Tome to Tomb

by ACF Bookens

  As would I by my fire with a lap blanket, my chubby cat Aslan, and my hound dog Mayhem. Plus, I wouldn't have that pesky hum of the generator. My bookstore was closed for the day, and I was going to enjoy the quiet. Alone. It was blissful.

  My best friend and roommate Mart had stayed over at her boyfriend Symeon's house the night before, and my fiancé Daniel was out and about with his tow truck helping those brave souls who thought they could drive in snow but couldn't or who had to drive because of work out of ditches. He'd be gone all day most likely, so I was already hunkering down with Angie Thomas's new book Concrete Rose and coffee. I could pretend I'd miss Daniel - and I would in a mild kind of way that gave me a little pause when I thought too hard about it - but mostly I was just giddy with the quiet. The quiet of snow was absolute, and it felt like my spirit needed that relief.

  * * *

  I had just made it through the first half of Thomas's stellar book when my phone dinged. I rolled my eyes, expecting Mom to be whining about how she can't stand to be trapped in her luxury condo on the water for one more minute, and picked up my phone. It was Daniel. "Headed down the shore to help with a multi-car pile-up near the Bay Bridge. Don't think I'll make it back safely tonight. I’m sorry. Stay warm."

  I sighed, let myself ponder the lack of “I love you” in his message for a minute, and then remembered that he was out helping people. . . and that this meant I had the entire day to do with as I wished. "Oh, I"m sure everyone will be so grateful. Drive safely," I replied in kind with a pang of something I wasn’t willing to consider. Then I tucked the phone under my leg and started reading again.

  Sometime around 3pm and 18 slices of cheese and a bowl of popcorn later, I unfolded myself from under Aslan, much to her annoyance, and decided to don all the cold weather clothing I owned - scarf, hat with ear flaps, a massive eggplant-purple parka, and my fleece-lined boots to go for a walk. Mayhem would have gladly done her business at the edge of the porch to avoid getting her feet wet, but given the opportunity to pull me bodily through snow banks, she managed to muster up a tail wag as I put on her leash.

  Once we were out the door, the bracing cold and the bright light of the newly-showing sun told me we'd made the right call. I could feel the blood starting to pick up in my circulatory system just to keep my body warm. So Mayhem and I headed out through the six or so inches of show that my friends in the northern climes would scoff out as "a dusting." Here, though, this was a named Blizzard, Blizzard Paco. I didn't understand this phenomenon of naming every storm, not just hurricanes, but at least I knew how to address the air around me as I walked. "Paco, thanks for this. I appreciate the day off and the beauty. So yeah, thanks," I said out loud as Mayhem and I turned onto the wonderland that was our town's Main Street after a snow storm.

  Everything was glittering, and there were tufts of snow on the streetlamps and awnings. A road crew had managed to do one pass up the street, so the piles of snow by the sidewalk were substantial. Up ahead, I could see some of my fellow shopkeepers beginning to shovel their square feet of sidewalk. I sighed and decided to do my duty, too, even though I kind of wanted to simply go on back home, finish Thomas's book, and binge the new season of Glow Up that I'd been saving for a special day.

  I trudged over to the hardware store and bought their only snow shovel. It was a massive thing, bright yellow and built like a front-end loader, but it did the trick. Within a few minutes, I had the sidewalk in front of my store clear, and I was making my way across the parking lot between my shop and the garden center. Mayhem had insisted on going into the bookstore, so she was now watching me intently from the warmth of my shop's front window. She had such a hard life.

  I was just heading back to stow my new shovel at my shop after digging out a couple more store fronts for friends when I heard my name. I looked up from where'd I'd been trying to pry individual snow flakes from the concrete and saw Max Davies, the man who owned the French restaurant up the street from me, smiling and waving. Well, I think it was what you'd call a wave. Max's hand moved like it was a mechanized part of an early robot, all stiff and awkward. But he was definitely calling me, and soon his stiff waved turned into an awkward beckoning motion.

