Tome to Tomb

by ACF Bookens

  I groaned. “I have never seen that show and will never, but if teen girls start showing up here for autographs with Damien, Santa will have to retire for the year.”

  “So noted,” Marcus said as he walked up. “Have you seen his Insta?”

  I rolled my eyes again and was glad I’d long ago disproved the childhood rumor that my eyes would stick that way if I did it too much.

  “You follow him on Instagram?” Daniel said.

  “Yep. You don’t? He plugs the store all the time. Two people came in this afternoon, in fact, just to see when he’d next be here.”

  “Were they wearing all black or carrying ski masks?” I asked with weariness.

  Marcus laughed. “Actually, they were reporters eager to do a story about what a business owner does when something terrible happens during the happiest time of the year.” Marcus wiggled his eyebrows at me.

  “Really?! Now, that’s a reasonable angle on this story.” I looked over at Daniel. “What do you think? Maybe I can, as they say, control the narrative a little.”

  “Seems reasonable to me,” my boyfriend said as he gave me a kiss on the cheek and stood. “I’ll see you in the papers.”

  “I think the expression is, “‘I’ll see you in the funny papers,’” Marcus said.

  “Oh, I know.” Daniel smiled, patted Taco on the head, and headed out the door.

  “Glad you think it’s a good idea, because the reporters and their camera crew will be here in . . . ,” he looked at the clock hanging on the back wall of the store, “fifteen minutes.”

  “Marcus! Seriously. Look at me?!” My hair was pulled back with a loose piece of ribbon left over from a package I’d wrapped for a customer the night before. I had one heck of a shiner still, and then there was the cast. “I cannot go on camera like this.”

  “Don’t worry. I called in help.” Marcus swaggered away to help an older man who was exploring our books on cats just as Tiffany and Cate swooped in with bags.

  “I’ve got the hair,” Tiffany said.

  “I’m on make-up,” Cate added.

  Before I could even say “Hi,” they were on me, and I felt like I was in a make-up trailer. For a split second, I thought, Don’t let Damien see this. He’ll want his own team, and then the giggles that always sat right behind my tears when I’m under stress broke loose and my two stylists had to fight my bouncing shoulders while they worked.

  Still, by the time they were done and had pulled out not one but two mirrors, I looked not only presentable but downright professional. Cate had perfectly masked the growing bruise on my face, and Tiffany had somehow managed my curls into a wave that covered the worst of the still-present goose egg while pinning back the other side. I looked good, especially with the blue stripe of hair that I had really grown to love showing just enough to make me look cool but not reckless.

  “Wow! Thanks, women.” I started to stand up to hug them, but the weight of my cast kept me from rising all the way. “Oh no, my cast. I know very little about being on camera, but I don’t really want people seeing this bright blue thing in every shot.”

  Just then, I saw two women in blue suits walk in with a cameraman and a woman with one of those long, stick-like microphones – a boom, it was called maybe – in hand. I groaned.

  “Don’t worry, Harvey. I’ve got this,” Cate said as she stood, quickly wiped her hands on her apron, and walked over to greet the reporters.

  I watched with growing anxiety as the women talked, and Tiffany stood behind me to rub my shoulders. “They’re just here to see the woman who can still run a store after a murder and a broken ankle. You’re already impressive just by being here, Harvey. Just be yourself.”

  I smiled up at my friend and felt, for about the millionth time, such gratitude for my friends. “You’re right. I am impressive.”

  Tiffany guffawed, and I joined in. Her laugh was so infectious that it lifted my spirits immediately. I was still smiling when the reporters walked over.

  “Harvey Beckett?” One of the women stuck out her hand.

  I started to stand, and the other woman said. “Please not on our account. Woman, if I’d had someone die in my store and then broken my ankle all in the course of a couple of days, I’d be home with The Umbrella Academy, a margarita, and raw cookie dough.”

  I smiled. “The thought is tempting, but tell me, how is The Umbrella Academy? Good weird or just plain weird?”

