Boo (8 page)

“The book I’m looking for is called
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus
by Frank Baum.”

The kid, whose nametag read D
USTIN
, scratched his head.

“Frank Baum. You know,
The Wizard of Oz?
”

“Oh, yeah, right. Did he play the scarecrow?”

Ainsley willed her eyes not to roll. “
No
. He wrote the book.”

“It was a movie. Didn’t see it, though.”

Ainsley bit her bottom lip. “Yes. But first it was a book. A classic. You should read it sometime.” She glanced down at the book in his hand. “It has witches in it.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “No kidding?” He smiled. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Terrific. Now, about the book. Do you have it?”

The kid shrugged. “Don’t know. You can go look. Should be under the author’s last name.”

Ainsley turned toward the back of the store and hoped somewhere in the little niche of worthwhile books she would find the one she was looking for.

Wolfe’s heart thumped so loudly inside his chest he found himself covering it up with a copy of
Great Expectations
just in case it was actually audible. He couldn’t believe the coincidence. Here she was! In the bookstore! Should he talk to her? Pretend not to notice her? Leave? Stay?

The questions flooded his mind in a way that made him dizzy with nervousness. He could see the top of her head making its way through the aisles and toward the back of the store. He wasn’t in the children’s section, but he was close, and at his height, it was hard to hide behind a display. He noticed suddenly that the palms of his hands were soaked, and as much as he tried to rub them on his pants leg, they weren’t about to dry out.

At first she didn’t see him. She was standing nearby at the one bookshelf they had for children’s literature, her finger running along the spines of the books, intent on what she was doing.

Wolfe thought for a moment about slipping out the other way to the front door. Then he thought he should just go up to her and say hello. But instead, he only stood there and stared, and before he knew it, he was caught doing just that.

Her eyes widened as she saw him, and the heart that pounded so heavily just seconds before now barely fluttered. He found himself holding his breath. Realizing how awkward he must look just standing there staring at her, he tried to smile. It perhaps came out more of a grimace, though, because she didn’t smile back.

He swallowed down all the organs that had seemed to push their way up into his throat and said, “Hi there.”

Her mouth hung open and her hand dropped to her side, but she recovered quickly and said. “Oh. Hi.”

Wolfe took a step forward. “So you come here often?” He barely got the question out before biting his own tongue as punishment for how cheesy that sounded.

Her face remained neutral as she said, “No, actually. I try to avoid this place at all costs.” She glanced down at the book he was holding, as
if curious, then continued. “Anyway, I’m looking for a rare children’s book.” Her eyes cut to the shelf next to her. “But apparently it’s pretty tough to find any good children’s literature in this place.”

He smiled and nodded. “I thought it was pretty lucky to find Dickens here.” He held up the book. But his hands were so slippery that it fell out of his hand and slapped onto the floor. He stooped down to get it, but lost his balance and hit his head on a rack full of Cliffs Notes, knocking several onto the floor next to him.

He heard her gasp. “Oh! Are you okay?”

He gathered himself and his book and stood up slowly. “Painfully humiliated. But I hear the scar only lasts a few years.”

She looked very concerned, but then she went back to looking at books. Wolfe decided it couldn’t get much worse, so with great courage he stepped forward, causing her to look up.

“What book are you looking for?”

With apprehension she said, “It’s a Frank Baum book.” Her lips pressed together. “I don’t suppose you even know who that is.”

“Of course I do. He wrote
The Wizard of Oz
. Among other things.”

A small smile of satisfaction crossed her lips, but then it faded. “Yes, well, I’m looking for a rare children’s book he wrote called
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus
.”

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s rare.”

“Ah.”

She swallowed as if to gather herself and then said, “Well, I shouldn’t waste my time looking here. All this store cares about—” She stopped suddenly and glanced up at him. Her eyes reflected something different than her demeanor, but he couldn’t tell what. “I’m late for work, actually, so I’d better go.”

Wolfe tried not to let his face show disappointment. “Okay. Well, good to see you.”

“Yes,” she replied, then started to walk off. As she passed him she said, “By the way, that’s a great book.” She pointed to the one he was holding.

“I know. I’ve read it five times.”

She stopped. “You’ve read
Great Expectations
five times?”

“Yes. I decided I should actually buy it instead of going to the library and checking it out every time.”

Though her lips never curved into a warm smile, her eyes reflected a certain sentiment that Wolfe recognized as somewhat friendly. He grinned at her as best he could and said, “Have a good day.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she said, as if suddenly aware that she was just standing there. “You, too.” And then she left.

Wolfe leaned against the bookshelf behind him and sighed in relief. He looked down at the book in his hand. “Thank you, Charles Dickens.” Then he made his way to the front of the store where Dude had his nose in a book.

“H
ERE
’
S A
T-B
OONE
steak for you,” Ainsley said, setting the platter down carefully in front of the young man. “And the Turkey Sand-Witch for you.” She smiled at the young woman, whose eyes seemed bright with life.

“Thank you,” the girl said.

“Anything else?” Ainsley asked.

The young man spoke up. “We’re on our honeymoon,” he said. “I’m looking for some fun places to take us. Any suggestions?”

“Congratulations!” Ainsley gushed. “You two look so in love.” The couple glanced at each other and grinned. “Well, let me tell you, you’re going to have to get out of this town to find somewhere romantic. I’d suggest going about ten miles—”

The man interrupted. “We purposely came here, to Skary, for our honeymoon.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” the girl answered. “We thought we’d have a lot of fun! We’re staying in that little bed-and-breakfast down the road. What’s it called?”

Ainsley sighed. “Arsenic and Old Lace.”

The girl squealed. “Yes! That’s it! It’s just the cutest little place!”

