Murder of a Bookstore Babe (2 page)

The Scumble River short story and novella take place:

Scumble River is not a real town. The characters and events portrayed in these pages are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to living persons is pure coincidence.

W
hen Skye Denison saw an ad in the local newspaper announcing Tales and Treats’ grand opening that weekend, she was thrilled. For a voracious reader like Skye, the luxury of having shelves and shelves of new, used, and rare books for sale just five minutes from home was nirvana. And the promise of specialty coffees, gourmet teas, and yummy pastries just added to her elation.

What she didn’t realize was that the store had already managed to ruffle the fur of several of Scumble River’s most vocal citizens. She should have known there’d be some kind of fuss about any new business that set up shop in her prickly hometown.

Like cats, the inhabitants of the small tight-knit community weren’t partial to change, and they often showed their displeasure in spiteful and destructive ways. While the old-timers probably wouldn’t pee in the interlopers’ shoes, they might very well produce some obscure law that made their kind of footwear taboo.

Skye got her first inkling of the unrest on Friday afternoon in the high school’s break room. Normally she didn’t frequent the lounge because the main form of entertainment there was gossip. The confidential nature of her job as the school psychologist meant she couldn’t contribute, and this seriously ticked off many of the teachers. To forestall the problem, Skye usually ate at her desk.

Today, however, was different. Today, there was cake. And not just any kind of cake. It was Skye’s favorite: chocolate with vanilla buttercream icing. What a shame that it was Pru Cormorant’s birthday cake, and that Pru was the person Skye liked least of all her colleagues.

Still, Skye refused to let that deter her. When her conscience insisted it was wrong to eat cake honoring someone she detested, and who detested her, she promised the annoying little voice a pink-frosting rose to shut up. Once she had quieted that troublemaker, Skye continued on her quest for the delectable confection.

Since the lounge was crowded during the two lunch periods, and she didn’t want to get in the way of the staff—who had only twenty minutes to wolf down their food—Skye waited until they had finished and were back in class before making her move. Her plan was to zip in, grab a piece of cake, and savor it back in her office while she started on all the special-education paperwork connected with the beginning of the school year.

Slipping through the doorway, Skye scanned the room, then darted forward. There it was, in the exact middle of the three metal tables that ran end to end down the center of the room. Intent on the double-layered hunk of ecstasy, half of which was already gone, she pushed aside one of the orange molded-plastic chairs that lined both sides of the tables and reached for the knife lying on the crumb-filled serving platter.

Just as her fingers closed around the handle, an ominous voice, the last in the universe she wanted to hear, said, “Having a late lunch?”

Skye whirled around. Pru Cormorant sat on the sofa, her arms along the back and a derisive look on her face. How could Skye have missed seeing her there? She didn’t exactly blend into the surroundings. Pru’s stick-like limbs stuck out at awkward angles from her egg-shaped body, and her too-small head appeared in danger of tumbling off her neck if she made any sudden moves.

“It’s not late for me.” Reluctantly putting down the knife, Skye felt a guilty flush creeping up her neck. “I often see kids during the regular lunch hours.” Not that she had today, but Pru didn’t need to know that.

The English teacher trailed a finger along the top of the couch, which was covered in a prickly plaid fabric that Skye suspected could withstand a direct nuclear hit. “We don’t see you in here very often.”

“No.” Skye pasted a fake smile on her face. “I guess not.”

“Then you must have stopped by especially to wish me a happy birthday. How sweet of you.” Pru gave a malicious little laugh. “I’m sure it wasn’t just for the cake.” She lasered a look at the two-carat diamond on Skye’s left hand. “Particularly since you’re almost certainly on a diet for your wedding.”

Skye’s engagement to Wally Boyd, the Scumble River police chief, had been the talk of the town since June, when she had accepted his proposal and begun wearing his ring. That her ex-boyfriend, Simon Reid, was doing everything in his power to change her mind about marrying the chief wasn’t helping to quell the chatter.

