Tome to Tomb

by ACF Bookens

  By the time we got there, the crowd was pretty thin. Some parents and children were in line to see Santa, and a few die-hard fans had held out all day. But mostly it was just the normal crowd from Friday night – a few college students with coffee and a stack of books they wouldn’t buy (a practice I encouraged because I had loved it so much when I was in college), some couples on dates, and a few townsfolk who just visited the shop to find books. Green signed a few autographs, and we sold more of his books. He asked for a photo of himself with Marcus and Rocky by their Christmas tree display and promptly put it on his Instagram account, with my permission, as if he needed it.

  While Marcus gave him the full tour, I did take a minute to check our supply of his books – especially given his new social media shout out – and I was glad to see we still had plenty because tomorrow was bound to be wild with Green fans.

  After a tour and a short spurt of signing more books, a thing he volunteered to do for me, Green thanked us for dinner, thanked me for the tour, and told us he looked forward to the next night. I thanked him profusely, embarrassingly profusely, and watched him leave with Daniel, who was taking him to his bed and breakfast. As soon as they drove away, I collapsed into my throne and stared. “What just happened?” I said to Mom as she sat down and began rubbing my feet.

  “You just lived a dream, my girl. You just lived a dream.”

  I nodded and let my head fall back against the seat. Yes, I had, and I was so exhilarated and so exhausted at the same time that I could barely form words. It was amazing.

  * * *

  Back at our house, Daniel told Mart and me that he had suggested Green visit the maritime museum and the art co-op the next day, and I was thrilled. I’d felt terrible not being able to have everyone who helped out come to dinner, even though my friends had understood, so I was glad that Daniel had talked up Cate’s and Lucas’s places.

  “I tried to mention everyone, so I think he may come downtown, too, stop in Elle’s store, maybe visit Woody’s workshop, too.”

  I sighed. “Thank you, Daniel.” I looked at Mart, “and thank you. Those bottles of wine were the special vintage from the winery, weren’t they?”

  Mart grinned. “Turns out my boss’s daughter loves the Vlogbrothers, and so she donated for the cause. Plus, she’s a big supporter of hospice, too.”

  “Speaking of which,” Daniel said, “what’s the tally on fundraising so far?”

  I sat up straighter, eager to share the news that Mom had shared with me on the way home earlier. She was our financial wizard, and so she’d been keeping up with our donations. “Well, as of tonight, we’re at over fifteen thousand dollars, and that’s without including the book sales.”

  “Whoa. That seems like more than we made from ticket sales,” Mart said.

  “Oh yes, people have been donating directly, even if they didn’t buy tickets. Mom expects we’ll get some more gifts like that tomorrow, too,” I added.

  Mart, Daniel, and I sipped our hot chocolate and stared into the fire. I let out a long slow breath and felt the frisson of unease I’d been tamping down rise up against my collarbones. A murderer was still out there, and no matter how good my night, that fact still haunted me.

  16

  When the sun hit my eyes the next morning, I woke from a sleep so deep that it took me a minute to remember where I was. I’d been dreaming about John Green’s dog Willie and the pack of pups that my friends and I had. They were a dog-scooter team, and they were in the competition for the state title. Mayhem was the lead dog, and Taco was the mascot, his legs being too short to actually run with the pack. In my dream they were just about to start the race when a green slime monster carrying a giant needle had charged into the crowd. Fortunately, Santa had stepped out to save the day, and the team went on to win the race.

  It was one of those dreams that felt like it should have made me happy but actually just haunted my first minutes awake with a sense of foreboding. As I showered and opted for a sparkly headband and some careful pomading of my curls, I pondered what it could mean. I’d once heard someone say that everyone in my dreams was me, but I was having a hard time putting together exactly which version of me was the slime monster and which part was Santa.

