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  Murder of a Bookstore Babe

  ( Scumble River Mystery - 13 )

  Denise Swanson

  Tales and Treats, a new independent bookstore in the small town of Scumble River, Ill., arouses passions even before it opens in Swanson's lackluster 13th mystery featuring school psychologist Skye Denison (after 2010's Murder of a Wedding Belle). Conservative protesters as well as local business owners like Skye's used-car dealer cousin, Hugo Leofanti, view Tales and Treats as a threat. Soon after the bookstore's controversial opening, Skye discovers a woman crushed under a bookcase of rare books. Improbably even for a cozy, Skye's fiancé, police chief Wally Boyd, allows her to take the lead in interviewing suspects, many of whom are related to her. The efforts of Skye's former boyfriend, Simon Reid, to win her back add some romantic tension, but weak humor and plotting make this a forgettable entry in the series.

  Praise for the

  Scumble River Mystery Series

  Murder of a Wedding Belle

  “The latest carefully crafted installment...features a charming heroine who is equally skilled at juggling detection and romance.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Yet another winner. A great group of characters surround protagonist Skye Denison. . . . This series always brings a smile and this one is loads of fun.”

  —CrimeSpree Magazine

  “Ms. Swanson is quite crafty . . . a tightly woven mystery [and] page-turning read.”

  —Once Upon a Romance Reviews

  “This book was very hard to put down. I enjoyed it tremendously and highly recommend it.”

  —Gumshoe

  Murder of a Royal Pain

  “Denise Swanson’s Scumble River mysteries are always fun to read . . . a strong whodunit with solid twists.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “A trip to Scumble River is like visiting with old friends . . . another entry into a fine series that is sure to be on most must-read lists.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “Scumble River mysteries are well constructed, well written, and each one is better than the last—and they’re just plain fun to read. Readers of cozy mysteries who haven’t read Denise Swanson’s books are in for a real treat when they do.”

  —Cozy Library

  Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry

  “Denise Swanson neatly seasons the cleverly crafted plot of Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry with a generous dash of romance as Skye’s relationship with Scumble River’s police chief, Wally Boyd, continues to simmer neatly along.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Top-notch storytelling with truly unique and wonderful characters.”

  —CrimeSpree Magazine

  Murder of a Botoxed Blonde

  “With its endearing hero, terrific cast of realistically quirky secondary characters, and generous soupçon of humor, Murder of a Botoxed Blonde . . . is a delight.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Tight plotting and plenty of surprises keep this series on my must-read list.”

  —CrimeSpree Magazine

  Murder of a Real Bad Boy

  “Swanson is a born storyteller.”

  —CrimeSpree Magazine

  “Another knee-slapping adventure in Scumble River.”

  —The Amplifier (KY)

  Murder of a Smart Cookie

  “[Swanson] smartly spins on a solid plot and likable characters.”

  —South Florida Sun-Sentinel

  “[A] hilarious amateur sleuth mystery. . . . [Swanson] has a lot of surprises in store for the reader.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Murder of a Pink Elephant

  “The must-read book of the summer.”

  —Butler County Post (KY)

  “Current readers will appreciate the trip into Scumble River, while new readers will want to go back.”

  —The Best Reviews

  Murder of a Barbie and Ken

  “Swanson continues her lively, light, and quite insightful look at small-town life.”

  —The Hartford Courant

  “Another side-splitting visit to Scumble River . . . filled with some of the quirkiest and most eccentric characters we ever have met, with a sharp, witty protagonist.”

  —Butler County Post (KY)

  Murder of a Snake in the Grass

  “An endearing and realistic character . . . a fast-paced, enjoyable read.”

  —The Herald News (MA)

  “This book is delightful. . . . The characters are human and generous and worth following through the series.”

  —Mysterious Woman

  Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

  “A smooth, pleasant, and ultimately satisfying book.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Another delightful and intriguing escapade.”

  —Mystery News

  Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

  “More fun than the whirlagig at the county fair and tastier than a corn dog.”

  —The Charlotte Austin Review

  “Swanson is on her way to the top of the genre . . . a magnificent tale written by a wonderful author.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Murder of a Small-Town Honey

  “Bounces along with gently wry humor and jaunty twists and turns. The quintessential amateur sleuth: bright, curious, and more than a little nervy.”

  —Agatha Award–winning author Earlene Fowler

  “A likable new heroine reminiscent of some of our favorite childhood detectives—with a little bit of an edge.”

  —The Charlotte Austin Review

  “A charming, insightful debut.”

