Murder of a Bookstore Babe (3 page)

Flashing deep dimples, Hugo said to Xenia as he led her and Skye out of the building, “Let’s get you into a car.”

The early-September sun beat down on the windshields of vehicles parked along Basin Street, Scumble River’s main drag. Other than the empty road, there wasn’t much else to see. Ye Olde Junque Emporium was the only other business open within a two- or three-block radius.

Hugo directed them to a space a few doors down containing a small rusty hatchback with yellow block letters spelling out EZ TERMS on a side window. Skye frowned but kept silent. She’d decided to intervene only if Xenia requested her opinion, and that was about as likely as the government
truly
reducing taxes or
really
fixing the health care system.

Xenia walked around the Ford. “How many miles does this . . . this thing have on it?”

“This luxury automobile only has a hundred and ten thousand,” Hugo answered smoothly, then added, “You mentioned that you’re attending film school in Chicago and need transportation for the commute. This baby has a spacious interior
and
gets incredible mileage. And I can let you have her for only four thousand dollars. Let me tell you about the previous owner.”

Skye studied Hugo as he talked. Her cousin had been fortunate when he took a dip in the gene pool. He had gotten a long, lean body from his mother’s side of the family and a thick black mane and the Leofanti eyes from his father’s. If it had been the other way around, he would have ended up short, with thinning dishwater blond hair. His dad, Skye’s uncle Dante, looked a lot liked a penguin; Hugo would have probably resembled a bowling pin.

Skye had the Leofanti emerald eyes, too, but that was where the similarity ended. While Skye’s shone with genuineness, Hugo’s glittered with insincerity. Although he oozed charm, he was good at masking his true thoughts. This was an advantage in his chosen profession, but it did not make him trustworthy.

Xenia broke in on Hugo’s sales spiel. “Seriously, dude, fuel economy may be important, but I’m carpooling with another girl from town, so it’s not totally the deciding factor. There’s also acceleration and quality of the ride.” She angled her pierced brow contemptuously. “By the way, FYI, four thousand is double what this piece of crap is worth, and even at a quarter of the price it would probably come back and bite me.”

Hugo’s expression subtly changed, and Skye felt her lips twitch. Clearly, he had looked at Xenia, outfitted in her usual Goth-punk sex-kitten attire, and thought she was an airhead on whom he could pull a fast one. He was wising up quickly.

Skye could understand her cousin’s misconception. Today Xenia had on a short ruffled skirt, leggings that ended midcalf, and a pair of Doc Martens. She had layered several ripped T-shirts, all of which exposed the gold ring in her navel. A multitude of bangle bracelets worn on top of fishnet gloves on both arms completed her fashion statement. White skin and the fuchsia stripe in her hair at the temple were the only contrasts to the unrelieved black of her clothing.

“What else do you have?” Xenia shaded her eyes and looked down the line of vehicles parked on either side of the dealership. “You gotta turn it up a notch from this.” She thumped the Escort’s trunk. “I want something sick.”

Hugo glanced questioningly at Skye, who mouthed the word
cool
.

Hugo recovered quickly. “I know just the car for you. A Volkswagen Beetle. It’s hip
and
gets great mileage.” He guided Xenia and Skye by their elbows. “I was saving this for Dr. Zello’s daughter—she’s turning sixteen next month—but since you’re a friend of my cousin, I’ll let you have first crack at it.”

“Awesome.” Xenia rolled her eyes at Skye but allowed herself to be propelled across the road to a line of vehicles parked along the curb.

“What do you think?” Hugo stopped beside a tiny yellow car that looked like an upside-down coffee cup. The lettering on its windshield read, SUPER DEAL. “She even has a cute little flower holder near the driver’s seat.”

“Dude, do I look like a flower kinda girl to you?” Xenia shook her head but inspected every inch of the finish, then repeated the process with the interior. Finally she asked, “What year is it?”

“Two thousand three.” Hugo’s smile displayed impossibly straight white teeth against his deeply tanned skin. “And she only has seventy-three thousand miles on her.”

As he pointed out the car’s features, Skye noticed they were in front of the new bookstore. The display window was still covered on the inside with brown paper, but the words
Tales and Treats
were painted in gold across the glass. Rumor had it that the owners had purchased the entire building and were living above the shop.

