Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

Hamlet apparently had no opinion on the subject, for he looked up from where he’d settled on the couch, gave her a cold green stare, and then went back to napping.

Darla snorted and started to shut down the computer again, when another unsettling thought occurred to her. Jake had seemed more than a little upset at the idea that she could have imagined the sounds, or that Darla might have thought she had. Maybe the ex-cop had encountered some similar situation during her career that made her sensitive to the likes of ghosts and mysterious footsteps in the night.

Fingers on the keyboard, she hesitated. Then, feeling equal parts determined and unaccountably guilty, she typed her friend’s name into the search engine.

By inputting all variations she could think of, Darla found herself with several pages of entries about Jake. Some were but a sentence or two mention. Jake had been on the building committee at Mary Queen of Peace Catholic Church five years earlier and had taken part in a fund-raiser for the Big Sisters. Others were police accounts where she’d been the arresting officer. Nothing, however, about ghosts.

Finally, Darla found a news story recounting the circumstances of the shooting that had led to Jake’s retirement from the force. She clicked on the link and read with interest. The report was straightforward and echoed the story she had pieced together herself via offhand mentions from Jake.

Authorities are charging the man who shot at a New York City police officer this morning with attempted capital murder. Martin Edward Rose, 52, remains at City Medical Center in good condition after he and the officer exchanged gunfire Tuesday morning in the 300 block of West Olive Street.

Police officials say Rose allegedly fired first, wounding Detective Jacqueline Martelli, a 20-year police veteran. Despite a bullet to the upper thigh, she was able to fire back, hitting him in the torso. Other patrol officers arriving on the scene pulled Martelli to safety and subdued her shooter. Both were taken to the hospital.

Martelli was attempting to arrest Rose on a previous charge of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. Her condition was upgraded this morning from critical to serious, and she is expected to recover.

A follow-on story from the day after reported that the suspect had been released from the hospital and subsequently denied bail on all charges, while mentioning that Jake’s condition was now “good” and that she would be released in a few days. No alarm bells in any of that , Darla thought in relief. She had been afraid she might find something untoward, like, Crazed police officer claims to have shot undead suspect .

“See, Hamlet,” she exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder at the cat. “You were worried for no good reason.”

But barely had the words left her lips when she noticed at the bottom of the screen a link to a story dated a few weeks after the shooting. Jake’s name was highlighted as a keyword, and the stark headline said it all.

POLICE OFFICER ON DISABILITY LEAVE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER

SEVENTEEN

“HOW ABOUT THIS ONE, DEAR?”

Mary Ann held up a length of gold fabric with a faint stripe pattern that gave it a vintage tone-on-tone look. When Darla admired it and ventured aloud that it resembled organza, the old woman smiled and shook her head.

“Very similar, yes, but this is called grenadine,” she explained. “It was considered a dress fabric as far back as the eighteenth century, but it fell out of favor right about World War I. Of course, everything old is eventually new again, and it was reborn sometime in the 1920s as a curtain fabric. If you look at old dry goods catalogues from the 1930s through the 1950s, you’ll see listings for just that—curtain grenadine. I think this example would look lovely in your foyer.”

“I’ll take it,” Darla agreed, stifling a yawn as she handed over her credit card.

Since Wednesdays were James’s day off, she had left the bookstore in Lizzie’s care this morning while she did a little shopping at Bygone Days Antiques. After last night, her primary motivation had been to find something to cover the glass door leading up to her apartment. But it had also been a handy excuse for her to take another look at The Hat.

For it had occurred to her that a vintage picture hat would be the ideal thing to wear to a celebrity funeral. She already had a decent black dress, so it didn’t make sense to buy a new one just to impress people she’d never again see after tomorrow. Splurging on some one-of-a-kind headgear, however, seemed a perfectly justifiable expense.

“Do you have a curtain rod to hang the fabric?” Mary Ann asked, breaking in on her thoughts. “If not, we have some reproduction hardware that would be quite appropriate for the era. And, I’m sure Brother wouldn’t mind popping over to install it for you, free of charge.”

Darla smiled. The old woman definitely had mastered the art of the up-sell. Maybe she should ask her if she wanted a few paid hours at the bookstore . . . that was, assuming things ever got back to normal.

Her smile faded. So far that morning, the only person besides her and Lizzie to set foot inside the store had been a reporter from a tabloid magazine looking for a new angle on Valerie Baylor’s tragic death. Feeling certain that if she didn’t provide a few pithy quotes, the reporter would make up his own, she’d agreed to a brief interview.

Much to Darla’s dismay, Lizzie had been eager to get in on the act and spin her own dramatic take on events. As she’d launched into her version for the reporter’s benefit, however, Hamlet had leaped on the counter and knocked over a display of bookmarks. In the confusion to recover the scattered inventory, Darla had managed to escort the reporter out the door before Lizzie realized in disappointment that he’d gone.

And, after waiting a few minutes to make sure the reporter wouldn’t return, Darla had retrieved a bit of chicken breast from the salad she’d brought for lunch, and given it to Hamlet as a reward.

Now, she nodded her approval of a curtain rod.

“Why don’t you pick out something for me and add it to the bill? And you can tell Mr. Plinski to stop by anytime it’s convenient for him to do the install.”

“Wonderful! I have one in mind that is eye-catching without being terribly ostentatious, and it’s reasonably priced, to boot,” she replied, carefully refolding the vintage curtain. “ And I’ll make sure Brother takes care of this today. Now, is there anything else for you, my dear?”

“Well . . .”

Darla walked over to the mannequin that still sported the black picture hat with its drape of black veiling. Examining it more closely, she saw that the satin ribbon around its crown was a soft shade of dove gray, and that a matching gray satin rose was pinned to it.

“I know I really shouldn’t,” she began, only to have Mary Ann cut her short.

“Of course you should, dear,” she exclaimed, lifting the hat from the painted head and placing it at a rakish angle atop Darla’s red waves.

“It’s good to treat oneself on occasion,” she went on as she adjusted the veil down over her chin. “After all, you never know if a particular day will be your last. Oh dear.”

Mary Ann stepped back, looking abashed at her unfortunate observation, and Darla smiled. “Actually, I was thinking of wearing it to Valerie Baylor’s funeral tomorrow. It seems appropriate.”

The woman nodded and held up a silver-framed hand mirror so Darla could admire her reflection. “It looks lovely on you, and I think quite somber enough for the occasion without looking too funereal. And suppose I give you a little discount, just so you don’t feel guilty about indulging yourself?”