Death by Coffee (24 page)

I knew I was going to regret it, but I asked anyway. “How do you determine who the winner is?”

She gave me a look like I’d just asked her if the world was round. It was Albert who answered. “We hold a public discussion. We alternate towns, and Pine Hills has the honor of hosting the event this year. We discuss the book among ourselves during the evening for a week and then we have the big public discussion. Quite a lot of people turn out for it. The crowd votes for the winner.”

I had a hard time believing what I was hearing. I mean, a book club competition. Really? I plowed on. “Doesn’t that skew the results?” They both gave me a blank look. “Won’t the people from Pine Hills vote for the Pine Hills team, and vice versa?”

“Oh no,” Rita said. “This is much too important for that.”

If she said so, I wasn’t going to argue. None of this was making much sense to me.

“So you are going to have the meetings here?” I asked, still trying to feel my way through it.

“We are,” Rita said. “We usually hold them at the library, but Jimmy has kindly agreed to move it here this year.” She leaned toward me as if she was about to share some deep, dark secret. “He’s the local librarian, you know.”

Jimmy gave me something of an annoyed smile, telling me he wasn’t all that happy with the move. He wore a sweater vest and brown slacks with loafers that just about screamed “librarian.” His hair was buzzed short and his jaw square, juxtaposing the nerd with military. He was a good six feet tall and I caught a hint of muscle beneath his plaid shirt.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said in a surprisingly nasal voice. “It’s Jimmy Carlton.” He put his arm around the short, round woman next to him. “And this is my wife, Cindy.”

Since introductions were already started, I turned an expectant look on the Cherry Valley group.

“Vivian Flowers,” the oldest member said with a shrug when my eyes landed on her. She looked to be at least eighty, and probably weighed not much more. Her dress was covered in white lilies. I wondered if she chose it because of her name or if she simply liked the pattern.

The next man in line squinted at me through black-rimmed thick glasses. “Orville Rush.” He was clutching the paperback copy of his book close to his chest. Even then, his hands shook. His hair was but a wisp on his head.

The tall man Rita had indicated earlier smiled at me. He wore a fedora pulled down low over his eyes and an unbuttoned suit coat over a white shirt. “David Smith.” He tipped his hat toward me and I nearly swooned. The man’s voice did something strange to my insides. He was clearly from across the pond if his accent was any indication.

“Sara Huffington,” the woman with the pearl necklace said in a bored tone of voice. She snuggled in closer to the Brit and promptly ignored the rest of us.

“And as you know, this is Krissy Hancock, daughter to our beloved author.” Rita put an arm around me. “She has kindly agreed to host the event this year, so I do hope you can show her some respect.” The last was aimed at Albert, who looked away, frustrated.

I tore my eyes from David and handed Rita the teapot. “I guess I should get back to work then.” The argument seemed to be over, and I wanted to get as far away from these people as I could before another fight broke out. “It was nice to meet you all.”

“Likewise,” David said in his silky, smooth voice. It was followed by a wink.

I made a little squeak before spinning and hurrying away, Vicki hot on my heels.

“Cute, isn’t he?” she asked as soon as we were back downstairs.

“Uh-huh.” It was all I could manage. I fanned myself off.

“Do you think it will be okay to allow them to have their meetings here? If they argue like that all of the time . . .” Vicki looked worriedly back up the stairs.

“I think they’ll be fine.”

And if it meant I got to sit back and watch David Smith while I worked, I didn’t think I’d mind a little arguing, either. I mean, what could possibly be the harm?