  —Carolyn Hart

  Other Scumble River Mysteries

  Murder of a Wedding Belle

  Murder of a Royal Pain

  Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry

  Murder of a Botoxed Blonde

  Murder of a Real Bad Boy

  Murder of a Smart Cookie

  Murder of a Pink Elephant

  Murder of a Barbie and Ken

  Murder of a Snake in the Grass

  Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

  Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

  Murder of a Small-Town Honey

  Copyright © Denise Swanson Stybr, 2011

  All rights reserved

  To all my Alpha Sigma Alpha sisters, especially the

  Chicago West Alumnae Chapter

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Valerie McCaffrey for helping me figure out Chase’s profession and for Skye’s great vintage belt. Thanks also to Melissa Kantor for allowing me to use her book If I Have a Wicked Stepmother, Where’s My Prince? Hugs to my new grandnephew, Ethan Graham, and my new niece-in-law, Natalie Beckham Vanderhyden.

  Author’s Note

  In July 2000, when the first book in my Scumble River series, Murder of a Small-Town Honey, was published, it was written in “real time.” It was the year 2000 in Skye’s life as well as mine, but after several books in a series, time becomes a problem. It takes me from seven months to a year to write a book, and then it is usually another year from the time I turn that book in to my editor until the reader sees it on a bookstore shelf. This can make the time line confusing. Different authors handle this matter in different ways. After a great deal of deliberation, I decided that Skye and her friends and family will age more slowly than those of us who don’t live in Scumble River. While I made this decision as I wrote the fourth book in the series, Murder of a Snake in the Grass, I didn’t realize until recently that I needed to share this information with my readers. So, to catch everyone up, the following is when the books take place:

  Murder of a Small-Town Honey—August 2000


  Murder of a Sweet Old Lady—March 2001

  Murder of a Sleeping Beauty—April 2002

  Murder of a Snake in the Grass—August 2002

  Murder of a Barbie and Ken—November 2002

  Murder of a Pink Elephant—February 2003

  Murder of a Smart Cookie—June 2003

  Murder of a Real Bad Boy—September 2003

  Murder of a Botoxed Blonde—November 2003

  Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry—April 2004

  Murder of a Royal Pain—October 2004

  Murder of a Wedding Belle—June 2005

  Murder of a Bookstore Babe—September 2005

  The Scumble River short story and novella take place:

  “Not a Monster of a Chance” from And the Dying Is Easy—June 2001

  “Dead Blondes Tell No Tales” from Drop-Dead Blonde—March 2003

  Scumble River is not a real town. The characters and events portrayed in these pages are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to living persons is pure coincidence.

  CHAPTER 1

  For Whom the Bell Tolls

  When Skye Denison saw an ad in the local newspaper announcing Tales and Treats’ grand opening that weekend, she was thrilled. For a voracious reader like Skye, the luxury of having shelves and shelves of new, used, and rare books for sale just five minutes from home was nirvana. And the promise of specialty coffees, gourmet teas, and yummy pastries just added to her elation.

  What she didn’t realize was that the store had already managed to ruffle the fur of several of Scumble River’s most vocal citizens. She should have known there’d be some kind of fuss about any new business that set up shop in her prickly hometown.

  Like cats, the inhabitants of the small tight-knit community weren’t partial to change, and they often showed their displeasure in spiteful and destructive ways. While the old-timers probably wouldn’t pee in the interlopers’ shoes, they might very well produce some obscure law that made their kind of footwear taboo.

  Skye got her first inkling of the unrest on Friday afternoon in the high school’s break room. Normally she didn’t frequent the lounge because the main form of entertainment there was gossip. The confidential nature of her job as the school psychologist meant she couldn’t contribute, and this seriously ticked off many of the teachers. To forestall the problem, Skye usually ate at her desk.

  Today, however, was different. Today, there was cake. And not just any kind of cake. It was Skye’s favorite: chocolate with vanilla buttercream icing. What a shame that it was Pru Cormorant’s birthday cake, and that Pru was the person Skye liked least of all her colleagues.

  Still, Skye refused to let that deter her. When her conscience insisted it was wrong to eat cake honoring someone she detested, and who detested her, she promised the annoying little voice a pink-frosting rose to shut up. Once she had quieted that troublemaker, Skye continued on her quest for the delectable confection.

  Since the lounge was crowded during the two lunch periods, and she didn’t want to get in the way of the staff—who had only twenty minutes to wolf down their food—Skye waited until they had finished and were back in class before making her move. Her plan was to zip in, grab a piece of cake, and savor it back in her office while she started on all the special-education paperwork connected with the beginning of the school year.

  Slipping through the doorway, Skye scanned the room, then darted forward. There it was, in the exact middle of the three metal tables that ran end to end down the center of the room. Intent on the double-layered hunk of ecstasy, half of which was already gone, she pushed aside one of the orange molded-plastic chairs that lined both sides of the tables and reached for the knife lying on the crumb-filled serving platter.

  Just as her fingers closed around the handle, an ominous voice, the last in the universe she wanted to hear, said, “Having a late lunch?”

