by Reagan Davis
“I have to get to the store for Mitchell’s book signing,” I say after I help Adam clean the kitchen. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“I’ll see you there,” he says. “I’m having my photo taken with him for The Front Page.”
“I’ll save you a copy of his latest Shark Attack book,” I tease.
We exchange a cheek kiss, and I leave.
Mitchell’s appearance is in thirty minutes, but there’s already a line outside Knitorious when I arrive.
Knitorious is closed on Sundays and Mondays, but we’re open today to host my dad’s reading and book signing. He requested his appearance be at the store instead of the book fair venues.
“You’re here early,” I say when I walk through the backdoor to find Mitchell, Zoe, and Connie sitting at the harvest table at the back of the store, drinking coffee and eating coffee cake.
Sophie rushes over to greet me, and I bend down to rub her.
“Your neighbour dropped off this beautiful arrangement,” Zoe says.
“They’re gorgeous.” I inhale deeply to take in as much of the floral scent as possible.
“It’s your April bouquet,” Connie explains. “Phillip thought it would brighten up the store for the book signing.”
Early in our relationship, Eric and I went to a fundraiser with a silent auction. One prize was a year of monthly floral arrangements courtesy of Wilde Flowers, the florist shop next door to Knitorious. Eric had the winning bid and every month for a year, I received a beautiful floral arrangement. When my year of floral arrangements expired, Eric renewed it as an anniversary gift, so now I’m enjoying another year of floral arrangements.
When it’s time to start, there are more people in line than will fit in the store.
“Hi, Megan!”
“Hi, Lucas,” I greet the rookie cop who’s leaning against the wall on the sidewalk just outside the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Crowd control,” he replies. “Chief Sloane sent me.”
I’m not sure how to manage a crowd this size. We’ve never had so many people in Knitorious at once.
“I’m glad you’re here.” The relief is clear in my voice.
“Leave it to me,” Lucas assures me. “This is nothing compared to the crowd yesterday at Jules Janssen’s book signing. This is manageable.”
Reassured by the young officer’s confidence, I turn the sign from CLOSED to OPEN and step aside.
The store is full, and Lucas leans against the door, keeping it open, so the people who can’t fit inside can hear as Mitchell reads an excerpt from his book, from the comfort of one of the overstuffed chairs in the cozy seating area.
After the reading, my dad moves to the harvest table. Lucas organizes everyone in an orderly line extending from the harvest table, out to the sidewalk, and down Water Street.
After Mitchell signs a book, I direct the person toward the back door and hand them off to Connie. She wishes them a good day and sends them on their way. Zoe is busy selling books and taking photos for people who want a picture with my dad.
We take a quick break when Adam, in his role as Mayor Martel, and the photographer from The Front Page show up. While Adam and my dad pose for a couple of photos, I see Brooks Wiley next in line to meet my dad and get his book signed.
“Hi, Brooks,” I say.
“Nice to see you again, Megan.” Brooks nods and smiles. “I’m here to meet Mitchell Monroe and ask him to sign my book.” He holds up a copy of the latest Shark Attack book.
“I hear you met him yesterday in the park,” I say.
“In passing,” Brooks acknowledges with a grin. “I gave him my card.”
“Did you have a pleasant walk through the park with Piper Peters?” I ask.
Guiding me by the arm, Brooks leads me away from the people waiting in line. Lucas asks me if everything is OK, and I assure him it is.
“It wasn’t how it looked,” Brooks hisses when we’re in front of the display window.
“It looked like you were laughing and having fun with someone you insisted was scary and dangerous the day before.”
“I was humouring her,” he explains. “She’s... fragile.”
“Fragile?” I ask, confused. “Like a flower?” Fragile isn’t the first word I’d use to describe Piper Peters.
“Fragile like a bomb,” Brooks clarifies. “I was being careful. I didn’t want to set her off.”
