Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Downtown Comet Cove was busier today than it was on Saturday, but Big Bang Books was a lot quieter.
Last time, Alden hadn’t noticed the tune that played when he opened the door, but then again, Mae had probably turned it off so it wouldn’t be whistling every other second.
That’s what it was, a whistling tune of four notes—the call from The Hunger Games, he realized with amusement.
He’d donned his black sport coat so he’d look more professional, and the icy air in here made him glad of it.
Light jazz filled the space. A few people browsed the shelves.
The area in the back where Enolia had spoken was free of folding chairs, though a few big beanbags and armchairs now scattered there provided a comfy place to read.
One beanbag had nearly swallowed a tiny lounging boy as he read AlphaOops!
And an equally preoccupied woman—his mother?
—curled up in an armchair next to him with an e-reader.
Curling up with an e-reader seemed unromantic to Alden, but he got it. He read books on his phone sometimes. Given fewer people read all the time and he was in the business of words, he was just thrilled to see someone with a bookish device in her hand.
A familiar young woman in red-framed eyeglasses read a book at the sales counter near the front, rapt. He was just wondering if he needed to ask for Mae when the owner emerged from the back hall with an armful of shiny new books and headed right for him.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “I can help you in just a minute.”
“No rush.”
She strode past him and aimed for a display table up front, which she topped off with copies of Enolia Honeywood’s The Murex Murder.
He wandered over. “I was here Saturday. I’m a big fan.”
Mae, her purple-streaked dark hair pulled back, wore jeans and a T-shirt that said Run As If Mr. Collins Just Proposed. She looked up from her task. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Alden Knox with The Courier-Beacon.”
“That’s right. You got a copy of her novel, didn’t you?”
“I got one Saturday. And I have all her books.” A handful of Enolia’s other titles filled out the table.
Mae nodded, straightening the piles. “I can’t keep them in stock. She’s really good. But I guess if you already have your book, you’re not here to buy another one?” Her smile was wary.
“You guessed right. I’m writing a follow-up story about what happened behind the store that day.”
Mae looked around, nudged one more book so it aligned with the others, and sighed. “Come on back to the office. I don’t want to harsh the vibe in here, you know?”
“Sure.”
He followed her to the back hallway, the one that led to the street behind the shops, then took a right turn into her windowless office.
It was pretty small, but Mae seemed organized.
The desk was mostly clutter-free, except for a crystal ball, a gargoyle that doubled as a pen holder, and a neat stack of papers.
Filing cabinets spoke to a sense of order.
But that didn’t mean the space was austere.
Colorful posters featured classic book covers of Frankenstein and Dracula.
Special editions filled a bookcase alongside literary bric-a-brac, including a replica of the Maltese falcon and an Edgar Allan Poe bobble head.
In fact, the knickknacks had a distinct spooky tone: a crocheted black bird—a raven, presumably, given Poe—along with ornate purple and black LED candles, tiny witches and wizards, and lots of skulls, many of them sparkly.
They called to mind Mae’s tattoos. Did she have a fascination with death? Or was she just fashionably gothic?
“Love the falcon.” Alden sat in the chair in front of the desk as she sat behind it.
“Isn’t it great? I love that movie. Love the book, too, but the movie is perfection.”
Alden grinned. “Great to meet a fellow movie fan.” Then his smile faded. “The man who died Saturday was in the movie business.”
Mae nodded. “I’d heard that from Aunt Nola.”
Alden’s forehead wrinkled. And then it hit him. “Aunt Nola? Is she—?”
A corner of Mae’s mouth lifted. “I suppose I shouldn’t be outing her, but yes, Enolia Honeywood is my aunt.” She suddenly looked worried. “Can you keep that out of the story?”
“I suppose it depends on whether your relationship is relevant to the story, but I understand her need for privacy and will do my best.”
“That would be great. I really don’t want her annoyed with me right now. Not when she’s been so good to me.”
Questions filled Alden’s head. “Oh yeah? I want to know more about that. Do you mind if I record this, just to get the quotes right?”
Mae looked nervous, but she agreed, and he switched on his phone’s recording app.
“So,” he said, “I’m guessing your aunt’s real last name isn’t Honeywood. What is it? Just for background.”