Simon’s plea last week had been delivered in the middle of the school parking lot by a white knight on horseback, which had really stirred up the rumor mill. Skye had always liked her ex’s quirky sense of humor, but she was starting to rethink that opinion. Especially since he had promised that next time he would send a fire-breathing-dragon-gram.

“I couldn’t let such a big day go by without wishing you the best,” Skye managed to say with false sincerity before putting her hands on her hips and staring at Pru. “But why would I be on a diet?”

Skye was well aware that ever since she’d decided she wasn’t willing to eat fewer than eight hundred calories a day in order to stay a size six, a lot of people thought she was too fat. But she didn’t allow veiled insults to go unchallenged. If someone had something to say about her weight, let them come right out and say it.

“It’s just that most brides-to-be want to look extra-good for their wedding pictures,” Pru said, then ruined it by adding, “And you have such a pretty face.”

“For someone who needs to lose a few pounds?” Skye wasn’t about to let the older woman off the hook that easily.

“Of course not.” Pru’s tone was completely insincere as she added, “I’m sorry if you took what I said the wrong way. I certainly never meant to offend you.”

“Hmm.” Skye held her tongue. “Anyway, since we haven’t even set a date yet, I’m not worried about the photos.”

In fact, unbeknownst to anyone beyond Skye’s immediate family, the wedding was on indefinite hold. Knowing how much it meant to Skye to be married in the Catholic Church, Wally had agreed to apply for an annulment from his first wife, from whom he’d been divorced for several years. Father Burns said it might take twelve to fourteen months before the official paperwork was completed, which left them waiting on a process they had little control over.

Pru raised an overplucked brow, but before she could probe further, Skye said, “Anyway, happy birthday.”

Pru nodded regally. “Thank you.”

Skye felt like a bunny caught nibbling a gardener’s prizewinning petunias, and she hadn’t even had a bite of the darn cake. In her heart, she knew she should go ahead, cut a slice, and eat it, but she just couldn’t. Not with Pru staring at her. It was one thing to stand up for herself when someone made a nasty remark, quite another to chow down in front of that same someone, who obviously disapproved of her.

While Skye tried to think of a graceful way to escape, her gaze flitted from the avocado-colored refrigerator set against the back wall to the big black trash can next to the counter, then on to the sink full of used coffee mugs. Finally, she said, “Well, I should probably get back to work.”

“Don’t hurry away on my account.” Pru smiled meanly.

“Of course not.” Skye resigned herself to forfeiting her treat and searched for a good departure line. She glanced at the old library cart holding a huge brown microwave oven, circa 1980. “But I do have reports to write, so I’ll just heat up some water for a cup of tea and be on my way.”

The microwave’s stained exterior was gross, but using the appliance had several advantages. She could turn her back on Pru, thus avoiding further conversation, and when the timer dinged, it would clearly indicate that it was time to depart.

But Pru ruined Skye’s scheme by saying, “Since it’s my planning period, and you can always write reports at home, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Oh.” Skye cringed inwardly. Pru had an ongoing vendetta against the student newspaper that Skye and her friend Trixie Frayne cosponsored. Many of the kids who had been on the English teacher’s debate team had switched to the
Scoop
’s staff because Skye and Trixie treated them fairly. The front page got the top story, not the one written by the teenager who kissed up to them the most. Pru, on the other hand, was known for letting her pets have all the best debate topics, and the students had finally rebelled.

“What’s up?” Skye asked.

“I’m concerned about that new bookstore in town.” Pru ran her fingers through her greasy dun-colored hair, pulling out strands from the bun on top of her head. “I hear it will be selling romance and science fiction.”

Skye bit her tongue to stop from blurting out “And your point is . . . ?” Pru was the leader of the school’s old guard. No need to antagonize her further. Instead Skye said, “Romance outsells all the other genres, and a lot of the most popular YA novels are sci-fi. If those books are readily available, it might encourage kids to read more.”

“Those bodice rippers are nothing but pornography.” Pru’s watery blue eyes scrunched into slits, and her pointy nose twitched, making her look like a nearsighted possum.

“That isn’t true. They’re full of love and hope and happy endings.”