It’s a fair observation. I sensed Piper had a short fuse when she was at Knitorious yesterday with April and me.
“What did you and Piper talk about?” I ask, knowing it’s none of my business and expecting Brooks to tell me so.
“We didn’t.” He shrugs one shoulder. “She’d just approached me when your dad walked past us. I used him as an excuse to get away from her.”
“I thought maybe you and Piper were having a secret rendezvous in the park,” I tease.
“Why would you think that?” he asks, chuckling.
“You meet Jules in secret.” I quirk an eyebrow. “Maybe secret meetings are your thing.”
“Who?” he asks, trying to convince me he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“Jules Janssen,” I specify.
“I know who she is. I don’t know her personally,” Brooks lies.
“It looked pretty personal when you were kissing her and groping her butt in the alley beside my store.” I escalate my voice toward the end of my sentence.
“Shhh,” he says, his brows furrowed together. “Keep your voice down, woman!” he hisses. “Fine, Jules and I are friends.”
I stifle a giggle and raise my eyebrows.
“Good friends. We’re quite close.”
“Did Claire know about your close relationship with Jules?” I ask.
“She did not,” Brooks confirms. “My personal relationships were none of Claire’s business.”
“Even when your personal relationship is with someone who’s trying to buy the film rights to her books?”
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” Brooks challenges. “I always worked in Claire’s best interest. Selling the film rights to Familia was in her best interest.”
Claire believed otherwise. But I don’t argue with him.
Zoe comes over and tells Brooks it’s his turn to meet Mitchell.
“I don’t want to lose my place in line,” he says, looking at me. “Excuse me, Megan.”
After he gets his book signed and takes a selfie with my dad, I escort Brooks to the back door. I’m about to hand him off to Connie when he tilts his phone toward me.
“Look at this,” he says. “These are some emails and letters Piper sent to Claire,” he explains. “I want you to see how disturbed she is, so you’ll know I’m telling the truth when I say I wouldn’t meet her alone in a park.”
I scroll through the emails on his phone. I can’t spend much time looking at each one, but Brooks is right, they are disturbing. It seems Piper believed that her and Claire’s lives were intertwined and that Claire used her books to share secret messages with Piper. Piper also thinks things Claire said in interviews, and even certain outfits or colours Claire wore, were secret messages to Piper. It’s creepy, and it’s enough to convince me to avoid being alone with Piper.
Chapter 18
Today, I’m thankful I sell yarn and not books; boxes of the former are much lighter than boxes of the latter. I’m lugging the last box of Shark Attack books from the storage room into the store when Dina flags me down from her place in line.
“Hi, Dina,” I say, wiping box-dirt from my hands onto my jeans. “How are you?”
“I’m OK,” she replies, hugging me. “Excited to meet Mitchell Monroe. He’s one of my mentors! I wrote a paper on his creative process when I got my Master of Fine arts.” She spins around and shows me the black backpack she’s carrying. “I brought my Shark Attack books.” She smiles. “I understand if he doesn’t have enough time to sign all of them.”
“That looks heavy.” If
every book in the series is in there, it weighs about twenty pounds. “Would you like me to put it by the table for you?”
Dina dismisses my offer with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine. I’m a bookworm, I’m used to toting books everywhere.” We laugh.
“If you were here earlier, you would’ve run into Brooks,” I tell her.
“I’ve seen enough of Brooks this weekend,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t need to see any more of him.”
“Yes, I hear you had lunch together yesterday,” I say.
“Yeah,” she nods. “We went to the local pub. It was nice. They have excellent food. The Irish nachos are the bomb!”
“They are,” I agree, suddenly craving a platter of Irish nachos. “Can I ask you something, Dina?” She nods, so I proceed. “I get the feeling you don’t like Brooks. Why did you have lunch with him?”
“He said he needed to talk to me about Claire. He said it was important,” she replies, not denying my allegation that she doesn’t like him.
“Oh?” I urge.
