Tome to Tomb

by ACF Bookens

  * * *

  I spent the next hour or so refilling displays and facing out titles on shelves. I really needed to get more books down from our overstock shelves that Woody had installed earlier in the year, but there was no way I was trying to climb the library ladders with this cast. So I made a note to ask Marcus to help me out with that when he came in.

  Soon, Rocky joined me, and I could hear the espresso grinder going as I tidied up the front register and got ready to open the shop. It was one of my favorite moments of the day – the minutes before the first customer came in. Everything felt full of potential.

  I was just heading to turn on the open sign when I noticed Cynthia Delilah outside on the sidewalk. She kept looking at her watch and then the bookstore’s front door in the age old, “When will this store open already?” stance. I glanced at my own watch and saw I had a few minutes before ten. So I left the sign off and cracked open the door.

  “Cynthia, do you need something?” I asked, keeping the door closed firmly around everything but my face.

  “Oh, hi, Harvey. I was hoping to talk to you for a few minutes before it got too busy. Do you mind?”

  I ran through all the possible problems with letting her in and decided that in broad daylight with Rocky in the room, even I and my cast could handle an angry thirty-something woman. And she didn’t seem that angry this morning. In fact, she looked pretty sad.

  “Sure. Come in,” I said as I scooted back and let her through the door. I didn’t lock it behind her, trusting the universe to bring me customers if I needed the presence of more people for some reason. Past experience had taught me not to be alone, if I could help it, with anyone suspected of a violent crime.

  I headed right for my throne, but I gestured toward the folding chair that Marcus had stationed nearby for customers who wanted to “set a spell,” as my grandmother would have said, to talk. Cynthia pulled it over and sat down heavily.

  “Thanks for letting me in, Harvey. I know I didn’t make the best impression the other day.” A flush of color spread up her temples.

  “Well, I’m not going to lie. Invoking a lawyer probably wasn’t the most casual move in the book.” I smiled and found that I genuinely felt warmth for this woman who had, several times, seemed a bit intimidating to me.

  “I know. I just panicked. His accusation took me by surprise.” She met my gaze. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone, Harvey. For whatever reason, I need you to know that.”

  I nodded. I understood. I hated when people thought the worst of me, even when I deserved it. “I hear you, but Javier seemed so sure of what he was saying.”

  She let out a long, thin breath and slid her fingers into her braids as she looked up at the ceiling. “He’s sure because he’s right. I was with Bixley a lot.”

  My eyes grew wide, and I wanted to either ask a thousand questions or scoot as fast as I could to Rocky’s side. But I stayed put and waited. Silence brought about a lot of information if you let it linger.

  After a few seconds, Cynthia met my gaze. “I was trying to stop him, Harvey. I was trying to keep him from killing anyone else.”

  Her words dropped like lead into the space between us, and I just stared at her for a moment before I could find my voice again. “Are you saying you knew Bixley was killing patients?”

  She nodded. “I did, but I couldn’t prove it. I did everything I could to catch him red-handed. See him slip the syringe into an IV line, find the empty insulin containers, something. But he was too good. I couldn’t find anything.”

  I frowned. “So why not just tell Tuck that the other day?”

  “Like I said, I panicked. I worried that since I couldn’t prove Bixley did it, then I couldn’t prove I didn’t. And if Javier had noticed how I was always with Bixley, then I had to assume that other people did, too.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “But now Danita . . .”

  “Now someone else has died, someone innocent, and you feel guilty?” I caught her gaze and held it.

  “Yes. I know I need to go to the sheriff, but I’m scared. I thought if maybe I told you first, and if you believed me, I’d have the courage to tell him.” Her eyes dropped to her lap.

  I let out a long, slow breath. “First, I do believe you, and while I can’t speak for the sheriff, I think he’ll believe you, too.”

  She looked up then, and I saw a little spark of hope hit her eyes.

