smiled. “Being mistaken for a nineteen-year-old is extremely flattering.” She held out her hand to Skye. “How kind of you to come to our grand opening. I hope your being here doesn’t cause a problem for you with your cousin.”

  “Thank you.” Skye shook Risé’s hand. “I’m Skye. It’s my pleasure to be here, and I couldn’t care less about Hugo’s opinions.”

  “I’m thrilled that so many Scumble Riverites are here.” Risé was glowing. “I was a little afraid no one would show up, and then with those people picketing in front of the door . . . Well, you can imagine.”

  “Of course,” Skye reassured her. “But they’re gone now, and at least the leader of the pack didn’t show up.” She paused. Why hadn’t Pru been there, since this was her cause? “At any rate, they don’t seem to have stopped anyone.” She didn’t mention that the protesters had probably actually attracted a larger crowd.

  “Your friends told me how they fought them off.” Risé straightened a stack of bookmarks. “That Bunny is my kind of woman.”

  “She’s certainly unique. She’s one of those rare, truly happy-go-lucky people who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.” Skye mentally shook her head. Risé the intellectual feminist and Bunny the man-crazy flake were the original odd couple, but you never knew what circumstances would cement a friendship. “You’ve probably already noticed we have a lot of quirky folks around these parts.”

  Risé shrugged. “I’ve never lived in a small town before, but I imagine this is pretty typical.”

  “Typical isn’t the word I’d choose,” Skye answered, distracted by a glimpse of silver-gray fur in the cage behind Risé. “Not to be nosy, but is that a cat?”

  “No.” Risé laughed. “If it were a kitty, I’d let it out, but chinchillas are a little shy.”

  “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.