Dina looks at the line of people behind her, then uses her chin to gesture to a quiet corner of the store. “If we step over there to talk, will I lose my place in line?”
I shake my head. “I’ll make sure you don’t.”
Dina follows me toward the cozy sitting area.
“He wanted me to approach Claire’s family and convince them to sell the Familia film rights to him and Jules Janssen,” she whispers near my ear.
“Brooks wanted you to do that?” I clarify.
Her eyes are wide, and she gives me a deep nod. “He doesn’t know Claire’s family, but I do. They like me and I like them. He thought my relationship with them would give me an advantage.”
“Did you agree to do it?” I ask.
“No! Of course not!” Dina sounds almost insulted. “I wouldn’t take advantage of them in their time of grief. Even if they weren’t grieving, I wouldn’t do it. Claire was clear. She did not want Familia made into a movie or TV series.”
“Good for you for doing what you felt was right,” I commend her.
“He said they’re going to approach Claire’s family with or without me. If I helped them, they would’ve cut me in, but I don’t care. I don’t need the money bad enough to go against Claire’s wishes or take advantage of her family’s grief.”
“They, who?” I ask. She looks at me confused. “You said they’re going to approach Claire’s family with or without you. Who are they?”
“Brooks and Jules,” she replies. “They’re partners.”
Before I can ask her anything else, Zoe summons Dina to meet Mitchell and get her books signed.
While Mitchell and Dina talk, my back is to them as I empty the last box of books.
“Don’t stab yourself,” my dad teases with a jovial tone in his voice. “I guess that’s one way to keep pickpockets out of your stuff.” He and Dina laugh.
I turn around to see what they’re laughing about, but come face-to-face with a fan looking for Mitchell Monroe’s previous books to purchase. By the time I refer him to Zoe, Dina and Mitchell finish their meet-and-greet, and I’m ushering Dina toward the back door.
“It was nice seeing you, Dina,” I say as I gesture toward the back door. “Oops! You have a little something.” I point to her shoulder. “May I?”
She nods, and I pick a piece of lime-green fibre fuzz from her shoulder. “A bit of fibre attached itself to you. It must be your magnetic personality,” I tease, holding up the offending fluff.
Dina shrugs. “Well, I am in a yarn store.” She giggles and waves goodbye on her way out.
Soon after Dina leaves, we run out of Shark Attack books. The empty boxes are strewn about the back room and kitchenette area because I’ve just been haphazardly tossing the boxes in there as I empty them. There hasn’t been a spare second to tidy up.
Zoe announces to the fans waiting in line that we are out of books. A chorus of disappointed groans follows her announcement. She assures everyone that if they already have a book, they’re welcome to wait and Mitchell will gladly sign it. The line reduces by half after the mass exodus of hopeful book buyers.
Only a few people remain when Piper Peters joins the end of the line. She’s still grieving, as evidenced by the mourning attire she’s wearing again today. I must be growing accustomed to her outfit, because I find it less shocking. Judging by the astonished expression on her face, this is Zoe’s first time encountering Piper.
“Good afternoon, Piper,” I greet her with a smile.
“Megan! How lovely to see you again.” She extends her gloved hand toward me with her wrist limp and her fingertips facing the floor.
Unsure what to do with her extended, flaccid hand, I attempt a handshake and end up tugging her fingers.
“We’re out of books, I’m afraid,” I say, hoping this information will render her visit fruitless, and she’ll leave.
“No worries,” she assures me. “I brought my own.” Her other hand produces a Shark Attack book from the multitude of folds in her full skirt.
“Awesome,” I say as Zoe uses hand motions to beckon Piper to the harvest table.
I accompany Piper and stand nearby, keeping a close watch on their interaction, looking for signs that Piper’s unhealthy obsession with Claire might transfer to my father.
Mitchell signs her book, poses for a selfie with Piper, and shakes her droopy, gloved hand. Zoe summons the next person in line while I usher Piper to the back room.
