Boo Who (27 page)

“What’s the event?”

“Melb Cornforth’s wedding.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she agreed to have the film crew there and everything. It will kind of have a reality TV flavor to it, but I think it will work.”

“That’s only a few weeks away. Valentine’s Day.”

“I know! It’s perfect! We can have this in the can by the first of March. Timing is everything, Ainsley. This is the perfect solution. By the way, I didn’t tell Miss Cornforth it was you. I thought that would be a great surprise.”

“Um … yeah …”

“So here’s what I need from you. You’ve got to plan the entire menu for the wedding, plus design the cake, flower arrangements, and reception decorations…” Alfred kept talking, but her mind blocked out all he was saying. She squeezed her eyes shut and nearly felt dizzy. Something inside her was screaming no, but even louder than that was determination, and she knew its origin.

Memories of her mother had slowly faded over the years, but one remained, and it hovered in her mind like a beautiful butterfly in front of an orchid. With complete clarity, she could see her mother pulling out freshly baked cookies from the oven as Ainsley arrived home from a hard day at school, turning with a smile on her face, that same perfectly pleasant smile she always wore without fail. And without effort. She wondered what sacrifices her mother made in her own heart to be able to offer that kind of smile on every occasion.

“Ainsley?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Yes. That’s um … that’s fine. It’s the week before my own wedding, though.”

Alfred paused. “Ainsley, to make it big, there are a lot of sacrifices to be made. You can ask your fiancé about that. He knows what it means to sacrifice. Now I have to know right now if you’re willing to make those sacrifices. If you’re not, there are plenty of other women ready to step into Martha’s shoes.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. “I’m ready, Alfred. You know that.”

“Okay. Good. I like your attitude. Now listen, you will have two chefs helping you, plus a cake designer, ready to do your will.”

Ainsley could hardly believe it. “That’s amazing.”

“You’ll receive a shipment of designer catalogs, probably tomorrow. Look through them. Create a budget. I have a lot of resources, but we’re still going to have to watch what we spend.”

“Okay.”

“Ainsley, I’ll be in touch. Call me if you need anything.”

She hung up the phone, nearly paralyzed by the dozens of thoughts clamoring for her attention.

“Okay, I put the box in the garage,” Wolfe said, clapping the dust from his hands. “What do you want me to do now?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but too many words wanted out at once.

CHAPTER 22

M
ARTIN WATCHED THE MAYOR,
in his fancy sunglasses and tropical shirt, walk past his office. To Martins extreme relief, he didn’t stop in. Earlier, he’d spent an hour listening to the mayor’s thoughts about starting to jog every day, just to get in shape. Martin thought he was subconsciously aware how much his legs were showing.

Martin held his breath until the mayor went into his own office and shut the door. Last night, he’d found a fascinating clue to the town’s history. And maybe clues to some other mysteries as well.

He’d found an old map of the town dating back to the late 1800s, buried underneath a loose board in the library. An
X
seemed to show the location of something in the foothills. Late in the night when he’d hiked up to investigate, he’d found five shacks, nearly dilapidated. He’d been aware of two of them, but according to the map, there seemed to be a precise reason for their location.

They were all laid out exactly the same, with an area for bunks, a small wood-burning stove, and heavy wooden bars to lock them from within. As Martin had stood inside one, the walls seemed alive with whispers. These shacks meant something, but he didn’t know what.

Beyond their location, there were few clues left. He’d found an old and torn blanket, an empty milk jug, and a letter that was now only inky smudges. All he could make out from it was,
I have found a place
… Whatever it said, the letter did not seem to have been sent. He’d found it tucked in an unmarked envelope that had slid between two floor planks.

In the still night, cold beyond measure, Martin had stepped out of
one of the shacks, intending to go home. But he heard someone in the woods, causing a frightful stabbing in his heart. He rushed back into the dirty shack and closed the door, opening the peephole slightly to try to catch a glimpse. He’d been so excited by his discovery on the map that he’d forgotten about the ghost people wandering around.

At first there was nothing, though his pounding heart told him to stay put. And then, in the shadows, a figure moved. Martin covered his mouth, trying not to scream. As his eyes focused in the dark, he realized he was about to encounter one of these strange people who’d now invaded their town.

He started hyperventilating and stepped away from the peephole. But curiosity drove his eye back to it, and what he saw through it nearly made him faint.

Melb Cornforth, of all people! Her long shadow trailed behind her as she slowly walked through the woods, head tilted high as if she might just start howling. What in the world was she doing in the woods at this hour? When she’d finally passed out of his line of sight, Martin fell backward into a nearby post and let out a yelp. He felt as though he’d traipsed smack-dab into one of Wolfe Boone’s novels.

Was Melb one of those people? Had she been captured by them and now turned to the dark side? How was he going to tell Oliver? Should he even tell Oliver? Maybe Oliver was one of them too!

Martin gasped. Maybe the mayor had succumbed to them as well. Maybe he hadn’t lost his mind … Maybe he’d lost his … his … soul!

Opening the door slowly and praying he wouldn’t be captured, Martin ran down the wooded hill as fast as his white legs would carry him and slept only minutes the rest of the night.