  We launched into a quick analysis of the new fantasy TV show, and I immediately began to feel at ease. If you like strange, magical powers in ensemble casts, we can be friends.

  “Cate tells me you’re worried about your cast on camera.”

  I looked at Cate, and she nodded. “Yeah, a little. Can I drape something over it or something?”

  “We have a better idea. Ollie is going to sit at your feet and paint it.” I looked up to see my old friend, a very talented painter and mixed media artist grinning down at me. “You game?”

  “That’s what we were going to do anyway, right?” Cate said.

  I nodded and then felt my eyes tear. “Ollie, you’re going to paint my cast? I’m honored, but you know this means I can never take it off, right?”

  He laughed. “What if I paint in a zipper, so that when the doctors cut it off, it looks intentional?”

  “Ooh, yes,” Tiffany shouted and bounced.

  “Great,” one of the reporters said. “We can do this right here, right now if you’re ready.”

  Ollie set up his paints and palette as well as a few pieces of fabric, and I got goosebumps. His mixed media stuff was amazing, and I was going to be wearing it.

  “Sounds good. Can you give me a heads up about what we’re going to talk about?”

  The second reporter smiled. “Sure. We just want to hear about what it’s like to have a tragedy hit your business during the holidays. Did you think about closing the store for a few days? What made you decide against that? That kind of thing.”

  I pursed my lips and said, “Got it. Okay, I’m ready.”

  Reporter number one smiled at me and then gave the cameraman a nod as the mic operator lowered her sound-gathering puff toward my face. “Harvey Beckett, how are you?”

  I tried not to make my face look like those terrible photos that pass around Facebook all the time while I said, “I’m okay, thank you,” and wished I knew the reporter’s name so I would appear more friendly.

  “I’m so glad to hear it,” she continued, “especially after the hard few days you’ve had.”

  I saw the camera shift slightly down to capture my leg and Ollie’s work, as he started in on what looked like it would be a Christmas tree. “Well,” I said, looking back at the reporter and willing myself not to look into the camera directly, “the show must go on, as they say.” I could not believe I had trotted out that cliché, but I kept myself from rolling my eyes at my own lack of imagination.

  “Indeed,” reporter two added, as she pulled up a chair just a bit in front of me and to the side. I turned toward her and hoped Tiffany’s hair magic was still covering my goose egg since it was now facing the camera. “You had a really hard evening on Friday. Can you tell us about that?”

  I took a long deep breath. “Sadly, a man died in my bookstore on Friday. It was a terrible tragedy.” I knew I was overselling a bit, but I didn’t want to look callous.

  “The man died, as we understand it,” reporter one said with a glance at her partner,” in Santa’s lap.”

  I felt a wave of foreboding cross over my body, but I dismissed it. These were the facts. Probably better to just get them out there. “Yes, that’s right. He did.”

  “Well, that must have been, well, scary, angering, frustrating?” Reporter one said, and I was suddenly glad I didn’t know her name because I would have spat it at her. This was an ambush, and I knew how to evade an ambush – I stepped around it.

  “Actually, it was simply profoundly sad. Any person losing their life is a tragedy. The fact that it happened i
n my store, well, that was just a situation. The loss of life – that’s the horrible thing here.”

  Reporter two glanced at reporter one, and I saw them dig in to this attack. I felt Ollie look up at me, and when I looked down, he was nodding slowly. Then, I felt Tiffany’s hand on my shoulder as she stepped into the frame behind me, and Cate placed herself gently on the arm of my chair. My team was ready.

  “Still, though, you must have felt, well something. I mean it was the first night you had Santa in your store, and there he was with a dead body in his lap.”

  Tiffany squeezed my shoulder, and I said, “I did feel something. Sadness. As I said, a man died, and that is always sad.”

  Reporter two charged in, “But weren’t you worried about your store, what this would do to your shop’s reputation?”

