Murder of a Bookstore Babe (5 page)

“That was when I thought you hadn’t told anyone else.”

“As I explained to you, I only informed him before I accepted because of . . . Well, you know.” She was uncomfortable discussing Simon’s vow to win her back.

“Still.” Trixie sniffed. “You
did
tell someone.” A tear slid down her round cheek. “And it wasn’t me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Skye swallowed, touched by Trixie’s pain. “What else can I say?”

“You can say that you’ll help me save Tales and Treats.”

“Of course I will. I don’t want it to close any more than you do.” Skye hugged Trixie. “Pick me up at two for the grand opening.”

 

Skye was waiting on her front porch when Trixie’s car roared into the driveway. Skye checked to make sure the front door was locked, then walked down the steps and climbed into the passenger seat. A lot of people in Scumble River didn’t bother with deadbolts, but Skye had had a few too many close calls with deranged killers to leave her door open.

As Skye was buckling her seat belt, Trixie said, “I figured out how to find some dirt on Pru. I’ll use the Internet.”

“Really?” Skye asked, tucking her purse behind her legs. “How?”

“I’ll Google her.”

“Oh.” Skye had finally begun accepting that the computer was a viable tool, but she still wasn’t comfortable with some of its features, like search engines. “Every time I try to find information that way, I get a zillion hits and end up wasting more time than if I had just looked it up in a book.”

Trixie flung the Civic into gear and stepped on the gas. Her prized Mustang convertible was long gone, sold to pay off a debt, but she still drove as if she were racing on the NASCAR circuit. Skye gripped the dashboard as Trixie backed out of the driveway without even glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, stop flinching.” Trixie slowed to a modest sixty. “You know I’m a good driver.”

“How about all those tickets you’ve gotten?”

“The speed limits are ridiculous.” Trixie tossed her head. “I’ve never been in an accident.”

The constant acceleration and braking were making Skye motion sick, and she closed her eyes. Finally, the car stopped and Skye looked around. Trixie had parked the Honda nearly half a mile from the bookstore. “Can’t you get any closer? At this rate we could have walked from my house.”

“I circled twice.” Trixie checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “All the parking spots are filled with your cousin’s used-car inventory.”

“Shoot.” Skye got out of the Civic and tugged her black jeans into place. “I hope that doesn’t keep people away.”

“There was quite a crowd by the entrance, so I think today it’ll be okay. During normal business hours, when they aren’t giving away free refreshments, it might be a different story.” Trixie linked an arm with Skye’s, and they headed toward the shop. “Anyway, walking is good for you.”

“If that’s true, why does the mailman look like Jabba the Hutt?”

“You are so not funny.” Trixie snickered. A few minutes later, she said, “Look.”

“At what?” They were a block away from Tales and Treats, and all Skye could see was that the half dozen wrought-iron tables and chairs arranged in front of the large front window were fully occupied. “You knew it would be packed.”

“Not that.” Trixie pointed to the entrance. “That.”

“Crap.” Skye hadn’t expected Pru to rally her troops so soon, but a small group of women holding protest signs was marching in a circle in front of the store’s entrance.

“Get a load of Pru’s Crew,” Trixie hissed.

“Yeah, but where’s their leader?” Skye asked.

As Trixie lifted her hands in puzzlement, one of the women thrust a leaflet into it. “Have you found Jesus Christ?” The picketer was a young blonde with long straight hair held back with a cornflower blue headband.

“Yes.” Trixie crumpled the flyer and deliberately dropped it on the ground. “He was behind the sofa the whole time.”

“If you’re a good Christian, you won’t go in,” the blonde persisted.

Skye gripped her friend’s arm, not sure what Trixie would do, but before she could say anything, an older woman with snow-white hair and a face that looked like a dried apple joined the first and said, “Now, dearies, just turn around and go home. I’m sure sweet girls like you have no idea this place is a den of iniquity.”

“The hell we don’t.” Trixie narrowed her eyes. “Censorship is the real evil.”

While Trixie was arguing with the protesters, Skye read the various protest signs. ROMANCES ROT YOUR BRAIN. SCIENCE FICTION IS THE WORK OF THE DEVIL. DO YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER READING PORN? STICK TO JANE AUSTEN AND JULES VERNE.