  I tried to shake off the feeling of gloom the dream had brought along with it, and when I stepped into the kitchen, Mart’s huge griddle full of bacon helped with that goal a lot. I snagged a piece from the paper towel-covered plate by the stove and sat down. Ever since we’d moved here, Mart had been cooking power breakfasts for me on the big days at the shop. It was a kindness that I was always grateful for – verbally and internally – but today more than any other day, I wanted her to know how much I appreciated her.

  While she flipped the bacon, I slid a folder toward her. She looked at it, looked at me, and flipped the last few pieces before picking it up. She opened the top and then stepped backwards. “What in the world?” She met my gaze. “What is this?”

  “You know what it is,” I said with a smirk.

  “Well, yes, since I was privileged enough to learn to read, I know what it says, but why? This is too much, Harvey? Why?” She stared at me, and I tried to keep my eyes on her, too. But the bacon was crackling, and my eyes slipped to the griddle.

  She laughed and began removing pieces to the plate as I scooted over and poured us both big glasses of orange juice and prepped the toast. “It’s a thank you, Mart. For everything. For moving here with me. For covering my part of the mortgage when I couldn’t. But mostly just because you are amazing, the best friend I could ever have, and I wanted you to have something special. Just for you.”

  Mart was not a person prone to tears, but I saw one slide down her cheek before she discreetly brushed it away. “Thank you, Harvey. But this really is too much.”

  “You’ve always wanted to go there, Mart, and I knew you’d never buy yourself tickets. So now you and Symeon can eat gross-flavored jelly beans and just relax at Hogwarts.”

  Mart was the biggest Harry Potter fan I’d ever met, and that was saying something because as a bookstore owner, I had met people who had the lightning bolt scar tattooed on their forehead. So I got her and Symeon two weekend passes to Harry Potter World. The passes were good through the next year, so I hoped she’d actually take the time off work and enjoy herself.

  “Wait, you aren’t coming with me?” She looked a little hurt, and I almost said, “well I could,” but then a smile turned up the corner of her mouth. “He does love him some Sirius Black.”

  I laughed. “He would. He’s a man of good taste.”

  Mart hugged me and then handed me a plate with six pieces of bacon. She was too good to me.

  * * *

  When I arrived at the store at eight, a full two hours before we were set to open, the place was already abuzz. Customers were milling around outside, hoping that Green would make another appearance, I imagined, and inside, Marcus, Rocky, and Tiffany were straightening and reshelving the disorder that lingered from the late night before.

  But the biggest hullaballoo was coming from a table I had not set up or asked to be set up. Behind it, my mother was holding court with Elle, Woody, Cate, Pickle, and Daniel sitting before her with stacks of paper at hand. “What’s this?” I asked as I swiped one of Daniel’s papers before he could stop me.

  “Support Hospice with Your Purchase or Your Gift,” I read. “Mom, you had these printed? For the store?” I was feeling a little overwhelmed at Mom’s thoughtfulness, but I should have realized she was going to go all out on this.

  “Well, yes, some for here and some for the event tonight. There will be lots of time for people to give during the reception and beforehand.”

  I staggered a bit and almost lost my balance on my scooter. “What reception?” I had not heard one word about a reception.

  Normally, when the bell over my shop door rings, I get excited, but this time, when it was accompanied by Max Davies’s voice shouting a “Hello, Mon Chéri,” I cringed.

>   Mom gave me a stiff smile and said, “Well, it was kind of last minute. Max offered to cater a hors d’oeuvres reception for us, and I thought it was a great idea. Give people a chance to learn a bit more about hospice and the services they offer at the end of life before Mr. Green reads.”

  I looked at my mom and took a deep breath. It was a good idea, but the fact that Max was doing it . . . Daniel squeezed my hand as he said, “It’s for a good cause, Harvey.”

  My eyes shifted to his face, and he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. It was the face he made when he wanted me to laugh, and it worked. I nodded. “It is. Definitely.” Then I took a deep breath and turned to Max, who was looming over Daniel’s shoulder, apparently waiting for my gratitude. “Thank you, Max. That’s a thoughtful contribution.”