  I resisted the temptation to laugh out loud because my shop had already had its fair share of scandal. If that worried me, I’d have shut down my first week open. “No, I wasn’t. I was worried that the man who collapsed in my store was getting proper medical attention. Then, I was worried about the man, I mean about Santa, who had just witnessed a man die. Finally, I was worried about the young patrons who witnessed this tragedy. But my store, that was the least of my worries.” I took another long, slow breath, and then I glared at each woman in turn as I said, “I do find it interesting, however, that YOU don’t seem the least bit interested in the victim or discovering who killed him.”

  Both women flushed beet red, and I knew I’d hit them in the gut. Reporter one tried to stammer out something, but Cate spoke first. “Ollie seems to have captured Harvey’s heart about this tragic instance very well.” She caught the reporter’s eye, and he panned down to show the beautiful face of Santa with a tear streaming down his cheek.

  I wanted to cry myself because the painting was, of course, perfect and not only spoke to the real sentiment I had about Bixley’s death but also to the people he allegedly murdered. I wasn’t about to bring that up though, so I steadied my breath and looked right at the camera. “Friends and family of Mr. Bixley, I am truly sorry for your loss. The doors of All Booked Up are open to you anytime should it help you to be in this place. Know you have the deepest condolences from everyone here.” As I finished, I saw a smile on the cameraman’s face, and the boom operator let out a little “yes” under her breath before the reporters glared at them. Clearly, the support team wasn’t totally behind the faces that got to be on camera.

  I sat patiently, camera rolling, as the reporters looked at each other for a long moment before reporter one said, “Thank you so much for your time, Harvey.” She looked over her shoulder and said, “Cut.”

  Then, I stood up with Cate at one elbow and Tiffany at the other and leaned forward as far as I could balance on one leg. “Listen, here. Do not ever come in here again. You will not use someone’s death or my store and employees to drum up a sensational news story. You are despicable.”

  The two women shrugged and walked out, and I sagged back into the chair as the cameraman and the boom operator gave me quick high fives as they followed their bosses out the door. Tuck passed the two reporters in the doorway and nodded. Then, he headed straight for me. “What was that about?”

  “That was about Harvey schooling some nosy reporters about what really matters,” Marcus said with sheer pride. “And I got it all on tape. Already loaded it to my Insta and sent it to Galen, too. Sorry, though, I didn’t know they were going to go after you like that.”

  “How could you? I’m fine, but you may not be. Did you just say you uploaded that to video?” If I hadn’t been so tired I would have tried to leap from my chair again, but the weight of the past few days held me down. “You did not?”

  “Oh yes, he did, and I shared it,” Rocky piped in from over at the café. “I’m up to thirty likes already.”

  “Yep, you’re going viral, Ms. Beckett.” Mart was standing in the doorway of the shop with a grin on her face, “and I am here for it.”

  This time I did pry myself to standing so I could hug Mart. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

  “I heard about your fall, and I told my client I needed to get home to care for my roommate. They totally understood and sent a ‘get well’ bottle.” She held up a shimmering bottle of rosé and smiled.

  For about the fiftieth time that day, I felt tears prick my eyes. “Thank you.” I sat back down and looked at the friends gathered around me. “Thank you all.” I propped my leg on the stool Cate had brought over and looked at the painting that Ollie had done. “This is amazing, Ollie. I don’t ever want to take it off.”

  The young man smiled. “Trust me. You’ll be ready when the itching starts. But don’t worry – just like I said, I put on a zipper, so you can peel it away and keep the art.”

  I laughed when I twisted my leg enough to glimpse the back. Sure enough, Santa had a big ole zipper going up the back of his red suit. I loved it.

  “Now, folks, if you’ve got things here under control, I need to get our girl home to a movie night with this fine bottle,” Mart said, and Cate and Tiffany helped me to my feet. “You two – see you at six?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Cate said. “Henri and Elle are coming too. Rocky, you’ll be there, right?”

  “Yep, as soon as I close up. I’m not missing a Hallmark movie marathon that involves wine,” she said.

  I laughed. “So we’re really doing this?”

