Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

With a look over at Darla, he added, “I think it would appear, shall we say, inappropriate for Pettistone’s Fine Books to have a presence on a public auction site; however, I intend to send private messages to some of our more avid collectors of popular fiction to gauge interest in our signed store copies.”

“Wouldn’t want to be inappropriate, now,” Jake agreed with a grin, which broadened as she turned to Darla. “Speaking of which, Reese wasn’t upstairs very long last night. Here I all but gift wrap this good-looking hunk of a man for you and send him up to your place, and you don’t take advantage of the situation?”

“Hey, just being polite,” Darla replied, trying not to blush. “I figured he might be off-limits, since you and he are so tight.”

“Not a chance. You’ll never catch me on the cougar prowl,” she replied, doing a little mock claw swipe. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind looking at cute young things, but when it comes down to it, I like my men a bit more seasoned. But the two of you would make a cute couple, and he could use a change from his usual type.”

“Really, Jake, I trust you are not pimping out your friends to my employer, or vice versa,” James interjected in a disapproving tone.

The woman was not to be squelched.

“Don’t be such a killjoy, James,” she shot back, turning the grin on him. “Darla’s a big girl. She can tell me to back off if she wants.”

“Okay, back off,” Darla agreed, but she said it with a smile, even as she wondered what Reese’s usual type was. Probably barely legal, with that whole Jersey Shore look going on. “Reese is a nice guy, but I can’t see him as anything but a friend. Especially while we still have this whole Valerie mess hanging over our heads.”

Her smile faded at that last, and she abruptly stood to peer into the store in case a customer had managed to slip in without triggering the bells. It was still empty, except for Hamlet. He padded past the open doorway, tail waving in a carefree manner. Apparently, he enjoyed having the place to himself.

“It’s after one o’clock,” she proclaimed, looking at her watch, “and we haven’t had a single customer. James, why don’t you go on home? I’ll pay you for the whole shift, of course.”

“If you insist. I am rather anxious to check the status of my auction.”

“I insist. I’ll hang out here a bit longer and then shut down for the day. Maybe business tomorrow will be better.”

“I am certain it shall be. And I will make sure to send out those emails of inquiry from home. Good afternoon, ladies,” he finished with a formal nod, and headed back into the store. A few moments later, jingling bells announced his exit.

Darla sat back with a sigh and raked her hands through her wavy auburn hair, which she’d let hang loose this day. “I’ll call Lizzie and tell her not to bother coming in after class this afternoon. Maybe she can do some social networking on our behalf. And I’d better have her post a message of condolence on our website, too.”

“Good idea, kid. Don’t worry, the customers will be back.”

She stood and helped Darla gather the remains of their lunch; then, once the cleanup was completed, Jake too headed for the door. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything new from Reese,” she promised. “Now go home and have a relaxing afternoon.”

As if , Darla wryly thought while the sound of jingling bells followed her friend out. She’d probably spend all afternoon with her nose pressed to the window watching for a return of Marnie, or else sit glued to the cable news channels waiting for segments on the whole Valerie fiasco. With the funeral on Thursday, the media vultures would be hovering again. Which reminded her . . .

Grabbing up the store Rolodex, she flipped through until she found Hillary Gables’s phone number. Surprisingly, she reached the agent at her office on the first try.

“You can imagine what it’s been like here,” the woman told her after they exchanged pleasantries. Her sharp New York City demeanor, punctuated by a few sniffles, seemed to slice through the phone lines as she went on, “The tour had just begun, and we had radio and television spots booked. And, even worse, we don’t have another manuscript from her. Her contract allows two years between books, so her next one wasn’t due for a couple of months. I’m afraid this is the end of the line, unless we can ghost out the book to someone else to finish.”

She paused, and Darla heard a small chuckle on the other end. “Ghost out . . . kind of appropriate, when you think about it,” she added, sounding far more chipper about the entire situation than expected.

Darla simply said in return, “You told me the service for Valerie would be Thursday. Will you still be able to get me in to pay my respects?”

“Sure, why not? But, remember what I said. Don’t tell people who you are if you can avoid it. Some of the relatives might hold a grudge. Know what I mean?”

Darla agreed that she did. Satisfied, Hillary gave her the location of the church in Southampton, adding, “Be there by two. Your name will be on the list, but I’ll keep an eye out for you in case security doesn’t want to let you in. Oh, and dress up. It’s not Brooklyn out there. The Hamptons might go casual for everyday, but make it a social affair like a funeral, and they’ll dress for it like it’s the red carpet.”

Darla managed not to make a snide retort to that last. Instead, she thanked the agent and rang off, wondering now if attending the funeral would be a mistake. Hillary might be right, in that Valerie’s family could well be blaming her for what happened.

She wondered, too, if Marnie and her fellow congregants would somehow find their way to the church with their protest signs on Thursday. Chances were the van wouldn’t yet be repaired, meaning they’d have plenty of spare time on their hands for their demonstration. But at least if they were picketing there, that meant they wouldn’t be marching in front of her store. Despite Marnie’s promise, Darla wouldn’t put it past the woman to make at least a token protest at Pettistone’s before she left town, if only to satisfy the tax man that she and her associates had indeed been traveling on church business.

Darla sighed and then slowly spun around, surveying her small kingdom of books. She hadn’t realized until now just how much this store had come to mean to her. Before, it had been strictly business, working as a matter of duty and pride to keep her fiscal head well above water in these challenging economic times. After all, she’d been handpicked to carry on this piece of the Pettistone legacy. Great-Aunt Dee could have willed her literary child to any one of twenty other relatives. No way was Darla not going to come up to Pettistone snuff.

Good intentions, however, were not enough. Between the online bookselling behemoths undercutting the little guys, and e-books swooping in to take their surprising share of the market, it was getting harder and harder for brick-and-mortar places to compete. Every day, it seemed, she read in the trades about another well-established bookstore that had slipped into bankruptcy. Keeping a positive attitude after each such doleful announcement, she continually told herself it wouldn’t happen to her.

But if today was a harbinger of things to come, she might be the next in line to be washed away by that red-ink tide.

And then what in the heck would she do?

“No sense borrowing trouble,” she muttered, reflexively channeling her mother, who was prone to spout such well-worn chestnuts. She had a flexible business plan, and so long as she stuck to it, she should be able to weather the unfavorable economic storm. And if not, maybe she’d simply have to ditch the books and reopen as a coffee shop or a New Age boutique.