As Skye examined the second floor for signs of occupancy, the front door slammed open, and a petite woman dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt with NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS MOVIE ~ J. W. EAGAN printed on the front came running out. “Mr. Leofanti, a word please.”

“Mrs. Erwin, as you can see, I’m busy right now.” Hugo hid his scowl and said, “Perhaps we can talk when I have more time. Why don’t you send your husband over later?”

“It’s Ms. Vaughn or Risé, as I’ve told you before.” In an aside to Skye and Xenia she explained, “I kept my maiden name when I got married, which seems to confuse Mr. Leofanti to no end.” Turning her attention back to Hugo, she said, “And for the tenth time, you need to deal with me, not Orlando, on this matter.”

“Well,
Miz
Vaughn.” Hugo grabbed Xenia’s elbow and tried to steer her away from the woman. “I’ll speak to
you
later.”

“Back off! You’re bruising my aura.” Xenia shook off Hugo’s hand, crossed her arms, and refused to budge. “I’m not in a hurry. Go ahead and talk to Ms. Vaughn.”

Xenia’s expression suggested that Hugo was rapidly losing any credibility he’d had with her. If Skye had liked her cousin, she would have told him that the teen was a feminist and his condescending attitude toward the bookstore woman would not improve his chances of selling Xenia a car.

“No. Ms. Vaughn can wait.” Hugo made another attempt to move Xenia away. “I know just what you want.”

“Oh, yeah?” Xenia snorted. “Yet, despite the look on my face, you’re still talking.”

Hugo’s ears turned red, and he snapped, “Young lady, you have an attitude problem.”

“No, I don’t.” Xenia smiled, clearly pleased she’d provoked him into losing his cool. “You have a perception problem.” She patted the laptop case that hung from her shoulder. “Now that we have that settled, I need to check the Internet about this car.” She turned to Risé. “You got Wi-Fi?”

“Yes.” The bookstore owner nodded to the door behind her. “Help yourself.”

“Phenomenal.” Xenia fluttered her fingers at Hugo, and said, “Later.”

Skye was torn. Should she go with Xenia or stay here? Since Skye was technology challenged and would be of no help with the computer, she remained where she was.

“Yes?” Hugo heaved a put-upon sigh and turned back to Risé. “What now?”

“Our grand opening is tomorrow, and you still haven’t moved your automobiles.” Risé gestured to the half dozen vehicles parked in front of her store, all with various messages in yellow lettering on their windows. “I asked you a week ago to put them somewhere else.”

When Hugo had bought Scumble River’s old hardware store a couple of years ago and turned it into a used-car dealership, the buildings surrounding it had been vacant, which meant he’d been able to use all the parking spaces on the block to stow his inventory. The bookstore was the first business to move in since then.

“And I told you when you asked me the first time, these spots are public property.” Hugo’s smile was smug. “You don’t own them.”

“True.” Risé reached into the pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “But I’ve been doing a little research.”

“Good for you.” Hugo leaned back on the hood of a blue Dodge Charger with ONE OWNER written across its windshield.

Skye’s attention was riveted to the drama playing out in front of her.

Risé grabbed center stage by shoving the paper into Hugo’s hand and saying, “According to the town statutes, no vehicle may remain parked in the same space for more than twelve consecutive hours.”

“So?” Hugo’s shoulders stayed relaxed under his gray pin-striped suit jacket. “Who’s to say my cars haven’t been moved around?”

Skye watched Risé’s hands tighten into fists. Should she call the police now or wait for the woman to punch out Hugo’s lights? One thing was for sure—this wasn’t her fight, and she wasn’t getting involved. Taking a step backward, Skye put a white Mercury Sable whose sign read LOW MILEAGE between her and the possible combatants.

Risé noted Skye’s movement and shook her head, causing her long brown ponytail to sway back and forth. “I’m not going to hit him,” she said. “Except in his wallet.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hugo sputtered.

Risé held up a finger. “The first parking offense is a fifty-dollar fine—per car.” She held up another finger. “The second offense is a hundred dollars.” A final finger joined the other two. “And the third is impoundment.”

“Again, so?” Hugo sneered. “There’s no way to prove how long my cars have been parked in the same space.”