  Max stepped around Daniel and forced my hand from my fiancé’s before taking it in his own. “I do care deeply about the cause, of course, but this gift is for you, Harvey, because you give so much.”

  I heard Daniel cough from somewhere near Max’s rear end and hoped he wasn’t getting any ideas about sticking it to his rival. But then his head poked out, and he made that face again, and I smiled. “Thank you, Max. Truly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to the store. See you tonight?” I hadn’t wanted to ask, but I needed to know if I should prepare myself for an evening of this slimy adoration.

  “Oh, no, I’m afraid I can’t make it. I’ll be managing the store. Symeon will be on site, though, to make sure things go smoothly.” He took my hand to his lips again. “And of course if you need me, I’ll be there in an instant.”

  I tried to smile but was sure that it came out as a grimace as I pried my hand away from Max’s lips and veritably soared on my scooter into the back room. Daniel came in seconds later and helped me sit down, an assist that was necessary because I was pretty much collapsing in laughter.

  “He just doesn’t get it,” Daniel said.

  “Oh, he gets it,” I added. “He just doesn’t care. It’s kind of sad actually, but he really thinks he can steal me away from you.”

  Daniel’s eyes got wide, and he stuck out his bottom lip. “Should I be worried?”

  I kissed that lip and said, “Well, maybe a little.”

  He playfully shoved me away, and my scooter sent me flying backwards into a surprisingly soft landing in a big pile of packing material that we’d been giving to customers who needed to ship gifts. Daniel rushed over, and this time he looked genuinely scared. I wasn’t hurt, though, and my prat fall coming right after a visit from the man who actually caused my accident sent me into a fit of giggles so strong that I couldn’t even get myself out of the bubble wrap and craft paper.

  “Just leave me here and tell John,” I couldn’t believe he’d told me to call him John, “‘thank you’ for me.” I let myself sink into the pile even more deeply and gave into the laughter.

  A few moments later, I caught my breath and put my hands down to push myself to standing and felt something roll under my fingers. I reached down, thinking one of us had dropped a bag of pens or something into the pile by accident and came up with an entire bag of syringes just like the one Woody had found by the sleigh.

  Daniel pulled me to my feet and slid my scooter under my leg. “More syringes.”

  I sighed. “Yep. Time to call Tuck . . . again.”

  “A substation here is sounding like more and more of a good idea.” I nodded as I took out my phone.

  * * *

  Tuck arrived within minutes, collected the bag of syringes, and headed out to do whatever he needed to do to figure out why they were there. It made no sense for those syringes to be there. After all, the murder had happened in the front of the store, and these syringes were found in a place where customers weren’t allowed. But still, here they were, and that had to mean something.

  What it might mean, however, was either someone who worked at my store was a killer or our killer was wily enough to slip into the back room unnoticed. When I said that to Rocky, she brought up a good point. “But why hide them there? I mean it looked like a new package. Why stash them in the back room if they are just regular insulin syringes? I’d think they aren’t that hard to come by. “

  I was leaning against the front register just before we were set to open, and I couldn’t shake the memory of my dream with the slime monster and the thought of this package of syringes. “That’s a really good question, and maybe Tuck can give us some insight on that when he comes back. Until then, we have a crowd to serve.”

  Rocky stood up and looked out the front windows. “Holy Moly!” She turned toward the café, “Mom, it’s going to be a big one.”

  Rocky’s mom stepped out of their small back kitchen with a tower of cinnamon rolls and said, “I think we’re ready.” I hoped she was right because the line at the door was down the block, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.

  But I flipped on the sign, unlocked the door, and smiled as a crowd streamed in with Galen and Mack leading the way with Lucas and Sasquatch close behind. Stephen and Walter came in as the crowd thinned and gave me a hug. “Thank goodness you opened the doors. We were just about out of small talk,” Stephen said as he headed toward the café.

  I looked from him to Walter and back again. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Oh, Daniel didn’t tell you? He asked us to come down and warm up the line, keep them happy while they waited. So we did. It was actually really fun.” He winked at me and followed his husband into the café.