“Yeah. Just try not to get murdered,” Ainsley replied.

The couple laughed heartily, but Ainsley could only manage to smile mildly. The man said, “We loved all the axes hanging from the ceiling.”

“You can’t get much more romantic than axes, can you? Can I get you anything else?”

The girl leaned forward on the table. “Do you know him?”

“Who?”

“Wolfe Boone, of course.”

“Oh. No. I mean, yes. I mean, not really. Sort of.” She closed her mouth to stop rambling, took a deep breath, and finally answered, “I’ve met him.”

“Is he creepy? He looks like he would be.”

As much as Ainsley wanted to answer that question with yes, she had to be truthful. “No. Not really. He could use a haircut, but that’s about it.” She tapped her pencil on her pad and said, “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

Ainsley found Marlee reading a magazine behind the counter. “Don’t you have customers?”

Marlee smacked her gum and didn’t look up. “They’re fine. They’ll yell if they need anything.”

Ainsley shook her head and leaned against the counter to take the pressure off her already aching feet. “The point of being a good waitress is that your customers don’t have to yell for you, you know.”

Marlee smiled and nodded but continued reading about the latest fall lipstick colors.

“I ran into him today.”

Marlee looked up. “Who? Garth?”

Ainsley rolled her eyes. “Running into Garth isn’t worth reporting.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Well, then who
is
worthy of reporting?”

Ainsley swallowed. She didn’t mean it
that way
. Did she? “Wolfe Boone.”

“Boo?”

“Yeah. At the bookstore.”

“The bookstore? He’s not known for venturing out much, is he?” She stood upright and closed her magazine. “What happened? Did he seem, you know, converted?”

Ainsley popped her knuckles and frowned. “Look, it’s more than what you look like on the outside. Who can say if his heart has changed?”

“What was he doing there?”

“Reading Charles Dickens, apparently.” Ainsley glanced over to her
latest customers and noticed they both needed a refill on their drinks. She grabbed the tea pitcher, but before she could step out from behind the counter, Bob came through the doors of the kitchen.

“Ainsley, phone call.” Bob held the phone up in the air. “They’ve taken your Aunt Gert to the hospital.”

Ainsley walked as fast as she could down the sidewalk toward Sbooky’s. She didn’t feel like smiling, but she did to those who smiled first. Bob had let her take the lunch hour off, and she had to get to the hospital. She’d visited Gert at home yesterday, spent the evening with her, and knew she did not look good.

Please, God
, she thought as she wrapped her scarf around her neck to block the cold wind,
please let me find that little book
.

Once there, she made a beeline to the back of the store and for ten minutes searched the shelves for the little book.

“May I help you?”

Ainsley turned around to find a middle-aged, short and round man standing near her. His eyes were bright and his smile was friendly. “I hope so.”

“I’m Hardy Bishop. I own this store. I don’t know that we’ve ever met. I know all my customers.”

Ainsley tried to sound pleasant. “Yes, well, I’ve only been in here a couple of times.”

“Oh? Not a big reader?”

“Not of what you sell.” Ainsley lowered her head, hoping she didn’t sound too crass. But it was true, and she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t. She looked up at Hardy, who was still smiling, apparently unfazed by the comment. Ainsley took in a deep breath and continued, “I’m looking for a children’s book by Frank Baum.”

“Ah. Mr. Baum. Yes. I’m a big fan of
The Wizard of Oz
.”

The tightness in Ainsley’s chest released, and she even smiled. “You know his work?”

“Why yes.” He pulled a book off the shelf. “We always stock
The Wizard of Oz
.”

“I’m looking for a rare children’s book he wrote. You see, my aunt, the only relative I have left on my mother’s side, is dying of cancer, and this was a book that they shared together as children, and it would just be awfully wonderful if I could find this book for her. She adored it and speaks of it today, but her copy burned in a fire.” Ainsley felt her eyes moisten with emotion as she spoke. “It’s called
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus
.”

The bright smile Mr. Bishop had worn only moments before faded with each word Ainsley spoke, until the corners of his mouth drooped with a certain sadness. “I’m sorry, sweet lady,” he said. “But you won’t find that book here.”

“You don’t carry it?”

Mr. Bishop shook his head and guided her to the front of the store. “No, it’s extremely rare. In fact, I can’t say that we’ve ever carried it. It is a wonderful story, though.” He smiled eagerly at her as he made his way behind the counter. “What is your name?”

“Ainsley. Ainsley Parker.”

“Ah, Sheriff Parker’s daughter, I presume. Well, Miss Parker, let me call someone for you. They own a bookstore that specializes in rare books. They’re in Indianapolis.” He picked up the phone and dialed the number. Ainsley listened intently and gathered the news was bad. Mr. Bishop hung up the phone and shook his head sadly. “They had one copy. But it sold. I’m sorry.”

Ainsley felt a lump in her throat. “Oh my. What terrible timing.”

Mr. Bishop nodded. “Apparently went for a pretty hefty price tag, too. The owner of the store said he sold it for more than a thousand dollars.”

“What?”

“Yes. Apparently it’s very sought after. The buyer paid what old Harrison was asking. First edition in prime condition. I guess it was worth it.”

Ainsley nodded, trying to hold back the disappointment that
flooded her heart. She had no idea the book was
that
rare. Her voice quivered when she spoke, and she was embarrassed. “Well, thank you so much. You were so kind for going to the extra trouble—”

From the corner of her eye, Ainsley noticed a Polaroid snapshot of Wolfe Boone hanging on the counter. She glanced over at the life-size cardboard replica of him near one of the bookshelves. It was as if she were looking at two different people. The cardboard man she thought she knew well. The small Polaroid man she was beginning to realize she didn’t know quite as well as she thought.