“Thank you for coming, Piper,” I say when we reach Connie at the back door.
“It was a pleasure,” Piper responds while Connie takes in her elaborate outfit. “Oooh, it’s lovely back here,” Piper comments, looking around the unremarkable, utilitarian back room. “What’s in here?” She jiggles the handle of the storage room door.
“Yarn,” I reply, guiding her gently by the arm toward Connie. “I had to remove most of the yarn from the store to make room for the books.”
“Right. Of course,” she responds. “Well, hello, there.” Piper extends her limp hand toward Connie. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance. I’m Piper Peters.” She grins beneath her veil.
Connie introduces herself, then shakes Piper’s wilted hand, and uses it to lead her through the back door. “Have a wonderful day, Piper. Thank you for coming.” Connie closes and locks the back door behind her.
Back in the store, my father is walking around, stretching his legs, and shaking out his right hand, which is probably cramping after signing several hundred books this afternoon.
I’m itching to lock the door, but one person is loitering near the front of the store, leafing through a knitting magazine.
I turn the sign from OPEN to CLOSED and thank Lucas for helping with crowd management.
“No problem, Megan,” the rookie officer responds. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon,” he says before leaving.
From a distance, I watch the lone patron thumb through the latest issue of Vogue Knitting magazine and stare at the back of their head, using my non-existent powers of telepathy to will them to leave.
“Gross habit,” my dad whispers in my ear.
I look at him, baffled. “What’s a gross habit?” I whisper.
“Licking your fingers before turning the page,” he specifies, glaring at the finger-licker. “And it’s unacceptable when it’s a magazine you don’t own.”
I nod. “It’s a gross habit,” I agree.
“Claire used to do that,” he whispers, watching the finger-licker. “She couldn’t turn a page without licking her thumb and forefinger first. I would look away when she did it because it grossed me out.” He gestures vaguely in the general direction of nostalgia. “I remember warning her she’d catch a cold or worse, either from licking her dirty fingers, or from picking up whatever germs are lurking on the corners of the pages. But she never listened.”
“You’re right,” I say, struck with an epiphany. “A person could catch a cold or flu because o
f that habit.”
I bet they could pick up other things too. I think I just found the murder weapon that killed Claire, or at least narrowed down the options.
At last, the lone remaining customer closes Vogue Knitting, and as they motion to pick up another magazine, Zoe opens the front door, distracting them with the jingle of the bell, and wishes them a good day. Taking the polite hint, the customer leaves.
“Where is everyone?” Eric asks, looking deflated.
“Who?” I ask.
“Your dad, Zoe, all the people who want to get their books signed?” He crouches down and greets Sophie, who’s wagging her entire back end because she’s so happy to see him.
“Gone,” I update him. “We ran out of books, so the signing ended early.”
“I came to help, but I guess I’m too late. I thought we could take your dad and Zoe out for dinner.” He looks around, surveying the empty boxes laying haphazardly around the back room.
When Eric kisses me hello, I sense his tension. His facial muscles are taut, and his body is more rigid than usual when he hugs me.
“Dad and Zoe are having dinner with Connie and Archie,” I explain. “Then they’re going to Connie and Archie’s place to play euchre. If I’d known you were coming…”
“It’s not your fault.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I messed up this visit. I wanted to get to know your dad and Zoe. I booked the weekend off work to help with the book fair. Then this murder happened, and instead of making a good impression with your family, I’m interrogating your father, chasing witnesses all over town, and trying to get straight answers about anything.”
“Honey, it’s fine,” I assure him. “You made a great impression. Everyone understands. A murder investigation takes priority over a book fair.”
“I can’t keep these witnesses in town forever, babe. I need to solve this case before they scatter and go back to where they came from.” He watches me toss another flattened box onto the pile. “Let me help you put the store back together,” he offers, picking up a box. “It’s the least I can do, and it might be the only thing I accomplish today.”