Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

Darla stood in shocked silence a moment after he’d finished reading. Hearing the words spoken aloud had an even greater impact than seeing them on paper. Finally, she took a calming breath and asked, “So, what do you think?”

“I think the woman has a fixation with the uppercase,” James remarked in his usual understated manner as he handed back the letter to her. “But I am confused. I thought you had told me your sister ran off to Seattle, married a grunge musician, and became a corporate lawyer while her spouse stayed home to care for their three children. What is she doing befriending this odd churchwoman?”

“Actually, my sister Brenda is the lawyer . . . and it’s Portland, not Seattle. Linda is still back home in Texas. She’s the stay-at-home mom with two boys, and her husband is a financial analyst.”

Darla grimaced at that last. Said brother-in-law, though a decent enough guy, also happened to be Darla’s ex-husband’s cousin. That inconvenient relationship had led to a few tense moments those times that her sister had hosted any extended-family get-togethers in the two years following Darla’s divorce.

Darla sighed. She had left Texas and taken on the responsibility of her late great-aunt’s store knowing full well that times were tough for independent booksellers. It had been a gamble . . . but, as far as she could see, a reasonable one. With nothing but debt (courtesy of her deadbeat ex) and a dwindling job market left to her in Dallas, she had jumped at the opportunity of owning both a home and a business, free and clear.

She hadn’t realized just how tough things actually were, however, until she’d started keeping the shop’s books. Each month, the gap between black ink and red continued to narrow. While she was still turning a modest profit—James’s rare-books expertise and her push into Internet sales had been proving the difference—one bad month and the red ink would begin spurting. The rent she collected from Jake was a nice little bonus, but since the lease terms as negotiated with Great-Aunt Dee were far below the going rate, those payments didn’t do much to offset any real drop in store revenues.

The last thing she needed now was a boycott to run off the customers she had!

“Anyhow, I’m sure Linda isn’t involved with these Lord’s Blessing people,” Darla went on, shoving aside her unpleasant memories to concentrate on the new bad stuff. “She and her family attend your basic garden-variety Methodist church. But I did read something about this church in the Dallas paper last year. The congregation decided that a movie theater in a town about thirty miles north of the city was busy doing the devil’s work. Apparently, the place showed horror-movie marathons on Friday and Saturday nights. It was a real draw for the local teens.”

“Ah, let me guess,” James interjected. “Mrs. Jennings and her fellow churchgoers saw evil incarnate and decided that a little soul saving was in order.”

“Exactly. They picketed the theater every weekend for two months until most of the kids gave up and quit going to the movies. The owner finally had to shut the place down,” Darla finished with a disgusted shake of her red mane.

James gave a genteel snort. “It sounds as if Mrs. Jennings and her fellow fanatics have forgotten that both Old and New Testaments are rife with supernatural happenings far more outlandish than anything you will find in movie theaters or Ms. Baylor’s books. But do not worry. In my estimation, your immortal soul is safe even if you refuse to cancel the signing.”

“It isn’t exactly my soul that I’m worried about,” Darla replied as she took back the offending letter and shoved it into its envelope. “It’s my livelihood that concerns me. It’s bad enough that we had a girl outside the store yesterday waving a sign accusing Valerie Baylor of plagiarism. What if those church people really do show up here this weekend and raise a stink about the signing? The same thing might happen to us that happened to the theater owner.”

“My dear Darla, I can assure you that in this part of the world, such a protest would only increase business. But if you are uncomfortable with that sort of publicity, I will be happy to deal with them for you should they make an appearance.”

That last brought a weak smile to Darla’s lips. If anyone could handle a group of chanting fanatics, it would be James. Countless semesters of dealing with college students had endowed him with a no-nonsense attitude, while his own self-confessed stint as a sixties activist had taught him all the tricks of the protester trade. And his years in retail had prepared him for anything.

Darla’s smile broadened as she recalled James’s history with the store. He had assumed the management reins from Great-Aunt Dee after she suffered her first stroke half a dozen years earlier, taking on the responsibility for the day-to-day running of the store right up until her death. Per a provision in the old woman’s will, he had continued in that role during the weeks it took to sort out her estate and, eventually, turn the store over to her great-niece.

Quite understandably, he had been somewhat reluctant to relinquish those responsibilities to Darla, no matter that he had reached official retirement age and could easily have supported himself on what he’d once hinted was a generous university pension. But Darla considered herself fortunate that James preferred to keep working. He’d not hesitated to inform her that his expertise buying and selling rare volumes brought in a nice revenue stream, doing much to keep the store going in an era when numerous independent bookstores were shutting their doors. Moreover, he had quite a customer following, despite his acerbic manner and barely veiled disdain for anything he personally did not view as worthy literature.

Recognizing his value to the business, Darla had made the first move by paying him a substantial bonus in recognition of his past contributions. Mollified, he had allowed her to take on the administrative role after a week’s intensive training, though she’d insisted he retain the title of manager.

“Perhaps it is better this way, after all,” he had conceded once he’d turned over the passwords to the various accounting and inventory spreadsheets. “Now, I can concentrate on fine literature and no longer have to pretend to enjoy selling genre fiction and tell-all books.”

With his rich, cultured tones reminiscent of a Richard Burton or a James Earl Jones, James could have easily had a career in voice-overs had he not opted to teach. A couple of decades earlier, he might even have landed a leading man’s role had he been interested in a stage career. Now, however, his short-cropped hair and beard were completely gray in stark contrast to his mahogany features, though many of the older female customers—and even some of the younger ones—still considered him quite debonair. And although he was proud to say he’d been active in the Civil Rights movement in his twenties, he did not coddle the current crop of youth who hung out on the various street corners nearby looking menacing and occasionally poking a head inside the store.

“If you wish to shop in this store, you will pull up your pants and shut off your iPods so as not to disturb the other customers,” was his standard speech to any young person bold enough to step over the threshold. “And if you would like a recommendation on some uplifting literature, I will be glad to provide it. Otherwise, you may take your business elsewhere.”

Darla had watched this scenario perhaps twenty times in her first weeks there, at first with trepidation, and later with appreciation. Usually, the youth in question would spew a few choice epithets before turning on a heel and leaving without incident. A few times, however, the kid in question would actually pull up, shut off, and then come inside. About half of those young folk left with a purchase in hand—perhaps one of Ralph Ellison’s works, or something from Twain or Austen or a similar author.