The Type-A Guide to Book Clubs (A Sunset Ridge Mystery #4)

Chapter One

The problem was that walking into Twice-Told Tales and facing a room full of strangers felt harder than any of those things.

Sam loved reading and loved the shop itself, owned by her friend Charlotte Webb (who had the best name for a bookstore owner in the history of bookstore owners).

And Sam genuinely wanted to expand her social circle beyond her neighborhood and the agility training she did with her dog Arlo. Book club seemed perfect in theory.

In practice, she was the new person walking into an established group where everyone already knew each other.

Charlotte gave her an apologetic look from across the room where she was setting up the tea service. Sam smiled back with more confidence than she felt and clutched her copy of The Memory Keeper like a shield.

“Sam!” Olivia Stanton appeared at her elbow, and Sam nearly sagged with relief. “Sorry I’m late. I got talking at the food pantry. What did you think of the book?”

“It took me a few chapters to get into it, but after that, I loved it.”

Olivia said in a low voice, “Good, because Margaret is going to say she hates it. Fair warning, she hates most of our picks. Don’t take anything she says personally.”

Before Sam could ask who Margaret was, Charlotte called the meeting to order. “Good evening, everyone! First, I want to welcome Sam Prescott, who’s joining us for the first time.”

Sam gave a quick wave. Everyone turned toward her with varying degrees of interest.

“Let’s do quick introductions,” Charlotte said. “Sam, I promise there won’t be a pop quiz later. Olivia, you already know Sam, so no need for an intro there.”

Sam pulled out her notebook, knowing she wouldn’t be able to remember all the names without help. She’d catch the important details now and sort out the rest later.

“Taking notes?” Charlotte asked with a smile.

“I’m terrible with names,” Sam explained.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Charlotte said warmly.

An older woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun spoke first. “Dr. Margaret Brennan. I taught English literature for thirty years.” Her tone suggested she was still grading papers and finding them all inadequate.

She glanced at Sam’s notebook. “Finally, someone who takes this seriously.”

Professor—sharp, Sam wrote, not sure whether to be pleased or worried that the intimidating professor approved of her methods.

A nervous-looking man in his early forties went next. “Gerald Parker. I’m the club treasurer.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, we really do need to collect dues.”

Several people groaned.

Treasurer, Sam noted after Gerald’s name.

A dark-haired woman in her thirties gave Sam a shy smile. “Sofia Smith. I’m a grad student at Western Carolina. I just joined a couple of months ago, so I’m almost as new as you.” Sofia had dark eyes that seemed older than her years.

Grad student—friendly. At least Sam wasn’t the only recent addition. And Sofia seemed slightly familiar. She wanted to say she worked at the coffee shop downtown.

“Dylan Morrison.” The young man in his twenties had the deliberately unkempt look of someone who wanted to be taken seriously as an artist. “I write poetry.” He said this with a slight challenge in his voice, eyes flicking to Dr. Brennan as if expecting criticism.

Then he glanced curiously at Sam’s notebook.

He grinned. “Let me guess. You’re going to write the scruffy one, aren’t you? ”

“What? No! I’m just jotting down notes to help me remember who’s who.” Sam pulled the notebook just a little closer to her, although no one could see what she was writing.

“She’s organized,” Olivia said, coming to her rescue. “It’s her thing.”

Next to Dylan’s name, she wrote poet—defensive? She looked up to find Dylan still watching her with amusement. “I’m definitely getting an adjective,” he muttered.

“We all are,” Gerald, the treasurer, said dryly. “That’s the point.”

“Pamela Cross,” said a woman in her late-fifties with a kind face. “Retired librarian. I love finding good book communities.” She said it with such genuine warmth that Sam immediately liked her. “I think it’s smart,” she added, nodding at the notebook. “I wish I’d done that at my first meeting.”

Librarian—sweet. Sam put a small star next to her name.

The last woman, early fifties with laugh lines and an easy manner, beamed at Sam. “I’m Claire Mills, the club president. We’ve emailed! I’m so glad you made it.” She smiled at the notebook. “Don’t worry. Half of us won’t remember your name by next month anyway.”

“I will,” Gerald said. “You’re ‘notebook girl’ now, Sam.”

“Could be worse,” Sam said, clicking her pen.

Beside Claire’s name, Sam wrote president—organized. She could tell Claire actually read all her emails and responded right away.