  I shot Mayhem a look and secretly hoped she'd nudge the store door open and make a break for it so I could chase her down in the snow rather than talk to Max, but she just looked back at me, forehead wrinkled, like she was enjoying the strange show. I sighed, propped my shovel against my store door, and walked down to Max.

  Max Davies was a nice enough man if you liked arrogant, know-it-alls who think they are God's gift to, well, you in particular. Max had a serious thing for me, and while I always felt awkward saying that when someone asked why he kissed my hand for so long on every greeting, it was the truth, a truth I hated. He'd been pursuing me in his really off-base way ever since I'd moved to town more than a year ago, and despite the fact that Daniel and I were engaged, he hadn't slowed down in his pursuits at all. More than once I'd thought about telling him what he could do with his slobbering hand kisses, but St. Marin's is a small town. . . and I didn't want drama. . . okay, I didn't want conflict. Drama just seemed to be part of Max's way in the world.

  Now, he was grinning at me like he'd just seen snow for the first time, and I braced myself. This couldn't be good. "Hi Max. What's up?" I said as I stopped a safe two feet away and kept my hands in my pockets.

  "Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he said with his fake French accent. Max was from Baltimore, and while he made the best risotto I'd ever had, there was nothing actually French about him. "I see you have been working hard for hours, and I wanted to invite you in for your favorite to help warm you up."

  I looked at my watch. I'd been shoveling for 30 minutes, not exactly hours, but I was cold . . . and if he was talking about his mushroom risotto, he was right. It was my favorite, and I was starving. Still, I hesitated.

  The problem was that Max often thought I should like things even when I didn't. One time, he'd brought me a chocolate dessert flavored with orange liqueur after I'd told him specifically that I didn't like chocolate and fruit together. He had made some comment about me just needing help to train my palate, and I had shoved the dessert in front of Mart, who had devoured it with revenge-filled glee. So while I was tempted by the idea of risotto, I couldn't be sure he'd actually give me risotto. Plus, I could be sure he would be there, and that alone was just about enough reason to walk away.

  But I was cold and hungry, and a quick scan of the street told me that no one was going to come, not even my dog, to rescue me. So I nodded and trudged along behind him into his restaurant. It was warm inside, and Max had a fire roaring in the fireplace that was the centerpiece of the room. I could hear someone knocking around in the kitchen. For a moment, I wondered if it was Symeon, Mart's boyfriend, but then I remembered that her text earlier had said he'd taken the day and that Max was okay with it because the sous chef was available for the limited fare they'd offer to anyone who stopped by. Anyone being me, it seemed. The rest of the dining room was empty.

  Max gestured for me to sit in the front window, and I wondered if he wanted to use me as bait for other customers. But then I realized, with a little surprise, that it was actually the best seat in the house. The raised platform by the window gave me a view up and down Main Street, and I could see the white lights that most shopkeepers left up in their windows year round reflecting off the snow as dusk began to settle in. The sky was that pearl-gray of a winter's afternoon, and with the slight breeze off the water that was picking up tendrils of snow, it looked like a postcard. I found myself strangely grateful that Max had invited me in.

  Even when he showed up with a warm mug of wine without asking me if I'd like any, I couldn't muster up enough snark to comment. Instead, I took the heavy ceramic mug in both hands and took a sip of the sweet white wine that was spicy and lemony, and then I sighed. It was really good. Max then brought me a salad full of spicy arugula and dressed with a vinagarette that was tangy and r
ich. Finally, he carried over a beautiful, ceramic bowl full of his mushroom risotto, and I almost groaned out loud. I don't know what he did to make that dish so amazing, but on this evening in this setting, it felt like I was going to be eating ambrosia, the food of the gods.

  After Max set down the bowl, I thought he might decide to join me, especially given the quiet in his restaurant, but instead, he smiled and walked away. I was grateful. There was something about this meal in this place by myself that felt sacred, special, and while I knew that I should be missing Daniel, I also knew that some of the most memorable times in my life were when I had chosen to be alone. I had a feeling this would be one of those times.

