Chapter 12 #2
I gawked at her, truly surprised by her largesse. Who was she? Why was she making nice? Had going into partnership with me and helping with the literary parties tapped into her deep-seated need to be part of a team? Whatever had instigated the change, I was loving it.
First thing in the morning, Vanna texted she was on the way. I’d barely slipped out of my nightshirt and wriggled into a pair of leggings and a T-shirt before she arrived with a to-go cup in hand.
“Here’s hot coffee. Colombian roast. Medium-bodied, with citrusy acidity and hints of caramel.” She thrust the cup at me and edged past. “I made it in my French press.”
I took a sip and hummed my thanks. “Delicious.”
“Hello, Darcy.” She bent to pet him and stood up. “Are all the deliveries ready to go?”
“They are.”
“Let’s load me up.” She’d dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. Nothing frou-frou. She’d even thrown on tennis shoes. She caught me eyeing her shoes and grinned. “Yes, you’re having an effect on my style. Comfort is in.”
As we carried boxes to her Nissan NV Cargo van, which was gleaming white in the morning sun, she said, “By the way, don’t expect me to do all the deliveries every day.”
“I would never—”
“A girl like me needs her beauty sleep.”
“Of course.”
“You, on the other hand …” She hesitated, as if doing her best to tamp down a snarky comment. “You, on the other hand, look good at any time of the day. You rock the no-makeup look.”
It wasn’t entirely a compliment, but it was better than “You look like garbage,” which, in truth, I knew I did. I might have been able to slip on clothes before her arrival, but I hadn’t had time to run a comb through my hair.
“Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to do all the deliveries.
In fact, I like making the rounds and seeing the customers.
But I appreciate you doing them today. We have a lot to arrange for the upcoming Gatsby party.
Stop into the shop later, and we’ll bring you up to speed on what we’ve got planned.
Oh, and get excited! We’re going to have a blind-date-with-a-book event soon. ”
“A what?”
I explained how it worked. “Will you come?”
“Sure, why not?”
“You might get hooked on a new genre.”
“Don’t count on it. I’m pretty particular.”
Close-minded, I mused but kept mute.
After she drove off, I polished off my coffee, downed a protein drink, and fed Darcy. Then I showered and changed into black jeans, a short-sleeved silk blouse, and ballet slippers—I liked to dress up a tad for the bookstore crowd—and headed to Feast for the Eyes with Darcy.
Tegan and Chloe had arrived ahead of me.
“Morning,” I chimed, breezing through the shop and situating the cat in the office. When I returned, I told them about the blind-date-with-a-book plan.
Tegan applauded. “Love it! Auntie used to do those all the time.”
“It’s precisely why I came up with the idea. I’m going to make sure Vanna gets a Poirot mystery.”
Tegan chuckled. “She won’t read it.”
“She will if I make her promise. She’s a woman in transition.”
“Dream on.”
Noeline entered the shop, a bag from Ragamuffin in one hand. In linen slacks and a floral camp shirt, she appeared blissful. Summery clothing suited her. “Tegan, I want to talk.”
“Can’t, Mom. How about lunch?”
“Please, darling.”
“Sorry. We’re busy.”
Frowning, Noeline pivoted to leave, but the door opened, and Iggie plowed in, forcing Noeline to dodge into an aisle so she wouldn’t be run over.
“I’m here to buy the new Patterson book.” The flaps of Iggie’s suit jacket flew open as he strode to the sales counter.
Tegan whispered to me, “He reads three bestsellers a year. Nothing else.”
“Aha. He’s one of those,” I remarked. Lots of people did what Iggie did. They weren’t real readers. They were the ones who liked to chat about bestsellers at work, around the water-cooler, so they could appear well read and hip.
“Hurry up,” Iggie said, spanking the sales counter.
“It’s right there.” Tegan pointed. “On the first endcap you passed. See it?”
“Go get it.”
Tegan grunted softly, then signaled to Chloe to fetch it.
As Chloe was reaching for it, the front door opened again, and Finette whisked in, nearly ramming into Chloe.
I bit back a laugh. What was up with everyone? In a hurry? In a snit? Was a full moon on the rise? Maybe it was the heat.
“Sorry,” Chloe said, though she wasn’t at fault.
“Not to worry.” A green Bottega Veneta tote dangled from Finette’s right hand.
Seeing the bag surprised me. How could she afford such a pricey item on a councilperson’s salary? On the other hand, lots of women saved up to buy one valuable accessory. Her shoes were simple. Her slacks and blouse looked off the rack.
“Good morning,” Finette trilled, proceeding toward the sales counter. “I was wondering—” She halted in her tracks when she spotted Iggie. “You!” she said accusatorily.