“That’s everyone,” Charlotte said. “Let’s get started. Gerald, maybe handle the dues by email this time?”

Gerald’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.

“Or perhaps someone else could handle it?” Margaret, the professor, said lightly. “You seem to have so much on your plate these days. So many . . . projects.”

Gerald’s face went from pale to flushed. “I’ll handle it.

Claire, the club president, took over with the practiced ease of someone used to wrangling strong personalities.

“Tonight we’re discussing The Memory Keeper.

It’s a literary mystery about a woman who inherits her grandmother’s bookstore and discovers cryptic notes in the margins of old books. Did everyone finish the book?”

There were nods all around.

“Wonderful. Sam, this group actually reads the books, which makes us unusual.” She smiled. “I’ll start. I absolutely loved this book.”

“It was dreadful,” Margaret interrupted. “Predictable women’s fiction tripe masquerading as literature. Maudlin sentimentality, amateur prose, and that tired bookstore-as-metaphor trope.”

An awkward silence fell.

Charlotte laughed, breaking the tension. “Tell us what you really think, Margaret.”

“That is all.” The professor sniffed as she took a sip of her drink. Although everyone else seemed to be drinking the tea Charlotte had prepared, Margaret had a coffee mug. Sam had noticed Charlotte had a coffee pot in the other room. She apparently demanded special treatment.

“Okay!” said Claire brightly, casting a worried glance at Sam as if Margaret’s little diatribe might run her off screaming from her first book club meeting.

She gave a stressed, tinkling laugh. “Margaret usually takes the dissenting position. As she mentioned, she’s a retired English professor, so she has rather strong opinions. ”

“Someone needs to maintain standards,” Margaret said crisply.

Sam glanced around the room. Dylan, the young poet, was glaring at Margaret.

Gerald, the treasurer, looked as if he wanted to sink through the floor.

Retired librarian Pamela, was studying her book with intense concentration.

Sofia, the grad student, had a tight jaw.

Only Claire, the club president, seemed unruffled, although her smile had turned fixed.

This was going to be an interesting group.

“This book was just about as awful as last month’s selection,” grouched the professor.

Claire gave her a repressive look. “Now, now. Not everyone felt that way about The Cardiac Protocol.” She smiled at Sam.

“It was about a brilliant cardiologist who discovers that patients in her hospital’s cardiac unit are dying.

She was trying to learn if they were medical errors, a disturbing random trend, or murder.

Of course, it ended up being murder, since it’s a medical thriller, ha.

I found this a really riveting read. It reminded me of Michael Crichton. ”

The young man, Dylan, looked confused. “It reminded you of Jurassic Park?”

The professor snorted in derision, and Dylan flushed.

She said, “Crichton also wrote medical thrillers.” Margaret drank her coffee.

“Though the book’s medical accuracy was acceptable.

However, the protagonist should have been more careful about drug interactions, as I mentioned at last month’s meeting.

One wrong combination with heart medication and that’s it.

” She made a slashing motion across her throat.

“Personal experience?” asked Dylan, sounding almost hopeful.

“I’m on three different cardiac medications,” Margaret said matter-of-factly. “You learn what not to mix.”

“Let’s get back to this month’s selection,” said Claire, trying to get the meeting back on track.

Each of the members gave their opinions of The Memory Keeper. Everyone except Margaret was quite complimentary of the writing and the story’s plot.

Sam said, “I thought it was a great read.” She opened her copy of the book, which was littered with sticky notes and full of marginalia.

“The fact I wrote so much in the margins is a sign I enjoyed it. But for me, there are different ways of enjoying a book. If I’m absorbed in it, for whatever reason, it’s doing its job.

Maybe it’s that I just want to make sure that the bad guy gets punished.

Maybe there’s a subplot I’m interested in following.

Regardless, it’s transportive, isn’t it? It takes us to another realm.”

There were eager nods of heads at this. Even the professor gave a stiff bob of hers in acknowledgment.

Then there was a discussion time where they got more into the nitty-gritty of the book and various storylines.

They sipped their tea and listened to the others.

Following that, Claire said, “Okay, let’s choose our pick for next month.

There were a few books that were bandied around at the last meeting.

One of them was that historical romance, A Season in Florence. ”

Margaret Brennan was dismissive. “Romance novels are hardly literature. We should challenge ourselves intellectually.”