  I looked over at Daniel and pointed at our friends. He shrugged and smiled, and I shook my head. My people always knew just what to do to help.

  I could already feel the throb building in my leg, so I scooted over to my throne where Rocky had pre-delivered a latte, Marcus had set up my laptop with the order screen, and Mom had deposited a set of flyers. Then, I started talking to the guests, beginning with my favorite customer, Galen.

  “You didn’t have to come, Galen. I mean, you’re here enough already. I love it, but I know this isn’t really your cup of tea,” I smiled at him.

  “If you must know, Harvey,” he leaned closer from the matching wingback chair that Marcus had added next to mine, “I love John Green’s books. They’re just a bit off-brand for me to talk about them too much, you know.”

  Galen’s hair was silver, but his sense of social media savvy was expert level. And he was right, of course. He was known for visiting bookstores and reviewing mysteries. So YA fiction was a bit out of his crowd’s taste, and yet, he had promoted this evening’s event with gusto.

  “Still, thank you for all you’ve done. You didn’t have to use so much of your pull for this event.” I squeezed his hand on the arm of his chair.

  He squeezed back. “I know I didn’t, but hospice is such an amazing organization. I’ve had friends call them in for their loved ones, and they’ve never regretted that choice.” He looked over, saw Mack comfortably puddled up with his three friends in the shop window and said, “Since I’m ‘childless’ for a minute, might as well shop, eh?”

  I chuckled and watched him head toward the cozy mysteries. Galen was spry and healthy, but his words about his friends drove home that he was on the downhill slope of his living days. That fact made me sad, but not despondent. I’d learned, especially as Mart had been with her mom in her last days, that death is part of life, a really brutal, devastating, but fruitful, part of life if we let it be.

  Mart dropped into the chair next to me, and I jolted. “Oh goodness. I didn’t even see you come in.”

  “I used the back door. Didn’t feel like having to push my way into the front.” She leaned back and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “You look thoughtful. What’s up?”

  I looked over at my friend and said, “Actually, I was just thinking about your mom.”

  She sat forward. “You were. Why is that?” Mart had told me long ago that the most painful thing about the lingering grief she felt over her mom’s death was that people were afraid
to talk about her. I’d done my best to always bring her up anytime she came to mind, to let Mart know I remembered her, too.

  “Oh, Galen was talking about hospice, and I was thinking about how helpful the nurses and other volunteers were when your mom was sick, about how they helped us all protect her when she didn’t want to keep hearing about diets or treatments or prayer when she was comfortable with her choice to not get treatment.” It had been incredibly hard for Mart to watch her mom have to fend off person after person who wanted her to go to some camp for cancer patients or to just try this one more herb. Her mom had chosen her path for her last days, and still even her closest friends couldn’t put aside their own sadness about what that path meant and just support her. It had been heartbreaking to watch, but hospice had been profoundly helpful about assisting Mart and her brother in setting boundaries to honor her mother’s wishes.

  Mart let out a long slow breath. “We are so scared to die that we can’t even let people die at peace with their choice to let it happen when it comes.”

  I reached over and intertwined my fingers with Mart’s. “We’ll know better,” I said.

  She smiled at me. “We will.” She sat up and leaned forward. “Today, though, we have a public to please and a big shindig to pull off. First things first – what are you wearing tonight?”

  I sighed. I hadn’t even given my outfit a second of thought, but of course, Mart had. “I have no idea. What am I wearing tonight?”

  “I laid out an outfit for you – long skirt, blazer, and that headband you’re wearing will go great with my mom’s vintage jewelry I thought you could wear.” Her voice kept getting more excited as she spoke. “I figured we’d leave here at four, and I would do your hair and make-up. I just picked up this new mascara, and I think . . .” She kept talking for a while, and I listened. But mostly I just knew I was in good hands with Mart, even as far as my mascara was concerned.