Mae swallowed. “You’re not going to publish it?”
Alden gave her a reassuring smile. “How about this—I won’t publish it unless it’s important and it comes from another source. I think it’ll be fine. OK?”
Her eyes flashed with something serious, almost angry, before she returned his smile. “OK. I’m counting on you.”
“Great.” Why was she so tense? “Her full name? I mean real name?”
“Nola Middleton.”
Same last name as Mae. So perhaps related on her father’s side. “And she’s helping you out? You mean by appearing at the bookstore?”
“Oh, yeah, that helped a ton.” Mae settled back in her chair, seeming more relaxed.
“It’s tough running a brick-and-mortar bookstore these days.
We focus on community events, book clubs, everything to keep people coming back and engaged.
But some months it’s still hard to make the rent, and I’ve got a leaky roof.
I love this old building, but it needs a lot of TLC.
My aunt plans to make a significant investment in the shop—that’s not for public consumption, by the way. Anyway, she’s great.”
Alden contained his frustration. Sources who declared everything off the record after it popped out of their mouths drove him crazy.
It would be fun sorting out the quotes later.
“She was kind to us, too. Very generous with her time. Roz and I interviewed her at her house. Beautiful place. There was a photo of you two on the bookshelves.”
“You saw her house? Isn’t it gorgeous? And yeah, she and I are buddies. My mom died when I was a teenager, and Aunt Nola was always the cool aunt I could talk to about things.”
An image of Enolia’s bookshelf popped into Alden’s head. “There was another photo of her with two kids.”
“Me and my brother,” Mae said. “He lives in Arizona now. Not sure what this has to do with what happened Saturday, though.”
“Just trying to make sure I understand the background. There was also a picture of her with Wayne Vandershell.”
Mae smirked. “That was from a signing in Orlando. She told me she put it there to make her pickleball friends jealous. As if having that house and just being her wasn’t enough.”
“Was there something to be jealous of? A romantic relationship?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, but Aunt Nola doesn’t tell me things like that. She always has opinions on my love life, though.” Mae rolled her eyes.
So maybe they weren’t best buddies, Alden thought. He shifted in his chair, feeling all the coffee from lunch rushing through him. “So you knew Wayne, then?”
“I’d met him a few times. I knew he and my aunt were friendly. They had a business arrangement. He was a fan of hers, but he was also a movie producer and planned to turn Shellbreak Island into a film, possibly for streaming. If it was successful, he wanted to adapt more of her books.”
“So he was going to adapt several of her books? That sounds like a pretty big deal.” And more than Enolia had told them.
“Crap, I’m talking out of turn again. You can’t publish any of that without confirming it with my aunt.”
Alden refrained from groaning. He had to get something on the record out of this interview. “Let’s just focus on what happened Saturday. It was a great event. At least before … ”
Mae looked down at her desk, reached out to touch the crystal ball. “Yeah, it was. Thanks.”
“How would you describe Wayne Vandershell?”
A shadow crossed Mae’s face, and then she looked up, assuming a guarded, pleasant expression.
“He was very friendly, very outgoing,” she said. “He had a smile for everyone. Never met a stranger, that kind of guy.”
“He had very white teeth.”
Mae laughed. “He was handsome, that’s for sure.” Did she turn a little pink?
“Did you see him go back to the alley? The street behind the store.”
Mae hesitated. “No. I don’t think so. Honestly, everyone was coming and going to the bathrooms, and I was focused on my little speech and keeping my aunt happy, which wasn’t easy.”
“Why not?”
“She seemed nervous. And she’s not usually that way, not before an appearance.
She’s more introspective out of the spotlight, but she has a gift for turning on her personality when she steps on stage.
Or whatever you want to call a book signing.
She’d forgotten the book she’d marked up for the reading, and I had to give her another one. That kind of thing.”
“Did she say anything about Wayne before or after the—the incident?”
Mae frowned. “No, nothing. She was totally focused on the event. She was fussing about some tiny stain on her dress. I gave her my brooch to wear over it. Oh my gosh. Don’t print anything about that or about her being nervous, please.
Why are you asking all these questions? Was he—was he really murdered?
Deputy Byrd told me it was probably an accident. ”