  “But secondly, I need you to understand something. You did nothing wrong, Cynthia. If what you are telling me is true – and I believe it is – then you did all you could. You are not responsible for Bixley’s actions. He is. You did your best to stop him, which is admirable, but it is not your fault those people died.” I had lived a lot of years feeling guilty for the things other people I’d known had done, and I’d bent myself to make space for that guilt in my life rather than letting them carry it. I didn’t want to see Cynthia have to bend that way, too.

  I saw Cynthia set her jaw, and she drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ll try to believe you about that.” She stood up. “Okay, I’m ready. The sheriff will probably be in his office by now, right?”

  “I expect so.” I stood up with her. “If you want to wait until Marcus comes in, I’ll go with you.”

  She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Thank you, Harvey. That means a lot, but this thing, I need to do this now and on my own.”

  I leaned over and hugged her. “Let me know how it goes?”

  She nodded and went out the door. I grabbed my phone and texted Tuck. “You at the station?”

  “Yep, just finishing my second cup. Why?”

  “Cynthia Delilah is on her way to you. You need to hear what she has to say.”

  An eyeroll emoji came through next. “You just can’t help yourself can you,” the sheriff’s next text said.

  “This time, the clue came to me.”

  13

  Daniel popped his head around the corner of the religion section just before noon and found me knee-deep in a real alphabetization project. I needed time to think about what Cynthia had said and to figure out what was needling me about the murders Bixley had, still allegedly but more and more surely, committed. Putting things in alphabetical order required just enough of my focus to free up the rest of my mind to ponder.

  But still, an hour into my project, I wasn’t any closer to figuring out what was going on. I knew all these murders were connected – Mr. Petra, Bixley, Danita – but I just couldn’t see how. Clearly, insulin poisoning was significant, but I couldn’t tell why. At least not yet.

  So when Daniel turned up with an offer to take me and the dogs to Lu’s truck for carnitas tacos, I jumped at the chance to get away, take in some fresh air, and run my thoughts by him. Sometimes the only way I sorted out my own brain was by talking, and Daniel was the best listener I knew.

  Mayhem and Taco were in rare and well-behaved form as we walked. They only sniffed briefly, and they didn’t try to dislocate Daniel’s shoulder by tugging, which was good because I was holding onto his other arm and didn’t think I’d stay upright if I was pulled ahead at too quick a clip. We reached the taco truck, and Daniel tied the dogs to a lamp post while he and I sat down and scarfed our hot food in the cold air.

  Between bites, I told Daniel about Cynthia and the findings from Danita’s autopsy. I’d already filled him in about Mr. Petra’s blood work, and of course everyone knew Bixley’s cause of death. “You’d think this much insulin going missing would raise an eyebrow or two?”

  Daniel nodded. “You’d think, unless the killer has their own supply.”

  “True. I guess that’s possible, but Bixley – where did he get his? The logical place would be the hospital, but wouldn’t someone notice? I don’t know how much insulin it takes to kill a person, but I’d think it’s a lot. And if he killed multiple people?”

  “Hold that thought.” Daniel got up and returned to Lu’s truck, coming back a moment later with two piping hot churros that made the world smell like paradise. “Maybe he
was doctoring files or something, changing up the charts of people who needed the insulin to make it look like they needed more than they actually took?”

  I munched on my crunchy, cinnamon stick of delight and pondered. “That’s probably a question for Bear, huh?”

  “Better yet,” Daniel said. “Why not suggest Tuck – you know the man paid to investigate things – look into it?”

  I sighed. “You’re right.” I sighed again and took out my phone. I texted Tuck with my questions, and then tucked the phone back in my pocket.

  Daniel squeezed my shoulders and then succeeded in shoving two-thirds of a churro in his mouth at one time.

  “I know, I know,” I said with a laugh. “You didn’t want it to get cold.”

  He nodded vigorously as he struggled to chew.

  “Well, while you’re occupied, let me tell you about some of Damien’s visitors last night.” I spent the next few minutes regaling my fiancé about the various ways girls had flirted with our Santa, including the one young woman who had faked a fall in front of him just so that he’d have to help her up. “I guess he couldn’t see the big wink she threw her friends before she launched herself against the sleigh.”

