Сьюзен Виггз - The Lost and Found Bookshop

“You were working with the wrong people, then,” he said.

“I might have been in the wrong job. Didn’t love the work, but it was stable and predictable.” She looked around the shop, illuminated by the late-afternoon sunshine. “Unlike this.”

“Regrets?” he asked.

“Ask me after I meet with the county auditor’s office.” She needed to work out a plan to pay the back taxes.

Two women came in, their cheeks bright with color from the chill air. They looked like affluent young professionals in their luxurious infinity scarves, well-cut blazers, half boots, and expensive shoulder bags. Since moving back to the city Natalie had observed changes in the neighborhood of her youth, and these ladies were a prime example. There were still traces of the bohemian vibe here and there—a new age school for interpretive dance, a psychic healer, a crystal peddler—but the majority of businesses and shops were now decidedly posh, catering to a stylish, well-salaried clientele. Natalie wasn’t quite sure how to make the bookstore posh, or if she even should.

The women scanned the displays, their eyes lighting on intriguing covers and handwritten book review cards from the staff and regular customers. There were several in Blythe’s urgent scrawl, with an overabundance of exclamation points. As time went by, Natalie would probably need to retire the cards, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so yet.

“Let me know if I can help you find something,” she said to the newcomers.

“Thanks,” said one of the women, checking her phone. “Just browsing for the moment.”

Great , thought Natalie. More cell phone pics? Maybe she ought to consider Peach’s suggestion—an outright ban.

The buzz of a power tool shrieked from the corner where Peach was working. He leaned around a shelf and waved. “Sorry about the noise,” he said. “I’ll be done in a sec.”

“No problem,” the other woman murmured, slipping on a pair of couture glasses and picking up a novel with a vibrant red-and-white cover.

The friend gave her a nudge and jerked her head toward Peach, then fanned herself. The first woman wandered over to the travel section, feigning interest in a pictorial guide to Estonia.

The drill buzz stopped. “Hello,” Peach said. “Am I in your way?”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Being nosy, is all. Looks like a pretty major repair you’re doing here. I love these old buildings.”

Peach nodded affably. “They can be high maintenance.”

“Well, you look like you know what you’re doing,” she said, not quite batting her eyes. “I’ve always got something around my place that needs fixing. Do you have a card?”

He’s married , Natalie thought, trying to concentrate on her inventory chores. He’s got a kid.

“Sure.” He set down his drill and straightened up. At his full height, he was even better looking.

“I’ll take one, too,” said the woman with the glasses. “I’m hopeless when it comes to home improvement. I just bought a place on Russian Hill, and I’m renovating. Or I should say, I’m begging for contractors who can do the renovation. You gentlemen are hard to find.”

He handed out the cards. “P. Gallagher,” the blond woman said. “ P as in Peter, like the actor? Or Philip, like the best character in Shameless ?”

He looked slightly mystified. “ P as in Peach, like the fruit.” Flashing a grin, he hefted his drill. “I’d better get back to work.”

“Peach.” The glasses woman looked intrigued. “I bet there’s a story there.” Her words were drowned by the whir of his drill. She went back to the New Releases table. “How about this one, Taylor? ‘A searching memoir of turbulent times,’” she read from the flap copy.

“We did a memoir last month,” the woman called Taylor said. She looked over at Natalie. “We’re looking for our next book club pick. Any recommendations?”

Natalie smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. What’s your group like?”

“We do wine and nibbles once a month. There are nine men and women. I’d say we have eclectic taste in books.”

“And wine,” the other woman said. “And men, for that matter.”

“Sounds like fun.” Natalie introduced them to a few new releases and a couple of classics, offering her best pitch each time. Both women agreed that the new Stacy Kendall novel, about twins growing up separately and unaware of each other until one is accused of murder, would give the group plenty to talk about. “Sounds like a great one for our next meeting,” Taylor agreed, admiring the intriguing cover art. Instead of buying the book, she set it aside.

The other woman didn’t buy it, either. “I read everything on my phone app,” she said, offering an apologetic look.

“Oh, you can get a download right here in the shop,” Natalie said. “You purchase a unique code, and then—”

“Thanks. Maybe I will later on your website . . .”

Natalie recognized the signs of a failed sale. The two women edged toward the exit in that way customers had when they didn’t intend to buy anything—checking their watches, suddenly remembering they needed to be somewhere.

Natalie offered a smile of understanding—never make a person feel bad for visiting the shop. “Well,” she said. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“I’m a sucker for stories about twins,” Peach said in a conversational tone. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but it sounds really good. I’ll buy a copy.”

“Great,” Natalie said, trying not to sound surprised. “I’ll ring one up for you.”

“ The Man in the Iron Mask is probably my favorite look-alike story,” he added. Wiping his hands on a bandanna, he took a volume from the Vintage and Collectible shelf. “This is the exact edition I had when I was a kid.” The volume featured bold illustrations and an old-fashioned dust jacket.

Suddenly the women didn’t seem to be in such a hurry. “Oh my gosh, I might need that for my nephew,” said the glasses woman. “He’s obsessed with action comics and I’ve been looking for ways to get him to read more books.”

Peach handed it over with a flourish. “That’ll do the trick, I bet.”

“I always loved The Prince and the Pauper ,” Taylor said while her friend bought the book. “There’s something about the idea of switching roles, living someone else’s life …”

“We’ve got a copy of that,” Natalie said. “It’s in the case, though, because it’s a first edition.”

“Really? That’s cool. Mind if I have a look?”

Natalie took the Mark Twain out of the rare books case. Over the years, her mother and grandfather had created a special collection of books by authors in the San Francisco literary circle known as the Bohemians, which included Mark Twain. Rumor had it they’d frequented the Ten-Foot Ladder.

Slipping on her mom’s white archivist gloves, she opened the book and laid it on the display counter. “This is in wonderful condition,” she said. A note in her mother’s handwriting had been tucked inside the dust jacket. First U.S. edition, 1882. $1,200.

“Well, that’s something,” the blond woman said. “A regular museum piece. Thanks for showing me.”

“There’s a facsimile edition with the same binding and illustrations for $16.95.” Natalie showed her the replica.

“Now that I can handle. This is really nice. Brings back memories.” The woman set the book on the counter and took out her wallet. Then she grabbed a copy of the Stacy Kendall. “I’m going to get this one in hardcover after all.”

“Sounds like you’re quite the reader, then?” the other woman asked Peach.

“I like reading.” He seemed distracted as he went back to measuring something on the wall.