“Nonsense. They’re obscene.” Pru’s lips drew together. “And I have it on good authority that those young adult books you’re referring to are anti-Christian. They encourage the occult and demonic activity.”

Skye clamped her mouth shut, chanting silently,
Don’t, don’t, don’t.
It would be so easy to make a smart-alecky comeback, but she finally managed to swallow her retort and said, “I’m sure that’s not true either.”

“I’m surprised that you, a psychologist”—Pru’s face had her
tsk-tsk
look on it—“aren’t aware of the danger posed by those kinds of books.”

“‘Danger?’” The word slipped out. Skye did not like where this conversation was going, and she shouldn’t have allowed herself to be sucked in.

Pru’s tongue snaked out as if she was about to sample a tasty morsel. “I heard that over in Clay Center some boy bit his mother in the neck and tried to suck her blood out after reading some of those vampire books.”

“Really?” If that had actually happened, Skye was sure she would have heard about it. After all, she was the police department’s psychological consultant, and her mother was a police dispatcher. “Who told you that?”

Pru puffed out her cheeks. “I don’t remember.” Her irritation with Skye for daring to question her was obvious. “What does it matter?”

“Rumors can be so harmful,” Skye said evenly. “I just like to make sure my source is reliable before I believe what I hear.”

“Well”—Pru sent a quelling look in Skye’s direction—“I also heard that a girl in Brooklyn sacrificed her baby after reading some book that glorified witchcraft.”

“Now, that’s totally unbelievable.” Skye shook her head. “Surely that would have made the paper, not to mention the TV news.”

Pru leaned forward and whispered, “I hear it was hushed up.”

“By whom?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” Pru got up from the sofa. “Everyone knows I never gossip.”

Skye nearly choked on a suppressed “Ha!” but managed to keep her expression neutral.

“Anyway, I’ve started a petition,” Pru went on, “and I expect you to sign it.” She paused. “Unless, of course, you don’t care about our kids.”

Skye refused to be cornered. “This weekend, I’ll talk to the owners and find out what kinds of books they’ll be selling and to what age groups. I’ll let you know Monday after school what I find out.”

“Now”—Pru glanced pointedly at Skye—“unlike you, I have to get back to my classroom. The bell is about to ring, and the little darlings might burn down the building if they’re left unattended.”

Skye stared at the door after Pru Cormorant’s departure, then turned and cut an extra-big slice of birthday cake. After what she’d just been through, she deserved it. Besides, if Pru planned to stir up trouble for the new bookstore, Skye would need all her strength to make sure the school’s queen bee didn’t sic her swarm of drones on the defenseless owners before they even had a chance to open for business.

S
kye watched as her cousin Hugo Leofanti, owner of Better Than New Autos, stood in his showroom extolling the virtues of a 1999 Ford Escort to Xenia Craughwell. Xenia and her mother had moved to town a little more than two years ago, after the teenager had been kicked out of several suburban schools. Much to Skye’s relief, despite a rocky start, which included kidnapping a cheerleader and involving the school newspaper in a lawsuit, Xenia had managed to graduate from Scumble River High last fall.

Although Xenia had written for the
Scoop
, and Skye supervised the student paper, they had not been close. Xenia had rebuffed Skye’s attempts to build a relationship and had used her incredibly high IQ to keep all the adults in the school at arm’s length. Even Trixie, the paper’s beloved coadviser, hadn’t been able to break through the girl’s defenses.

Which was why Skye had been so surprised when Xenia showed up in her office that afternoon and asked for assistance in buying a car. Skye had hesitated, wondering what Xenia was up to, but the knowledge that Xenia’s father was dead and her mom acted more like a girlfriend than a parent had compelled Skye to accompany the teen. Now that she was here, Skye wasn’t exactly sure what her role was supposed to be. Xenia wasn’t one to take advice or need help in making a decision.

Skye had been able to convince Hugo to show them around personally, rather than handing them over to a member of his sales staff, but already she was regretting
that
impulse. She had forgotten how ruthless and underhanded her cousin could be, and she was afraid he’d take advantage of Xenia’s youth and inexperience.