Between a Book and a Hard Place Read online

  Yvette and Kern almost seemed to have picked up right where they’d been when they’d parted thirteen years ago. Which was disconcerting, considering that she was now married to a different man. Not that I wanted to see it, but I half expected to find her doing the walk of shame out of my father’s apartment one morning.

  Before my grandfather died, back when the Sinclairs were prosperous landowners and farmers, the hired hand had lived in the studio above the garage. Although it had been empty for years, as soon as Gran had known Dad was getting out of prison, she’d cleaned it up and had it ready for him to move in when he arrived home.

  This arrangement mostly worked, but with Dad, Gran, and me living in one another’s pockets, none of us had any degree of privacy. The lack of it had severely curtailed my options regarding any love life I might choose to pursue. But now I wondered if my father might be suffering right along with me.

  The sleigh bells above the front door jingled, and pasting a smile on my face, I welcomed the three elderly women who entered the store.

  After returning my greeting, they took seats at the soda fountain.

  “What can I get for you ladies?” I gestured to the blackboard. “Today’s special is bourbon pecan ice cream served in mini pie shells.”

  They conferred among themselves, and then they each ordered a glass of water and one special to share. I served them their treat with three spoons, and while they ate, I allowed my gaze to wander around the store.

  When the place was full, excited voices created a cheerful hubbub. I had decided against acoustical tile or cork matting for the ceiling and had kept the original tin tiles. I’d also saved the gorgeous oak hardwood floors by having them sanded, restained, and sealed.

  Regardless of how disheartened or upset I might be, the old-fashioned charm of my shop made me smile. I had always loved this place. After every doctor’s appointment, my mom had brought me to the soda fountain for a hot fudge sundae. Every Sunday Dad had taken me to the dime store to buy a dollar’s worth of candy. And when I turned fifteen, Gran had taken me there to buy my first lipstick.

  Which is why, when the ninety-one-year-old Thornbee twins had put the five-and-dime up for sale, I’d immediately submitted an offer. The sisters’ grandfather had built the shop when Shadow Bend was little more than a stagecoach stop, and the thought of the place being turned into a Rite Aid or a CVS had spurred me into action.

  Although I had doubled the interior space and had installed Wi-Fi, I’d tried to keep the character of the original variety store intact. In doing so, I had attracted several local groups who, in exchange for meeting space—square footage was cheap in Shadow Bend—bought the materials for their projects from me.

  The Stepping Out Book Club, the Quilting Queens, the Knittie Gritties, and the Scrapbooking Scalawags all met at my store. In addition to their supplies, I also sold the members refreshments and any other odds and ends that caught their eye. All of which provided a nice steady source of revenue for my business.

  I heard Mom’s cell chime, and I looked over to where she and Dad were standing. She’d been ignoring her persistently trilling phone ever since she’d arrived at the store. However, this time she glanced at the text message, chewed her bottom lip, then sent a brief answer before turning a brilliant smile back to my father.

  Frowning, I stared at my parents. How would my customers react to their obvious flirtation? Shadow Bend was an old-fashioned kind of town, and adultery didn’t sit well with most folks.

  I had to admit Kern and Yvette made a beautiful couple. Dad was tall and lean, with the erect posture of an army general. He had a few more lines than before he went to prison, but there was still the same twinkle in his bright green eyes that I remembered.

  And time seemed to have stood still for Yvette. I wasn’t at all thrilled that she looked more like my older sister than my mother, or that it was clear Dad was enamored of her. As I watched, he brought her hand to his mouth, and although I couldn’t hear what she said, whatever it was brought a smile to his lips.

  Finally, the ladies finished eating their ice cream pie, divided the bill three ways, and left the store. After washing up the dish, their water glasses, and spoons, I deposited the whopping six dollars—five ninety-five plus a nickel tip—in the till, then stepped over to the old kitchen table that I used for my workbench.

  It was located in the space behind the register, and from that vantage point, I could keep an eye on my amorous parents and the front door. Not that I was expecting any shoppers. The hours after lunch were usually slow. I often didn’t see a single customer from one to three, which was why Dad’s official shift ended at noon.

  But today, when Mom had strolled in at five to twelve, he’d suddenly forgotten that he was off the clock and had remained on the sales floor. I noticed that he’d finally stopped fussing with the autumn display and he and my mother had moved over to the candy case. He selected a Black Forest truffle, popped it into Yvette’s mouth, and as I watched her lick his fingers, I made a mental note to dock his pay the two dollars and fifty cents.

  Looking away from my parents’ flirting, I thought about the next item on my to-do list—filling an order for one of my custom-made, personalized gift baskets. When I’d bought the dime store, I’d known I would need something extra to stay profitable, so I’d added the baskets.

  That part of the business was extremely lucrative since I was selling my creativity more than the actual items. Now that I had hired my father, I finally had more time to devote to my sideline.

  I had one steady customer, Oakley Panigrahi, who bought upward of twenty thank-you gifts a month. He was a Kansas City real estate tycoon who sold luxury properties. Oakley was persnickety, but he thought nothing of paying two or three hundred per basket.