“Me?” He whirled on her. “Don’t you mean you? What is going on? Why did you curtail my bid on the Hanson Hotel?”
The property in question was the abandoned boardinghouse at the east end of town, which he’d been trying to acquire. The adult children, who all lived out of state, had agreed to cede it to Bramblewood in honor of their parents.
“You know I’ve wanted the property for years.”
“Well, you snooze, you lose. Another buyer bid higher than you.” Finette peered down her nose at him. “Your Realtor was informed. You didn’t counter.”
“I never saw a request.”
“Then your Realtor isn’t doing her job.”
Iggie wagged a finger. “It’s all Jason Gardner’s fault.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“He messed with your head. He … he pitted you against me and anyone who wants to build in Bramblewood. I want to preserve our town. I want to make it shine.”
Give me a break. Iggie wasn’t someone who wanted to preserve anything.
“Gardner made you careless,” Iggie added.
Finette bridled. “I’m far from—”
“What happened between you two? Did you profess your love to him, and he rejected you?”
Finette gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “Love?”
“Yeah.” Iggie sneered. “You did, and he did, and his rebuff hurt your fragile ego. If I didn’t know better”—he aimed a finger at her—“I’d say that gives you motive for murder.”
“How dare you! How. Dare. You! I was friends with Jason. Friends,” she snarled. “Murder him? Not on a bet.”
“Where were you Monday night?” he demanded.
I watched the two of them like a tennis match, shocked by their public altercation, as if neither realized the rest of the world was tuning in.
“With my great-aunt,” Finette said.
“Yeah? Did she remember you this time?”
“She never remembers me, you pig!” She raised a hand, as if ready to slap him. Thinking better of it, she raced from the shop without explaining the purpose of her visit.
Iggie, rousing as if from a drunken stupor, darted after her. “Finette, wait! I didn’t mean it. Finette!”
Through the plate-glass window, I saw the councilwoman climb into her blue BMW coupe, which she’d parked on the street, and slam the door. Iggie reached the car and tried the passenger door. Locked. He pounded on the window. Finette made a rude gesture and screeched away.
Exasperated, Iggie swatted the rear of the car, a move that by sheer force swung him around. Realizing all of us were gawking at him, he marched to the shop’s front door, whipped it open, and poked his head inside. “Hold the Patterson book for me. I’ll be back.”
Noeline emerged from the aisle into which she’d retreated and said, “Well, criminy! What a tornado of bad energy.”
We all tittered nervously.
After a long moment of silence, Tegan said, “I can’t believe they went at it.
You’d think Finette, respecting her elevated position on the town council, would have some decorum.
And Iggie? What a jerk. Accusing her in front of all of us.
As if she could’ve killed Jason. Allie, you heard her extolling his virtues. ”
Noeline joined us. “Tegan’s right. Finette’s a good soul. She looks after her great-aunt. Iggie is a cretin.”
“Iggie might have wanted to cast suspicion on someone else,” Chloe suggested, plunking the Patterson novel onto the sales counter.
I said, “Vanna says he ruined a couple of his competitors’ reputations.”
“Indeed. An aspiring contractor, for one,” Noeline said.
“He built the small homes division to the east of Asheville.” She wiggled her fingers.
“You know the one I mean. Starter homes, each about three bedrooms. It was a huge hit. Half of the houses sold within six months. But then Iggie put out the word that the houses were cookie-cutter styles and lacking imagination and made of cheap wood, siding, and flooring. The remaining houses didn’t sell, and the ones which had sold went back on the market.
Presto!” She snapped her fingers. “The builder was ruined and left town with his tail between his legs. Last I heard, he went to Raleigh to live with his sister.” She fanned the air.
“And don’t get me started about what happened to Stella Burberry’s brother. It was appalling.”
I knew Stella well. She was an accountant and an avid book club attendee. I occasionally prepared personal meals for her. She hated to cook. So, of course, I couldn’t help asking, “What happened?”
“Her brother bid on three apartment complexes,” Noeline said, “and each time, Iggie outbid him.”
Apparently, Iggie did close some of the deals he negotiated.
“Outbidding another builder isn’t unheard of, Mom,” Tegan said. “Lots of people—”
“He paid the Realtor to get the inside scoop so he’d know how much to outbid!” Noeline growled.
“And the Realtor told him? Isn’t that actionable?” I asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Noeline sighed. “Even if it is, Iggie is despicable and deserves to die.”
“Mother!” Tegan cried.
Noeline clamped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean it. No one deserves to … I didn’t mean … Oh!” She sucked back a sob and hurried from the shop.