  Daniel let out a low groan, and it took me a minute to realize he was reacting to my story not to the immense amount of food he had consumed.

  “Now, come on. You mean to tell me if I hadn’t wooed you with my womanish charms and my hound dog, you wouldn’t have, er, fallen for me if I fell for you.” I waggled my eyebrows.

  “The problem with that scenario, Ms. Beckett, is that you would have really fallen, probably broken a wrist, and been unconscious as I fell in love at first sight.” He smiled and pulled me closer.

  “True enough.” I sat quietly for a few moments and enjoyed the chance to people watch. A middle-aged man and a young boy who I took to be his son were walking along and looking in the windows of the stores. They looked happy, content, and I thought back to Damien’s story about his father and how sad it must have been for everyone that he didn’t live to see his first grandchild. “It was all a bit ridiculous with Studly Santa, I’ll grant you, but I think Damien kind of needed the pick-me-up.”

  I told Daniel about Damien’s father and how sad the young man had looked as he’d recounted the story. Daniel said, “That is a shame.” He let out a long sigh as he watched a miniature Yorkshire Terrier try to lift its leg high enough to pee on the bottom of a lamp post. “How long ago was that?”

  I thought a moment and tried to remember if Damien had told me. “You know, I don’t know. I’m not sure he said. Seemed recent though.” I stood and resisted the urge to press my luck and try to pull Daniel up beside me. He was right. I could injure myself again at any moment.

  As we walked back to the shop, I thought about my parents, how lucky I was to still have them both with me – both in the fact that they were alive and that they were, at this moment, standing at the doorway of my shop admiring Marcus’s Christmas tree.

  Daniel greeted them, said he looked forward to dinner later, and kissed me on the cheek before heading back to his garage. Thursday nights had become a sort of family night. We ordered carry-out on a rotating basis so that once a month or so Dad got to bring in brisket, French fries, and hush puppies and Mom couldn’t complain. We usually ate at their condo, and their dog Benji got to party down on the leftovers. Tonight, though, given my injury and the two flights of stairs between the car and my parents’ house, we were settling in at my place, Benji included. Fortunately, Mart had tidied up the night before because by the time I got home from work each night this week, I’d been too tired to do anything but drop onto the couch for some mindless TV. My mom would have a fit if she saw I took my pants off in the living room not once, but twice. It was brisket night, though, so I might have gotten away with my slovenliness since Mom was sure to be trying to curtail Dad’s intake of slow-cooked beef.

  * * *

  By the time dinner rolled around, I was again exhausted – scooting was far more tiring than walking – but I did resist the urge to slither out of my dress pants in the living room, but only just barely. I only stayed out of pjs because I’d worn jeans to work that day. If it had been dress pants, my parents might have seen more of me than they’d seen since I was five.

  Mom and Dad had let themselves in already, and so the house was filled with the scent of spices and fried bread. It smelled like comfort, and I was all in. Mart was joining us tonight because, well, this was her house, too, and I was glad. Mart was every bit my mom’s favorite, especially since Mart had begun giving Mom bottles of wine on the regular since she got so many and we didn’t want to kill our livers. When I came in, Mart and Mom were on the couch, a bottle of wine on the coffee table and three glasses out, two already full. Mom filled mine before I even sat down, and I took a sip of a big, heady zinfandel that had hints of pepper. The fact that I thought of wine and pepper in the same moment told me I’d talked too much wine with Mart.

  Daniel arrived a few minutes after me, and Mayhem, Taco, and Benji did a quick sniff and greet before collapsing on the veritable den of dog beds by the blazing fire. Within moments, three distinct snores rose from the cushions, and Aslan looked first at me and then at them as if to say, “Despicable creatures. I would never” before she curled into a ball and began her usual wheeze-breathing against her left paw.

  Dad poured Daniel a beer in a chilled mug, and it was only then that I realized my parents had been here, well, long enough to chill a mug. “When did you guys get here?”