  Customarily, his orders were my top priority, but I had a request for one of my special creations, which I needed to complete by late afternoon. I usually worked on that kind of basket before the store opened, but a woman had offered me twice my price for same-day service.

  My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t had lunch, so I ran into the back room and grabbed a container of Greek yogurt to eat as I worked on the rush order. Returning, I saw that my parents had left. I breathed a sigh of relief, and shoving aside the idea that they might have gone to sample some afternoon delight, I spooned the Yoplait into my mouth. As I ate, I examined the client’s questionnaire.

  The basket was for her girlfriend’s birthday. My customer had forgotten until that morning that her life partner was born exactly thirty years ago today.

  Looking over the half-completed form, I frowned. She was lucky I had a broad supply of merchandise that would please women of almost any preference or she’d be out of luck, because there was no time to order additional items.

  Each of the baskets included my trademark—the perfect book for both the occasion and the person receiving the gift. While I was looking through my available inventory, my phone started playing Ross Copperman’s “Holding on and Letting Go.”

  I dug the cell from my pocket, touched the speaker icon, and said, “Hello.”

  “Are you busy?” Noah’s smooth tenor sent a delightful shiver down my spine.

  “Always.” I was still upset with him for his part in springing Yvette and her husband on me without any warning, but picturing his soft gray eyes smiling into mine was weakening my resolve to stay angry.

  “I have some news about my mother.” Noah’s tone didn’t reveal whether the info was bad or good.

  “Oh.” I was none too pleased with Nadine, either, so I stuck to one-word responses, hoping Noah would get the message.

  “When you passed on Ronni’s comment about Mom’s general lack of interest in anything not directly affecting her, it made me wonder why she was so agitated about the aliens.” He paused. “I knew questioning her directly wouldn’t work, so I finally got Janson alone and a
sked him if he had any idea what had stirred her up.”

  “And?”

  As I waited for Noah’s answer, I started to work on the rush basket. Against the folds of a black satin robe, I placed Heart of the Game by Rachel Spangler and a pack of edible body tattoos. According to the package, the tattoos were totally lickable, and the recipient was supposed to apply them in a place they wanted their partner’s tongue. Picturing Noah next to me, I could think of several locations where his mouth would be welcome. That is, if I weren’t still mad at him.

  Noah sighed. “Janson said he believes Mom had company right before they left for city hall. He’d run to the pharmacy, and when he got back there were two wineglasses by the sink. He thinks whoever visited must have said something about the invading aliens, because originally Nadine was attending the meeting because of the rooming-house issue, not the extraterrestrials.”

  “Interesting,” I murmured. Nadine’s reason was just as I had guessed.

  I kept working on my special order. I needed to finish it before school got out and a swarm of starving teenagers poured into the store. No way could I be making an X-rated basket with a hoard of underage kids present, even if most of them would be hanging out in the recently created teen lounge on my second floor.

  Which reminded me, I wanted to make sure my newest employee understood the rules of that space. On the recommendation of Mrs. Zeigler, the high school principal, I had hired Taryn Wenzel. After losing my two previous clerks—one to college and one for less auspicious reasons—I’d had to take on a couple of new staff members. My father was filling one vacancy, and per my policy of hiring from the school’s vocational program, Taryn had started a couple of weeks ago.

  I had recently hung up a sign in the teen lounge that read, “NO” IS A COMPLETE SENTENCE. Taryn needed to abide by that decree.

  “Now all I need to do is figure out who stopped by to see Mom and why.” Noah’s comment brought me back to the present.

  He sounded tired, and I couldn’t blame him. Riding herd on Nadine was a full-time job.

  “Good luck with that.”

  I tilted my head, considering adding a pair of Naughty Ballerina crotchless bikinis to the basket, but since my client hadn’t filled in the blank for her girlfriend’s size, I reluctantly put them aside. It was a shame, since the panties had cute little ruffles that emphasized the wearer’s derriere and a subtle peekaboo cutout so she could act out her own version of a lap dance.

  “Luck has never played much of a part in my dealings with Mom,” Noah muttered, then asked, “Are you free tonight? A patient gave me two tickets to the Book of Mormon. If we leave here by five, we could make it to Kansas City in time for an early dinner.”

  “You know the store is open until six on Tuesdays.” I tried to keep the impatience out of my tone. “I can’t just close early. Some of us need our business to turn a profit, in order to earn a living.”

  As the words left my mouth, I cringed. I was being unfair to Noah. Although he was probably one of the wealthiest men in town, his affluence never stopped him from putting in long hours at his practice.

  After completing his education, Noah had returned to Shadow Bend and opened the Underwood Clinic. The only medical center in a forty-mile radius, it was always packed with patients. Until recently, due to the long hours and low pay, he’d been unable to entice another physician into joining his practice, but a couple of months ago he’d finally found an altruistic doctor who was willing to move to a small town, work ten-hour days, and settle for less money.

  “I thought maybe your father could cover the store for an hour and close up for you.” Noah blew out a frustrated breath. “But if you’d rather, we could leave here at six and eat afterward.”

  “Well . . .” I should say no, but I had wanted to see that show for a while and it had been sold out almost since day one. “I can’t go to the theater in my jeans, polo shirt, and tennis shoes.”

