Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

“Yeah, I heard people tromping past my place all night long.” Jake’s raspy voice held more than a note of weariness. “I’m waiting for the swarm of honeybees next.”

“It’s not the flowers that worry me, it’s the media,” Darla replied. Summoning a hopeful tone, she added, “Do you think this was it as far as news reports?”

“Not a chance, kid. You just missed the folks from the Spanish-language station. The other major networks have already come and gone, and the smaller cable channels are circling the block now like vultures. Famous author plus grisly death equals news. If I were you, I’d stay inside until tomorrow.”

“Great,” Darla answered forlornly.

“Listen, I’m going back to bed, kid. Didn’t get much sleep last night, you know? But I’ll yell if Reese calls with any updates.”

Darla hung up and shut off the television, and then peered out the window again. By now, two more news trucks had stopped in the curbside lane and were blocking traffic as they scrambled for some quick shots of the scene. The passing drivers either responded with a blare of a horn and rude gestures, or else slowed to gawk at the floral tribute, further snarling traffic. A few more fans had gathered now, joining hands in what appeared to be a gothic ring-around-the-rosy.

Jake has the right idea , she thought with a groan, abandoning the window as she contemplated heading right back to bed, too. Since the store was closed today anyhow, she had nowhere to be for the rest of the day. Camping out under the covers seemed the best plan.

Darla contemplated that bit of self-indulgence for a few more minutes and then shook her head. The apartment needed a good vacuuming, laundry needed washing, and a stack of store paperwork awaited her. Mundane tasks to be sure, but unless the good fairies paid her an unexpected visit, none of it would get done unless she did it.

Giving the bed a final longing look, she dragged herself to the shower. Thirty minutes later, her auburn hair was freshly braided and she was wearing her official lounge-around-the-house uniform of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Since the apartment held a bit of a chill, she also pulled on an oversized black sweater to complete her less-than-stunning ensemble and then headed back to the kitchen for more coffee and a yogurt.

Hamlet had long since finished his own breakfast and lay stretched out full length on the back of the horsehair couch, watching her from the living room. He contented himself with a protracted baleful green stare in her direction, until she finished off the last bite of lemon-cream yogurt. Then he rose in an elegant move and gave a single sharp meow.

“What?” Darla demanded in a grumpy voice.

Hamlet did not waste his delicate lungs on a repeat but merely hopped off the couch and strolled to the front door. There, he planted his furry butt and stared in fierce concentration at that section of heavy wood paneling that led to the great outdoors. He was still seated there a few moments later after Darla had washed her spoon and coffee cup. She shot him a baleful look of her own and then sighed.

“Fine, we’ll head down to the store first,” she agreed, grabbing up her keys. “I need to review a whole pile of invoices. But you’d better mind your manners. And no going outside into the courtyard.”

Hamlet took the lead, his long black tail held aloft as he negotiated the steps in a series of graceful bounds, rather than padding properly one riser at a time. By the time Darla reached the lower landing, he was already at the door leading from hall to shop, standing on his hind legs with both front paws wrapped around the cut-glass knob.

“Sorry, buddy, you can’t open the door without a key,” she reminded him as she unlocked the door and stepped inside the shop. While she shut off the alarm system, Hamlet flew past her, his momentum leaving a fleeting feline hurricane in his wake.

Darla followed more slowly, flipping on only a couple of necessary lights lest the store appear open for business. It was cool inside without the heat turned on, but not unpleasantly so. Otherwise, the place was just as she’d left it, the moveable shelves still pushed to either side of the main room to form a broad aisle down the center. The red and black draped table was still piled with neat stacks of brand-new books and looked eerily abandoned behind the empty maze where Valerie’s fans had waited with such anticipation. From the easel near the table, Valerie’s dramatic image continued to hold court, her carefully composed features seeming to stare out from her publicity poster with more than a bit of malice.

Suppressing a shiver, Darla hurried over to the easel and pulled down the poster. Great-Aunt Dee had kept similar promotional posters of famous authors hanging in the upstairs loft and storeroom as reminders of past events. But the last thing Darla wanted was the late Haunted High author hanging around her store—even in the figurative sense—laying a guilt trip on her every time she happened to glance at the photo. She’d tuck away the poster behind the counter for now and let James haul it off tomorrow. Chances were he could get a tidy bit of cash for it on one of his online auctions.

Suddenly impatient to return the place to normal, Darla decided not to wait for James to do the heavy lifting in the morning but to tackle the job herself, here and now.

Restoring order took perhaps an hour, requiring a moderate amount of sweat and the unfortunate breakage of one fingernail. She doffed the oversized sweater a few minutes into it, since hauling around the loaded shelves was sufficient activity to raise a good sweat. Hamlet supervised her work from atop the bestseller shelf, looking like a small panther as he lay draped along one wooden edge. She had just folded the last of the table throws and was ready for a break when she heard frantic tapping on the front glass.

Startled, she glanced in that direction to see a hooded dark figure looming on the other side of the door. Her reflexive gasp was released as a small groan when she realized on second look that the intruder was one of the ubiquitous black-caped teens. No doubt the girl had come to pay her respects at the impromptu Valerie shrine and had noticed Darla moving about inside the store.

Pantomiming sorry, go away gestures, she headed toward the door and called through the glass, “I’m afraid we’re closed today. Try us again tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow will be too late!” the fan wailed back, her breath frosting the glass. “I’m the only one I know who didn’t get a copy of Ghost of a Chance yet. If I can’t read it along with everyone else, I’ll die.”

Darla’s first impulse was to tell the girl she’d just have to make funeral arrangements, but a second look at the teen’s pleading face did her in. After all, she could have been putting on a hysterical display out there on the stoop, blaming Darla for her idol’s death, instead of wanting to put money into the store’s coffers. With a reluctant nod, she turned the lock and opened the door.

“Okay, just this once,” she agreed as the girl, with a little skip of joy, slipped in past her. “Grab a book off the display while I power up the register.”

A few minutes later, she was letting the teen out the door again, the book gleefully clutched to her chest. “Don’t tell anyone else I did this for you,” Darla called after the girl as she hurried down the steps toward the street.

Whether or not the teen heard that directive, Darla wasn’t sure. What she could see was the teen waving her newly acquired book in triumph as she rushed toward a cluster of Valerie’s fans kneeling by the growing mountain of flowers. Remember what she said: everyone else already has a copy , Darla thought with a shrug. She locked the door again and caught Hamlet’s cool green gaze as she headed back toward the register.