“Some of us are already doing that and could use a break,” said Sofia quietly. Sam recalled her saying she was a grad student. She was probably buried in reading.

Margaret gave Sofia a cold look. Sofia raised her chin in an almost challenging posture.

Dylan said slowly, “There’s a new poetry collection by Ocean Vuong.”

The professor said, “Poetry requires sharp group discussion to work. I suggest Middlemarch. A true classic many people claim to read but haven’t.”

Sofia cleared her throat. “That’s quite long, I think. Maybe we should choose something more accessible?”

“Accessible is another word for unchallenging,” said the professor sharply.

There was a brief pause before Pamela, the retired librarian, said, “What about Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro? That’s literary but with a manageable length.”

Gerald, who’d been pestering everyone about their dues, checked his notes in a small notebook he’d brought in. “We read that two years ago.”

“Then we’ll read Middlemarch. Unless anyone has serious objections?” Margaret said this in a tone that discouraged objections.

They all agreed. With the next month’s selection chosen, they adjourned to chat and have more tea. Charlotte busied herself at the cash register, checking out the few copies of the book that she had in stock and promising to order the rest for everyone later.

“What did you make of your first meeting?” asked Olivia in an undertone as they stood in a corner of the bookstore.

Sam cast a look behind her to make sure Margaret was out of earshot and saw the professor was still sitting in the back room of the bookshop, drinking her coffee. “It was good. I liked the book. And it seems like a really good group. Although one member showed up in a cranky mood.”

“Margaret?” Olivia snorted. “She’s always like that. Sorry if it was off-putting.”

“No, it’s fine. It probably helps with discussion, right? Having a dissenting voice.”

Olivia said wryly, “I could handle it easier if she weren’t quite so dissenting. Anyway, I’m glad you came. It’s been good for me to get out of the house. Of course, my volunteering gets me out, too. It’s just so quiet there, and I feel like I’m rattling around.”

Olivia was a widow, and her younger brother, Jason, had moved out fairly recently after getting a job.

Her house was a big one, and Sam knew exactly how she felt since she was alone in a large house, too.

“You don’t want to move out?” They started walking out the exit of the bookshop, giving Charlotte a wave as they left.

“I just don’t want the trouble, you know? That’s more work than I feel like I’m up to right now. Plus, I think it would be really emotional. On top of it all, I love living in Maple Hills. Our neighbors are great. If I move to another subdivision, I won’t really know what I’m going to get.”

Sam nodded. “Makes sense. That’s also why I’m staying put. Having Arlo really helps, too.”

“Actually, speaking of Arlo, I have something to tell you. I’ve been thinking about what you said before about getting a pet. I filled out an application at the shelter last week.”

Sam said, “Seriously? That’s great!”

“There’s this older cat there that I really loved when I was walking around.

She’s nine, which apparently makes her tough to adopt.

She’s got these beautiful green eyes. When I sat with her, she just curled up in my lap and started purring like a little motor.

She acted so relieved and happy that I was there.

The shelter volunteer said she’d never seen her do that with anyone before. ”

Sam said softly, “She chose you.”

“That’s what it felt like. The shelter said they’d call me this week to finalize everything.”

Sam said, “She sounds perfect for you, Olivia.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, then Olivia gave her a quick hug, and they went their separate ways. Minutes later, Sam was opening her front door as Arlo greeted her enthusiastically.

“Hey boy,” crooned Sam. “Did you miss me? I wasn’t gone that long.”

Arlo apparently disagreed with this assessment. He ran in excited circles for a few seconds before leaping up on the sofa to join Sam as she grabbed the selection for the following month and her reading supplies.

Sam took a look at Middlemarch by George Eliot. All 880 pages of it. She had her purple gel pen (best for marginalia), a pack of color-coded sticky tabs, and index cards. She labeled three of the cards characters, themes, and discussion questions.

Arlo watched this setup with what might have been judgment.

“Don’t look at me like that, buddy,” Sam told him. “Margaret specifically picked this book to intimidate people. I’m not showing up unprepared.”

She opened to the first page, clicked her pen, and began reading. By page ten, she had two yellow tabs (beautiful prose), one blue tab (key theme), and had started a character list on her index card.

“This is going to be a long month,” she murmured to Arlo, who’d already fallen asleep.

Sam kept reading.