  Dad looked at Mom, and she looked away. I knew then, something was going on. “Oh, just a bit ago,” Dad said.

  I sighed and caught Daniel’s eye. He shrugged and looked away, and then, I knew he was in on it.

  Next, I turned to Mart, and she smiled. It was an easy smile. Natural, even, which told me I was the only one not in the know.

  “Okay, someone spill it. What’s going on?” My stomach was dancing, and I couldn’t tell if I was excited about the prospect of something amazing or terrified that this surprise might be terrible.

  Mom looked at Dad, who looked at Daniel, who looked at Mart, and I followed the train of questions about who would tell me. Then I started to stand as Mom said, “John Green is coming to dinner tomorrow night.”

  I dropped back into my chair and looked from one face to the other, hoping something in these faces I loved would translate that news into language I could understand. Mart must have seen my confusion because she moved over and sat on the arm of my chair. “Harvey, your mom and dad invited John Green to have dinner with us here at our house tomorrow night, and he said yes.”

  Suddenly, the words jolted into place in my head, and I squawked, “What?!” I put my hands against my chest and again wondered if I was feeling excited or terrified. My heart was leaping, so maybe it was both. “Here? With us? In our house? What?!”

  Daniel knelt down in front of me, and I took a deep breath. “Yes, here, with all of us, Henri and Bear, and Tuck and Lu. Your mom called his publicist and invited him. Apparently, he’s coming into town early to enjoy a weekend away, so he said he’d be delighted to have a home-cooked meal.”

  Panic set in full-scale then as the idea of having to cook for nine people while I was on a scooter, had a major event the following day, and still needed to manage my bookstore hit me. I started to have a little trouble breathing until Daniel caught my eye again. “Breathe, Harvey. Your parents came early today and cleaned, and they’ll be here to manage the house tomorrow afternoon. I’m still picking Mr. Green up from the airport, and Mart will be here to help Lu with the food. You don’t have to do anything except come home, be yourself, and eat tamales. Everything else is taken care of.”

  My eyes still felt like they might pop out of my head, but I was feeling oxygen reach my brain again and began to breath more slowly. “Okay. Okay,” I said. “But what about the store? I mean, I feel bad leaving Marcus to manage The Swaggering Santa tonight, and I don’t want t
o ask him to do it two nights in a row.”

  Dad walked over and handed me my glass of wine. “Marcus is fine to take care of the store tomorrow night, and Tiffany will be there, too. Stephen and Walter also offered to help out as elves, so there’s nothing to worry about, Sweetheart,” Dad said.

  I pictured Stephen and Walter in elf costumes and immediately conjured a vision of David Sedaris as an elf in Santaland Diaries and started to laugh. My two gay friends dressed as elves just like one of the most famous gay authors in the world. It was too spot-on to be casual, and so I had to ask. “Really as elves, or was that just as figure of speech?” I could barely get the question out I was laughing so hard.

  “Oh no, they have outfits,” Mart said. “They are thinking what I know you are thinking. Galen has promised to come by and photograph things in the hopes that Sedaris himself might see the photos.”

  Then, I completely lost it. The idea of my friends as elves being seen on social media by David Sedaris. John Green being in my house for dinner. It was all so amazing that I could not stop laughing.

  So my friends and parents helped me to my feet, rolled me to the table, and piled my plate with brisket until I was forced to eat instead of laugh.

  After my belly was full and my giggles curtailed, I started thinking about the next night, and my nerves returned. “I can’t sustain an entire evening’s conversation with one of my favorite authors. I’ll be too self-conscious. I don’t want to say something stupid, compliment some book that only a dolt would read, or something.”

  Mart rolled her eyes. “Harvey, you are the first person in the world to say no book is beneath anyone, so why would you be worried about that? And you can talk books for hours.”

  “Plus,” Mom added with nonchalance, “we won’t be here all evening anyway. John wants to see your store after dinner.”

  I choked on my pumpkin pie. “What?!”