  “Of course we are,” Mart said. “Now, let’s get you home.”

  Tuck held open the door. “Lu’s got your dinner covered. You women have fun.” He leaned over to me as I passed. “Good work with those reporters, Harvey. I just watched the video. Well done.” His voice was soft but sincere, and I smiled as I scooted my way to Mart’s car.

  10

  Fifteen minutes later I was home on my couch in my softest pajama pants and largest T-shirt as Mart heated up butternut squash soup, made croutons with butter and garlic, and ordered me to sit still with a glass of wine. Aslan had no trouble with this order and promptly helped me comply by sitting on my lap. Mayhem, slightly put out by our stubborn refusal to understand her need for elevated soft furnishing, settled for her orthopedic dog bed by the fireplace and immediately began to snore. For his part, Taco – the only male allowed tonight apparently – had decided that flat on his side by the kitchen island was a better place, lest a crumb or two fall to the floor.

  I busied myself by scrolling through Instagram and then taking a little bit of pride in the video Marcus shot of my interview. For the sake of trying to seem humble, I paid attention to the faces of the two shrews who had set me up, and their expressions were worth reliving the experience. If they’d been one of those montage memes, the expressions would have been a continuum from arrogant to tentative to befuddled to downright shocked to all-out mad. I reveled a bit and then flipped over to Galen’s page, where the story that included the video was up to four hundred comments, all of them supportive except for the one person who felt I should have been more respectful and not commented at all. There was always someone.

  I sent Galen a quick private message to thank him, and he replied immediately to say that while he knew that I meant what I said, I couldn’t have possibly manufactured a better way to get publicity. He was actually going to be hosting a casual meet-up with some of his fans at the store tomorrow at noon, and he wanted to know if I could join them. “People want to meet you and give you their thanks for honoring human life like you did.”

  I smiled and told him that of course I’d love to meet them and that I’d love to offer his followers a ten percent discount on any purchase as my thanks for their support. Within five seconds, the discount was announced, and the likes were rolling in. I could have watched the hearts stack up all night, but I knew that what I needed to do was wind down, not get keyed up. So I tucked my phone so deep into the cushions of the couch that I couldn’t even feel it vibrate and began to peruse the Hallmark movie o
ptions. My principle question was: mystery or straight-up romance?

  I decided I was in the mood for mystery, and so when my friends began arriving, I asked them each to take one of the notecards that Mart had laid out on the counter. “You need to write down the clues you find, and when you think you know who the killer is, put the card in the middle of the coffee table. We’ll leave the cards in order and then find out who figured it out first at the end of the movie.”

  Henri laughed as she picked up her card. “Where do you come up with this stuff, Harvey? I feel like we’re playing a game of Clue.”

  “Oh, that’s on the table for February. You can be Professor Plum.”

  “I do look good in purple,” she said as she joined me on the couch with her glass of wine. “So I heard you put the smack down on two busybodies today.”

  I laughed and spent the next few minutes retelling the events to the gathering group of women. “Normally, I fold under that kind of pressure, but Tiffany and Cate bolstered my courage, and Ollie’s art – well, it was just the inspiration I needed.”

  “Why do you think they wanted to set you up, Harvey?” Elle asked as she handed out bowls of soup with golden croutons floating on top. “I mean, the murder happened a few days ago, and given the twenty-four–hour news cycle, it’s already old news. So why now?”

  I took a spoonful of the delicious soup and thought about the question. I didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know actually.”

  “It’s a good question,” Cate said. “I mean why stir that up. They were really out to get you, but why? They didn’t really have anything to gain since the story had faded from the headlines.”

  “Unless it hasn’t really,” Henri said. “Today there was a big meeting at the hospital. Apparently, the board is concerned about the PR surrounding Bixley’s murder.”

  “You mean, they’re worried they’re going to look bad if it comes out that they were negligent,” Mart snarked.

  “Precisely,” Henri said. “All the staff was put on strict orders not to talk about Bixley or anything related to his work at the hospital.”