  “How long would it take you to go home and change clothes?” Noah asked.

  “If I have Dad come in to work the last couple of hours, he could bring me an outfit and I could change here,” I admitted, then added, “If I can get ahold of my father, that is.”

  Returning my attention to the basket, I decided that since the panties were out, I’d include a Kissaholic Aphrodisiac Lip Stain and Melt Chocolate Body Fondue instead.

  As Noah asked, “Does that mean you’ll go out with me?” I heard the beeping that indicated someone else was trying to call me. I couldn’t identify the number, so I tapped the IGNORE button. The only one for whom I would put another person on hold was Birdie.

  “If I can get a change of clothes.” My phone beeped for a second time. It was the same unfamiliar number, so I hit IGNORE again. “And this doesn’t mean that I forgive you for springing Jett and my mother on me.”

  “As I’ve repeatedly tried to tell you, St. Onge didn’t let me in on the fact you weren’t aware they would be at the meeting.” Noah’s voice had an impatient edge. “But I am sorry that I didn’t make sure he’d informed you.”

  “Fine.” In my heart, I knew Noah was telling the truth. “I’ll let it go this time.”

  “Thank you.” Noah’s smile was evident. “If you can’t get ahold of your father, I could run out to your place and pick up an outfit for you, and we can leave later.”

  “Okay.”

  I stepped back to admire the birthday basket and nibbled my thumbnail. Something was missing. Rummaging through my “naughty box,” I found the perfect finishing touch for my creation. Just as I was adding a Va-Va Voom Boa, my phone beeped once again. It was the same number as previously. That was odd. Most people would have left a message the first time they called, rather than continue redialing. A shiver ran down my spine. Something was wrong.

  “Listen,” I said to Noah. “I’ve got to go. I’ll text you if I need you to get my stuff.”

  We said good-bye and I answered the incoming call. At first I didn’t recognize the frantic voice coming from the cell’s speaker, but when I did, I interrupted and said, “Dad, slow down. What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Is it Gran? What happened?”

  “I’m fine and your grandmother is fine.” Dad sounded as if he’d been running. “But I need you to come over to the library right now.”

  “The library?” Had I heard him right? “It’s not even open yet.”

  “The side door is unlocked.” Dad murmured something to someone, but I couldn’t make out what he’d said. “Don’t tell anyone where you’re going, and don’t let anyone see you enter the building.”

  “Okay. I’m grabbing my purse and locking up the back entrance as we speak.” My father had never asked anything of me, so I sure wouldn’t refuse him when he did. “But what’s going on?”

  “Jett Benedict is dead.” Dad’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before he continued. “And it looks as if he was murdered.”

  Before I could respond to that startling announcement, he hung up, and I stared at my cell. What was Kern doing at the library with my deceased stepfather? And why had Dad called me instead of the police?

  CHAPTER 7

  After turning on the neon CLOSED sign, I rushed out of the dime store’s front entrance, locking it behind me. Then, my heart pounding and my pulse racing, I sprinted across the town square. The library was located between city hall and the movie theater, so this whole mad dash reminded me of running away from my mother after the city council meeting. Talk about bad déjà vu.

  The library was housed in a redbrick mid-nineteenth-century Italianate building. Long, narrow two-story windows with crescent-moon stained-glass inserts stretched upward nearly to the roof. Keystones at the top of the arch gave the structure a look of permanent surprise. Facing the street, narrow slits marched across the top of the edifice, almost as if to provide snipers a location to repel an enemy attack.

  I checked
over my shoulder. Lucky for me, there were no adversaries in sight. Tuesday afternoon wasn’t exactly prime shopping time, and the town square was completely deserted. Relieved that I wasn’t being observed, I darted into the alley separating the library from the movie theater.

  After hurrying to the side door, I twisted the knob. As Dad had promised, it was unlocked. Slipping inside, I hastily closed the door behind me. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and as I waited, apprehension skittered along my nerves, tightening my shoulders.

  Once I could see again, I discovered that I was in a short hallway. To my right was a storeroom and to my left was a staircase that I assumed led to a basement. I looked into the dark abyss and cringed. Ever since I’d been accidentally locked in my grandmother’s cellar, I was not fond of dank, subterranean spaces.

  There were no sounds of activity coming from the single large room in the front of the building, and I deduced that there wasn’t any remodeling going on today.

  “Dad,” I called out softly. “It’s Dev. I’m here. Where are you?”

  Silence.

  “Dad?” I lifted my voice.

  Nothing.

  A quiver of fear raised the hair at the back of my neck. What if the person who’d killed Jett had also murdered my parents and was now lying in wait for me?

  Peeking into the storage room, I saw that cobwebs covered the boxes on the shelves and an old oak worktable was thick with dust. It looked as if no one had been in here for quite some time. Evidently, the library reopening project hadn’t made it to this area yet. I wondered what was holding up the work.

  Backing out, I eyed the stairs. Venturing into a dark basement after receiving a call about a murder was something a naive young heroine in a Victoria Holt Gothic romance might do, but certainly not me. At least not without some lights and a weapon.

  I searched for a switch near the top of the staircase.