No wonder I’m so tired,
he thought. At the front office door, just a few feet from their desks, there was a knock. The mayor, carried away with thoughts of island women, hardly noticed. Martin sighed and wondered who would knock at the front door of the mayor’s office. He opened the swinging glass door, but there was nobody there. A crawling feeling of fear, reminiscent of last night, made him shiver. Looking down, he noticed a small envelope at his feet, tied up with brown string.

He looked around once more, then picked up the envelope and opened it carefully.

His hands were shaking so badly he could hardly read the small words:
Your answer lies in the pages of
Black Cats.

“What are you doing?”

Martin gasped, stumbling forward while trying to turn around. The mayor stood behind him, trying to see what he was up to.

“N-nothing.” Martin stuffed the note in his pocket. “Nothing.”

“Well, listen, I’m going to take an early lunch, maybe take a jog in the park. It’s a beautiful day; why not soak up some sun, eh?”

Martin couldn’t even begin to nod.

“You want to join me?”

Martin shook his head. “No. Um, I’ve got to go to the bookstore.”

Wolfe stood on the sidewalk outside what used to be Sbooky’s bookstore. When Wolfe announced his retirement, the
S
had been taken down, and it now just read Booky’s, which had conjured up a lot of rumors in the gambling community.

In the afternoon chill, Wolfe debated his next move. He didn’t need the money, but he needed a sense of self-respect and, on a practical note, something to do in the middle of the day. Oliver’s job offer, at the time, had seemed reasonable. Now he understood why the job market was so tight. There were jobs out there, but some were more desirable than others. And the fact of the matter was that Oliver was very good at what he did, had a gift for it. Wolfe, on the other hand, was gifted in other areas.

As he stared through the shop window, he felt a certain exhilaration. He loved books, always had. Why not be surrounded by them every day? And he could certainly sell a book!

Without any more thought, he entered the store. A simple jingle alerted the manager, who was busy with a box of books. When he looked up, his eyes grew wide. “My golly, it’s you!”

Wolfe extended his hand. “Wolfe Boone.”

“Of course I know you! Your picture is all over the place here.” He smiled and pointed to the various posters. “When you retired, we thought we were going to have to change focus, and we did. We’re opening up a new romance section. But to tell the truth, your books still sell very well.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m Hardy Bishop, the manager.”

“Dude!”

Wolfe glanced up to find Dustin, the usual “dude behind the desk.” He remembered he had quite a fondness for vampire novels.

“It’s
him!
” Dustin jabbed his finger toward Wolfe, gawking shamelessly. Mr. Bishop tried to maintain his pleasant candor.

“And this is Dustin,” he said without enthusiasm.

“Actually, Dustin and I have met.”

“Sure have,” Dustin said. “Took that Polaroid of him.” Dustin pointed to the taped picture hanging from the counter.

“So Mr. Boone, what can we do for you?” Mr. Bishop asked.

“Well,” Wolfe said with a chuckle, “I’m looking for a job.”

“No way …,” Dustin said, and was curtly hushed by Mr. Bishop.

“You’re looking for a real job?” Mr. Bishop asked.

“Writing is actually a real job, believe it or not, but since I’m not writing anymore, I thought I might be good at selling books other people have written.”

“You’d be a dream,” Mr. Bishop said, cutting his eyes to Dustin, who was using two bookmarks for drumsticks.

“I’d love to work here,” Wolfe added, after Mr. Bishop was silent for a moment.

Mr. Bishop’s eagerness turned solemn. “Mr. Boone, I’ll be honest with you. I simply do not sell enough books to justify having two employees.”

Wolfe’s heart sank. “Oh. Sure. I understand.”

Mr. Bishop paused at a private thought, glanced up at Wolfe, turned to Dustin and said, “Hey, Dustin, can you go clean the toilets?”

“Ah, man …,” Dustin moaned.

“That’s it! You’re fired!”

Dustin’s mouth fell open. “I’m fired?”

“I’ve had all the backtalk I can stand from you, Son. ‘Dude’ this. ‘Man’ that. You’re lazy and unreliable, and I keep thinking one of these days you might get a clue and step it up a notch, but you never have.” “But … but …,” Dustin’s cool evaporated like his sense of vocabulary. “Wait a minute,” Wolfe said. “Mr. Bishop, you don’t need to fire Dustin.”

“But you’d be a much better employee.”

“True,” Wolfe smiled, “but you can hire us both. Tell you what. I’ll work for free. You don’t have to pay me until I increase your business enough that you can afford me.”

Mr. Bishop slapped the counter with a stout laugh. “Is it a deal? Can Dustin keep his job?”

Mr. Bishop looked Dustin up and down and sighed. “I guess.” “Thank you!” Dustin hollered. “I won’t let you down!” “You’re welcome,” Mr. Bishop said. “Now go clean some toilets, will you?”

“Ah man …,” Dustin sighed and shuffled to the back room. “When can I start?” Wolfe asked.

Mr. Bishop stared into the air. “Hmm. You can start tomorrow if you’re willing to tackle my newest problem.”

“I’m willing to do whatever you need, Mr. Bishop.” “Terrific,” he sighed. “Because to tell you the truth, I was not looking forward to it.”

“Well, anything has got to beat selling used cars,” Wolfe said.

“Okay. I need you to read all the new romance novels coming in and pick out the top twenty.”