Skye didn’t catch what was said, but suddenly the Alice in Wonderland look-alike slapped Trixie in the face.

“That was assault!” Skye moved in front of her friend. “Which means if all of you don’t get out of our way, I’m calling the police.”

“Just try it!” Alice screamed.

The protesters linked arms and chanted, “No cash for this trash.”

The picketers formed a circle around Skye and Trixie when they attempted to walk into the store. Skye blew out an irritated breath, then grabbed her cell phone from her purse, but before she could dial, two of the male demonstrators pinned her arms to her sides. Trixie seized the waist of one of the men, but another guy took hold of Trixie’s shoulders.

Just as Skye was wondering if they would end up forming the world’s record for a human chain, a long-legged, middle-aged redhead whom Skye knew all too well, dressed in hot pink capris, a matching spandex halter, and stilettos, barreled into the fray. She wielded her huge magenta pocketbook like a giant flyswatter, whacking protesters aside as if they were mosquitoes. A sturdily built teenage girl wearing cropped camo cargo pants, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops was right behind her swinging a backpack with the same precision.

“How can you do this?” the dried-apple-faced woman sobbed as the demonstrators scattered. “Aren’t you concerned about the morals of your community?”

“I used to care about stuff like that,” the redhead said, raising a perfectly plucked brow, “but I take a pill for that now.”

Once Skye had stopped laughing, she thanked her rescuers, then turned to the redhead. “Bunny, what are you doing here?”

Bunny Reid, aka Skye’s ex-boyfriend’s mother, was a former Las Vegas dancer with a penchant for clothes from Victoria’s Secret and men who broke her heart. She was the last person Skye would have expected to see at a bookstore.

Bunny enveloped her in an Obsession-scented hug. “Frannie talked me into it.” Bunny was the manager of the local bowling alley, which her son owned and where Frannie Ryan, the teenager with the backpack, worked part-time. “She’s got me hooked on those Harlequin romances. Those hot ones are better than a copy of
Playgirl
magazine.” Bunny winked. “When I finish one of those I just want to find some stud and say, ‘Squeeze me like a grape and make me wine.’”

“Do you like those, Frannie?” Frannie was one of Skye’s favorite former students. They were extremely close, and Skye was surprised the teen hadn’t mentioned her plans to attend the Tales and Treats grand opening.

“No.” Frannie shook her head. “But I remembered you saying that in order to get people to read, it’s important to give them books that will interest them, not what you think they
should
be reading, and Ms. Bunny is interested in . . .” She trailed off, her cheeks red.

Skye hadn’t meant to embarrass the girl and was trying to think of a way to change the subject when Trixie came to her rescue by asking, “How did you get such a good parking spot, Bunny?” She looked pointedly at an old red Camaro, parked smack-dab in front of them.

“I’ve got my ways.” The redhead nodded to a handsome older man sitting at one of the outdoor tables. “In fact, I’d better go thank him. When I saw you two under attack, I forgot my manners.”

Skye wondered briefly whether Mr. Distinguished was Bunny’s new beau, but Frannie distracted her by saying, “Let’s go inside. I want to say hi to Kayla.”

“Are you two friends?” Skye asked.

“Sort of.” Frannie opened the shop’s door. “We were both interested in some of the same colleges and went on campus visits together, but she still really wants to get out of Scumble River, and me, not so much anymore.”

Skye was about to follow Frannie and Trixie into the store when she heard her name being called. Turning, she saw her mother hurrying toward her, May’s four best friends bringing up the rear.

“Hi, Mom.” Skye waved. “I didn’t know you were coming here.”

“We decided to give it a look-see at the last minute.” Skye’s mother reached up and pushed a stray chestnut curl off Skye’s cheek, adjusted her daughter’s blouse, and brushed a piece of lint off her jeans. May’s own short salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly coiffed, and her brown tweed pants and matching jacket looked as if they had just left the ironing board—which they probably had. “Glory and Hester wanted to get some books, Maggie’s checking out the pastry competition, and Kitty and I are here just to be neighborly.”

Skye nodded. She knew her mom and aunt never passed up an opportunity to socialize.