  Skye whirled around. Pru Cormorant sat on the sofa, her arms along the back and a derisive look on her face. How could Skye have missed seeing her there? She didn’t exactly blend into the surroundings. Pru’s stick-like limbs stuck out at awkward angles from her egg-shaped body, and her too-small head appeared in danger of tumbling off her neck if she made any sudden moves.

  “It’s not late for me.” Reluctantly putting down the knife, Skye felt a guilty flush creeping up her neck. “I often see kids during the regular lunch hours.” Not that she had today, but Pru didn’t need to know that.

  The English teacher trailed a finger along the top of the couch, which was covered in a prickly plaid fabric that Skye suspected could withstand a direct nuclear hit. “We don’t see you in here very often.”

  “No.” Skye pasted a fake smile on her face. “I guess not.”

  “Then you must have stopped by especially to wish me a happy birthday. How sweet of you.” Pru gave a malicious little laugh. “I’m sure it wasn’t just for the cake.” She lasered a look at the two-carat diamond on Skye’s left hand. “Particularly since you’re almost certainly on a diet for your wedding.”

  Skye’s engagement to Wally Boyd, the Scumble River police chief, had been the talk of the town since June, when she had accepted his proposal and begun wearing his ring. That her ex-boyfriend, Simon Reid, was doing everything in his power to change her mind about marrying the chief wasn’t helping to quell the chatter.

  Simon’s plea last week had been delivered in the middle of the school parking lot by a white knight on horseback, which had really stirred up the rumor mill. Skye had always liked her ex’s quirky sense of humor, but she was starting to rethink that opinion. Especially since he had promised that next time he would send a fire-breathing-dragon-gram.

  “I couldn’t let such a big day go by without wishing you the best,” Skye managed to say with false sincerity before putting her hands on her hips and staring at Pru. “But why would I be on a diet?”

  Skye was well aware that ever since she’d decided she wasn’t willing to eat fewer than eight hundred calories a day in order to stay a size six, a lot of people thought she was too fat. But she didn’t allow veiled insults to go unchallenged. If someone had something to say about her weight, let them come right out and say it.

  “It’s just that most brides-to-be want to look extra-good for their wedding pictures,” Pru said, then ruined it by adding, “And you have such a pretty face.”

  “For someone who needs to lose a few pounds?” Skye wasn’t about to let the older woman off the hook that easily.

  “Of course not.” Pru’s tone was completely insincere as she added, “I’m sorry if you took what I said the wrong way. I certainly never meant to offend you.”

  “Hmm.” Skye held her tongue. “Anyway, since we haven’t even set a date yet, I’m not worried about the photos.”

  In fact, unbeknownst to anyone beyond Skye’s immediate family, the wedding was on indefinite hold. Knowing how much it meant to Skye to be married in the Catholic Church, Wally had agreed to apply for an annulment from his first wife, from whom he’d been divorced for several years. Father Burns said it might take twelve to fourteen months before the official paperwork was completed, which left them waiting on a process they had little control over.

  Pru raised an overplucked brow, but before she could probe further, Skye said, “Anyway, happy birthday.”

  Pru nodded regally. “Thank you.”

  Skye felt like a bunny caught nibbling a gardener’s prizewinning petunias, and she hadn’t even had a bite of the darn cake. In her heart, she knew she should go ahead, cut a slice, and eat it, but she just couldn’t. Not with Pru staring at her. It was one thing to stand up for herself when someone made a nasty remark, quite another to chow down in front of that same someone, who obviously disapproved of her.

  While Skye tried to think of a graceful way to escape, her gaze flitted from the avocado-colored refrigerator set against the back wall to the big black trash can next to the counter, then on to the sink full of used coffee mugs. Finally, she said, “Well, I should proba
bly get back to work.”

  “Don’t hurry away on my account.” Pru smiled meanly.

  “Of course not.” Skye resigned herself to forfeiting her treat and searched for a good departure line. She glanced at the old library cart holding a huge brown microwave oven, circa 1980. “But I do have reports to write, so I’ll just heat up some water for a cup of tea and be on my way.”

  The microwave’s stained exterior was gross, but using the appliance had several advantages. She could turn her back on Pru, thus avoiding further conversation, and when the timer dinged, it would clearly indicate that it was time to depart.

  But Pru ruined Skye’s scheme by saying, “Since it’s my planning period, and you can always write reports at home, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh.” Skye cringed inwardly. Pru had an ongoing vendetta against the student newspaper that Skye and her friend Trixie Frayne cosponsored. Many of the kids who had been on the English teacher’s debate team had switched to the Scoop’s staff because Skye and Trixie treated them fairly. The front page got the top story, not the one written by the teenager who kissed up to them the most. Pru, on the other hand, was known for letting her pets have all the best debate topics, and the students had finally rebelled.

  “What’s up?” Skye asked.

  “I’m concerned about that new bookstore in town.” Pru ran her fingers through her greasy dun-colored hair, pulling out strands from the bun on top of her head. “I hear it will be selling romance and science fiction.”