Chapter 18 #2
If I was honest, the stockroom was one of my favorite places in the shop.
The delicious aroma of hardcover and paperback books held the promise of adventure for all our customers.
New books, as well as remainders—books that would be returned to publishers because they didn’t sell—filled the additional freestanding metal shelving we’d added a couple of weeks ago.
A beverage station, a refrigerator, and a microwave abutted another wall.
The employee washroom stood to the left.
The exit door to the alley was straight ahead.
The door to the office was on the right.
“Hey, I was thinking …” About murder and mayhem, I mused but didn’t utter the words out loud. “I was thinking about doing the blind-date-with-a-book promotion right away. Like today. We need to drive sales. I’ll arrange some wrapped books in the display window as a lure. What do you think?”
“Superb idea. We have plenty of packing paper in the closet in the conference room.” She jutted an elbow. “I’ll join you in a few seconds to help.”
“By the way, I did a bit of cooking for the Gatsby taste testing. Pineapple upside-down cake and deviled eggs are on the desk out front.”
“Yum.”
“Also, we can rule out Reika Moore as a suspect in the murder. I corroborated her alibi.” I didn’t elaborate. Reika didn’t need me revealing her weakness now that she was on the mend. If I had to corroborate her conversation with Roy for Zach, I would do so privately.
I headed to the modest conference room, an important place because it was where we brought buyers who were interested in viewing rare books and first editions.
I fetched the packing paper, tape, and two sets of scissors from the cupboard and went to the front of the bookshop.
More customers had entered and were browsing the aisles and endcaps.
Making a tour of the shop, I pulled ten mysteries from the shelves and carried them to the sales counter, after which I fetched a number of romance, thriller, historical, young adult, and women’s fiction novels. I began wrapping each, adding cryptic Sharpie notes to the paper.
For the women’s fiction novel, Beautiful Disaster, I wrote: Blind date with a masterpiece you probably haven’t read yet.
Good girl drawn to bad boy. For Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, I wrote, Blind date with one of the most important crime and mystery works of all time.For The Eyre Affair, I wrote: Blind date with time travel, cloning, and an outlandishly resourceful literary detective.
Bibliophiles would love that story. For The Princess Bride, which was popular with YA readers, I wrote: Beautiful girl, handsome prince. What could go wrong?
“Whatcha doing?” Chloe asked after ringing up her contented customers. She looked flirty in a red dress with puff sleeves and a flare skirt, which complemented her flawless, fawn-colored skin.
“Feeling clever.” I showed her the most recent book I’d wrapped. “You look lovely. Wasn’t your callback last night?”
“There’s a final callback tonight. I’m so nervous.”
“Don’t be. Evelyn will make you feel comfortable.”
“As if. She’s intimidating!”
“She’s a pussycat,” I said, though I wasn’t so sure, since I still couldn’t figure out why she and my mother were at odds.
“Ooh, what’s all this?” Chloe was gazing at the food on the desk.
“A taste test for the Gatsby event.” I explained what each was. “Want to try?”
“Yes, please. I adore pineapple. May I do the honors?”
“Sure. That way I can keep wrapping with clean fingers.”
She dashed into the stockroom and returned with plates, napkins, forks, and a cake knife.
She cut a slice of cake for herself and another for me and dove in.
“Wow. Not too soggy. Not too dry. Just right.” She giggled.
“I sound like Goldilocks.” She took another bite.
“I’ve always wanted to try my hand at making this, but you know me. I can’t cook worth a lick.”
Tegan emerged from the stockroom, her arms filled with copies of The Great Gatsby. “Done.” She set the books on the counter. “I’ll tag them after I eat dessert.”
“It’s delish,” Chloe said. “I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared.
The front door opened, and Vanna strode in, all dolled up, her hair in a messy twist, tendrils cupping her face. I preferred her in jeans, sans makeup, but I’d never say so. She took such pains to put herself together.
“Which political big wheel did you meet today?” I asked.
She skirted the display table, her mouth quirked up on one side. “What makes you think I met with anyone?”
“Well, those are not delivery togs,” I joked.
She assessed herself all the way down to her spiked heels. “The governor took me to lunch. He’s thinking of running for president and wanted to talk to me about becoming the personal chef at the White House if he wins.”
My mouth dropped open. “Really?”
“No, silly. Get real.” She swatted the air.
“The governor would never deign to come to Bramblewood. I met with the bank manager who handled all of Aunt Marigold’s affairs.
She wanted me to meet with an investment guy.
He’s very nice.” She eyed Tegan. “You should meet with him, too. Sooner rather than later.”
Vanna and Tegan had inherited a sizable amount of money, stocks, and jewelry when their aunt passed away.
“I will,” Tegan promised. “But first I need to finalize divorce proceedings. Serving my ex papers has been a challenge.”
“I think the bank manager wants you to get advice first,” Vanna said. “But don’t quote me on that. Call her. What’re you doing, Allie?”
I handed her the wrapped version of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. “Here. Enjoy a blind date with a book.”
“Which book is it?”
“That’s the point. You don’t know until you accept the blind date.”
As she read the caption, her mouth screwed up, making her look like she’d tasted something tart. “I don’t read mysteries.”
“Yes, I know, but you want to be part of Allie’s Clue Crew, don’t you? You have to read a few to understand how a detective’s mind works.”
She sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll read it. But I won’t like it.” She unwrapped the book and frowned. “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd? Well, I guess I know who’s going to die.”
“There’s a good twist.”
Tegan leaned in. “Maybe we should’ve given her a culinary cozy, like one of the Domestic Diva mysteries. She’d relate to snooty Natasha, don’t you think?”
“Or what about the mysteries set in Key West?” Chloe suggested, rejoining us. “The protagonist is a food critic.”
“Next time,” I said. “Vanna, try this book first. If you like it, we’ve got plenty of other suggestions.”
“I’ll read it after I read The Great Gatsby.”
Tegan applauded. “Mother talked you into it? Hooray!”
“She bribed me,” Vanna said. “She promised no dating advice for a year if I did.”
I chuckled.
She peered past me at the cake. “Allie, is that what I think it is?”
I nodded.
“It’s yummy.” Chloe handed Vanna the plate she’d dished up for me. “Have some.”
“I’ve got to watch my figure.”
“One bite,” Chloe said.
Vanna tasted it, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, my. I had no idea. It’s really good. What’s on top of the pineapple and cherries?”
“Butter and brown sugar.”
“Divine.” She forked in another mouthful.
“Gee, Sis, didn’t you say you wanted to watch your figure?” Tegan chided.
“Eat dirt.”