May added, “Besides, Thea called and said there was some excitement here.” Like May, Thea was a dispatcher for the Scumble River Police Department. “People wanting to close down the store.”

“Someone called the cops?” Skye wasn’t surprised her mother and her friends didn’t want to miss the action. Gossip was better if acquired firsthand.

“The owner. She said there were protesters blocking her entrance.” May frowned. “But Wally said as long as they are on the sidewalk, which is public property, he can’t stop them. Some nonsense about freedom of speech.”

“The police take the constitution pretty seriously,” Skye confirmed. “Wally had no choice until they attacked someone, like they did me a few minutes ago.”
Oops!
Skye knew she shouldn’t have said that the moment the words left her mouth.

“See!” May’s voice was shrill. “How can you marry someone who won’t even protect you? Simon always tried to stop you from putting yourself in danger, but Wally goes and makes you the police psych consultant.”

“Mother!” Emerald eyes that matched May’s own blazed. Her mom didn’t approve of Skye’s engagement to Wally, who was older, divorced, and not Catholic. There was nothing he could do about the first issue, and he was trying to get an annulment to address the second; Skye wondered whether her mother would come around if he converted, which would solve the third problem.

“Yes?” May’s expression was angelic.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, a fact Wally understands and applauds. I am
not
getting back together with Simon.” Skye gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t May accept that? Of course, Simon’s sudden determination to win her back at all costs wasn’t helping matters.

“We’ll see.”

“I’m marrying Wally as soon as he gets an annulment.” Skye and Simon had broken up more than two years ago, when he’d refused to explain how he “forgot” to mention that the college friend he was staying with on his trip to California was a woman. By the time he finally did clarify the situation, it was too late. “Deal with it,” Skye told her mother.

“Look how hard Simon is trying,” May wheedled.

He had actually shown up at her parents’ house last Sunday while they were all having dinner together and serenaded Skye with “Love Me Tender” from outside the kitchen window. His voice hadn’t been half bad, but the Elvis outfit was a bit much.

“Drop it, Mom.” Skye crossed her arms. “I mean it. Unless you want me to elope.”

May looked stricken. “Don’t even tease about something like that. I’ve been planning your wedding since you were born.” She clutched her chest. “I’m going to be at both my kids’ weddings if it’s the last thing I do.”

W
hen Skye finally entered Tales and Treats, she was astounded by the clever design. The main room contained the register, gift items associated with reading and writing, and a massive glass-fronted oak cupboard with an engraved plaque that read, RARE AND FIRST EDITIONS. Radiating from the central hub were the café and four areas decorated according to the genre they held.

She was immediately drawn to the mystery section. Elegant wood paneling and cushiony armchairs invited customers to relax as they made their choices. A jumbo magnifying glass hung over the fireplace mantel, and handcuffs, crime scene tape, and a variety of toy weapons were arranged on top of cherry occasional tables.

Skye looked around for Trixie, sure her friend would be attracted to this setting, but there was no sign of her. She did see her mother’s pals Glory and Hester, their arms full of paperbacks. They lifted their chins in greeting.

Next, Skye tried the romances, knowing that was Trixie’s second favorite read. Here the furnishings ran to a pink velvet chaise longue and a white wrought-iron daybed stacked with frilly pillows. Oversize champagne glasses and high-heeled shoes were placed on gilt tables, and a lace peignoir hung from a brass hook on the wall. Bunny was sitting on the floor, half glasses perched on her nose, engrossed in a book with a mostly naked cowboy on its cover. A flush tinged her cheeks, and she didn’t look up when Skye said hello.

Trixie had to be somewhere, and Skye doubted her friend was in the science fiction/fantasy/horror section, which was bedecked in outer-space gear, fairy wings, and vampire fangs. With Trixie’s active imagination, reading anything too scary was likely to give her nightmares.

Skye was also pretty sure her friend wasn’t in the literature alcove, which was decorated like a college professor’s office. They both agreed that they saw enough demoralizing endings in real life and didn’t need to read about them in their fiction.

On her way through the main hub to check for Trixie in the café, Skye spotted a wire cage the size of a refrigerator box behind the front counter. It was draped on three sides with dark material, and she couldn’t see what was inside. Curious, she threaded her way through the crowd toward the register.