Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

“So sue me, I did something nice,” she told him as she grabbed up a sheaf of invoices that needed reconciling to orders. “Besides, it was just that one time.”

Barely had the words left her lips, however, when she heard more tapping at the front glass. This time, it was two fan girls, both plump with spiked black hair and silver rings in their respective noses. Seeing that Darla had noticed them, they began frantically waving.

“Lindsay said you were open for Valerie’s fans,” one of them called through the glass as Darla approached, intent on putting a stop to this nonsense once and for all. “That is so, like, chill. No one else understands.”

Darla sighed. Since she was there in the store anyhow, she might as well make some money. And she needed Valerie’s readers on her side, in case things turned nasty with the glut of news stories that was sure to fill the airwaves the next few days.

Besides, how could she resist being thought of as “chill” by the high school set?

Over the next two hours, she sold almost fifty copies of Ghost of a Chance , along with a few copies of Valerie’s first two Haunted High books. She felt like she was operating a speakeasy, with her teen customers being admitted one or two at a time into the darkened store. Moreover, entry was granted only after she scrutinized them through the front-door glass to make sure Juanita Hillburn or one of the other reporters wasn’t trying to sneak in under cover of cape. Some of the fans sobbed with happiness as they scrambled in; others maintained a proper goth-girl stoicism as they paid for their books, though their reddened eyes betrayed their inner emotions. And before letting them out again, Darla gave each a stern warning not to let anyone but true Valerie fans know about this special event.

“We don’t want the press barging in,” she cautioned. “They don’t respect Valerie like her readers do. I’m keeping the store open a couple of hours today just for you, and not the public.”

To a girl, each swore only to tell her BFFs who truly loved Valerie and her books. Fans of the Boy Wizard novels were pointedly scorned as not worthy of sharing in the secret.

Between customers and invoices, Darla glanced out occasionally to see what was happening down the street. The parade of mourners continued slow but unabated, as did the caravans of press vehicles. Fortunately, the latter seemed more concerned with the shrine to Valerie and interviewing the fans who came to pay their respects, rather than checking out the bookstore that had been the catalyst for the tragedy. As for Hamlet, he proved surprisingly well behaved. Having abandoned his earlier ceiling-high perch for the checkout counter, he lounged there casually grooming his sleek black coat and accepting the respectful compliments of the similarly attired customers.

Around eleven thirty, when almost twenty minutes had passed since the last teen had sought entry, Darla decided that it was time to shut down the clandestine operation. But barely had she powered off the register again when another tap at the glass drew her attention. Determined now to hold firm, she went to the door ready to send away the newcomer, when she recognized Jake’s frizzy mane through the glass.

“Oh no, did I wake you?” she asked in concern as she ushered in her friend.

Jake, she saw, was wearing an identical barely-out-of-bed outfit of sweatpants and T-shirt, topped with oversized sweater. Somehow on her the über-casual clothes didn’t look quite so frumpy. Probably because she’s tall , Darla assured herself. Aloud, she went on, “I kept getting Valerie’s fans coming by looking for her latest, and I couldn’t turn them down.”

“You’re a real Mother Teresa,” Jake replied with a weary grin, following Darla toward the register. “But, no, it wasn’t you. Every time I closed my eyes, another one of those crazy kids was tromping past my place to go pay homage to the glorious Valerie. It’s Monday. Shouldn’t they all be in school or something?”

“They probably cut class to come out here,” Darla guessed, wondering if “Valerie flu” was running rampant throughout all the local schools.

Jake snorted. “I wouldn’t mind it so much except, I swear, they must all have feet the size of dinner plates.”

“I know what you mean. The little ninety-eight-pounders are the worst.” Darla smiled at this last, and then added, “But, seriously, I really did feel like I was performing a public service, seeing how they were all so thrilled to get their books.”

“Worth getting slapped with an unexcused absence from school, right?”

“Don’t look at me, I’m not the truant officer,” Darla said with a shrug and an even broader smile. Then, sobering, she added, “Any news trucks still outside?”

“Last one left about thirty minutes ago. I think we’re safe for the moment.”

“Great.” Darla paused and glanced at her watch. “It’s almost noon. How about I finish up here real quick, and we head down to the deli for lunch, my treat?”

“Have you ever seen me pass up a free meal, kid? Don’t worry, I can entertain myself for a few minutes.” With a look around the store, she added, “Fast work getting the place back in shape. And Hamlet decided to lend a hand, I see.”

Hearing his name, the cat looked up from his countertop perch where he was luxuriating in obvious comfort. He sneezed twice and then deliberately hopped down onto the floor.

“I think he caught the sarcasm,” Darla explained as she filed the rest of her paperwork into designated folders. “Actually, he’s been pretty well behaved since he gave me my latest heart attack.”

She went on to describe finding Hamlet on her bed looking like he’d just been visited by the feline Grim Reaper. Jake laughed and shook her head. “He’s what, ten years old now? Ornery creature that he is, I bet he hasn’t used up more than one of his lives so far. I think he’ll be with you for the long haul.

“Oh, but look,” she added with another chuckle, pointing toward the rear of the main room, “I think my guilt trip worked. The little beggar is actually playing janitor.”

In fact, Hamlet had discovered a crumpled piece of paper sticking out from beneath one of the shelves that Darla had just rolled back into place. As she and Jake watched in amusement, he snagged it with a claw and dragged it out into the open; then, with the skill of a professional soccer player, he batted the wad from paw to paw so that it skittered across the smooth wooden floor. With a final swipe of one large paw, he sent the paper ball flying so that it landed squarely between Jake’s booted feet.

“And he scores!” Jake said, giving Hamlet a round of applause while Darla grinned in appreciation. “I wonder how he is at softball. Reese said they need a couple of fielders for the precinct team.” She bent and retrieved the paper, and smoothed the sheet and held it up in the dim light.

“It looks like one of those Haunted High trivia sheets Lizzie was passing out to the fans yesterday,” she confirmed. Tsk ing a little, she added, “It’s not like you don’t have trash cans in here. If someone didn’t want their copy, they could have—”

Jake broke off as she apparently realized that Darla was now frowning in her direction. “What . . . do I have something stuck in my teeth?”

“Not that I noticed,” Darla answered, unable to keep the sudden urgency from her tone, “but you might want to take a look at the back of that page you’re holding.”

ELEVEN

JAKE FLIPPED THE PAPER OVER. ON WHAT SHOULD HAVE been the blank reverse side, she saw what Darla already had noticed in some alarm . . . someone had scrawled a few words in what appeared to be dark red lipstick.