  I savored every morsel of that risotto and had just set down my spoon when Max returned with a slice of apple gallette that looked divine. It was caramelized on the bottom, and across the top, Max had drizzled just the lightest bit of cinnamon glaze. As he set the plate in front of me, he said, "I decided ice cream might be too much, but if you'd like some--"

  I put up my hand. "No, this is perfect." I looked up at my host and smiled, maybe really smiled at him for the first time. "Thank you, Max. This has been an incredible meal." And I meant it. Somehow, this was exactly what I needed to end this restful, magical day.

  I ate my dessert and waited for Max to return so I could ask for my bill. When he came back, he handed me a waiter's notebook, and inside it said, "For Harvey. With my compliments. Thank you for treasuring my food as I treasure you." I stared at the note and smiled. Then I looked up and waved to Max who was standing at the bar with a small smile on his face.

  I never would have guessed it, but tonight Max had shown that some woman, some day would win a fine man's heart. I smiled and bowed my head. Then, I slipped on my coat and hat and headed toward the door.

  The sun was almost down, and I took one last deep breath of the warm air before I stepped back into the cold again. Then, I heard Max yell, "Get help, Harvey. Get help!"

  Bless my heart, I almost didn't turn around because I assumed this was some ruse on Max's part to get me back in so he could ruin a lovely evening with skeeziness. But something about his tone of voice sounded authentic, so I stepped back inside and looked around. He was nowhere to be seen. "Max?"

  "Over here, Harvey. Call 911." His voice was coming from behind the bar.

  As I rushed over, I took out my phone and dialed, but as soon as the operator picked up, I realized I didn't know what to tell her. So I jumped up and stretched over the bar so I could see. There, crumpled in a heap, was a young woman. "Is she alive, Max?"

  He stared up at me and gave a little shake of his head. "I don't think so."

  * * *

  Order your copy of Scripted To Slay here - books2read.com/scriptedtoslay

  Harvey and Marcus’s Book Recommendations

  Here, you will find all the books and authors recommended in Tome To Tomb to add to your never-ending to-read-list!

  When The Bees Fly Home by Andrea Cheng

  The Quilts of Gee’s Bend by William Arnett

  The Littlest Angel by Charles Tazewell

  When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanthi

  On Death and Dying by Elizabeth Kubler Ross

  The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

  The Fault in our Stars by John Green

  The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby

  The Nancy Drew Series - Carolyn Keene

  Snow Day by Billy Coffey

  The Cat’s Eye by Margaret Atwood

  Turtles All The Way Down by John Green

  Herzog by Saul Bellow

  A Visitation of Spirits by Randall Kenan

  Angle Of Repose by Wallace Stegner

  Santaland Diaries by David Sedaris

  Looking For Alaska by John Green

  All The Devils Are Here by Louise Penny

  Recipes for Love and Murder by Sally Andrew

  Between Boardslides by Tony Hawk

  Let’s Take The Long Way Home by Gail Caldwell

  Stiff by Mary Roach

  The Beautiful Mystery by Louise Penny

  I recommend these books highly. Feel free to drop me a line at acfbookens@andilit.com and let me know if you read any or have books you think I should read. Thanks!

  Happy Reading,

  ACF

  Want to read about Harvey’s First Sleuthing Expedition?

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  Also by ACF Bookens

  Publishable By Death

  Entitled To Kill

  Bound to Execute

  Plotted For Murder

  Scripted To Slay - Coming January 2021

  About the Author

  ACF Bookens lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, where the mountain tops remind her that life is a rugged beauty of a beast worthy of our attention. When she’s not writing, she enjoys chasing her son around the house with the full awareness she will never catch him, cross-stitching while she binge-watches police procedurals, and reading everything she can get her hands on. Find her at bookens.andilit.com.

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