“Isn’t there?” Risé smiled thinly. “Do you really want to take that risk?”

“There’s no risk involved.” Hugo shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you know who my father is?”

“Santa Claus?” Risé shrugged. “The Easter Bunny?” Her lip curled. “What? There will be a lump of coal in my stocking or I’m not getting any chocolate eggs in my basket?”

“You’re so funny.” Hugo narrowed his cool green eyes. “My father’s the mayor of Scumble River.” He jerked his thumb at Skye. “And my cousin, here, is engaged to the chief of police.”

Skye cringed and hurriedly said, “Not that I’d try to influence him in any legal matters.” She’d been hoping she and the bookstore owner could be friends. Besides, she really didn’t want to be aligned with Hugo.

“Of course not, cuz.” Hugo glanced at his watch. “Anything else? I’ve got to move some metal.” He made an impatient face. “Some of us need to make a living from our business.”

“What do you mean by that?” Risé demanded.

“Let’s just say”—Hugo smirked—“you’re not the only one who’s done a little investigating.”

A faint line dug between the bookstore owner’s brows but was instantly smoothed away. “Scum-sucking bastard,” she declared, then turned on her heel and marched into her shop.

“What was that all about?” Skye demanded.

But before Hugo could respond, Xenia stepped out of the building and said, “Ready to deal, dude?”

While Hugo and Xenia worked out the details of her purchase of the Volkswagen, Skye sat in Hugo’s office and thought about the encounter she had witnessed between her cousin and Risé Vaughn. So far Tales and Treats was two for two. Skye had had only two encounters concerning the shop, and both times the people concerned had a problem with the new business.

All in all, it was not looking like an auspicious beginning for the bookstore.

O
nce the purchase of the Beetle was completed, Skye followed Xenia home, driving the Craughwell family car, which Xenia had borrowed for her trip to Better Than New Autos. Once Skye parked the Sebring in the garage and got into the Volkswagen, Xenia suggested they stop for ice cream before she dropped Skye back at the high school.

“Sounds good.” Skye fastened her seat belt. “Don’t forget to buckle up.”

“Seat belts are too confining.” Xenia put the VW into gear.

“Not as confining as a wheelchair.”

Xenia harrumphed but clicked the belt into place.

“Wasn’t the warning bell bugging you on the drive over?” Skye asked, then realized she hadn’t heard the irritating dinging when she got into the vehicle.

“Nah.” Xenia accelerated. “I disconnected it before leaving the used-car lot.”

Skye opened her mouth to ask how but realized she didn’t really want to know. Instead she changed the subject. “You were pretty rude to Hugo.”

“He got on my last nerve, and I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s true he deserved what you said to him,” Skye allowed, “but either you control your attitude or it controls you.”

Xenia snorted but was silent for the next few minutes until they arrived at the Dairy Kastle. The local soft-serve drive-in was a hangout for kids, and the statue of a giant man holding a cone was often photographed by tourists on their Route 66 road trips. To Skye, he looked suspiciously like Paul Bunyan, and she often wondered what had happened to his ax and his blue ox, Babe.

Once they were parked, had given their order to the carhop, and the girl had skated away, Xenia patted the dash and said, “This is wicked nice.”

“Yes. It is.” Skye swept her hand in front of her. “It’s much roomier than I was expecting.”

“And I got a great price,” Xenia bragged. “A thousand under the Kelley Blue Book Web site recommendation.”

“That’s amazing.” Skye’s tone was upbeat, but she was alarmed. It wasn’t like Hugo to sell a car for one cent less than it was worth to him. She sure hoped there was nothing wrong with the VW. Not that she had believed for a minute that he really had another buyer for it.

“Like you and Mrs. Frayne used to always say”—Xenia beamed—“it pays to do your homework.”

“You did great. I’m proud of you.” Skye couldn’t remember ever seeing a genuine smile on Xenia’s face before. “You know, I’ve never actually bought a car.”

“Word?”

“Yep. My dad has always fixed up clunkers for me.” Skye shrugged. “He and my uncle found my current one rotting in someone’s barn.”

“It must have taken them a long time to make a nineteen fifty-seven Bel Air so nice.” Xenia’s smile faded. “My mom won’t even stitch on a button for me. She just hands me some money and tells me to buy a new blouse.”