Angel stepped back, then ran her fingers through her long, copper hair. Finally, she turned away from us and, with both hands, adjusted the corset-laced bodice of her dress, nearly exposing her breasts. After that she leaned against Johnny for support—which seemed rather odd to me because, a moment ago, Angel was strong enough to stand on her own two feet—and screamed bloody murder.
“What happened, Angel?” Dana asked again.
“It was like I said,” Angel replied, calmer now—and more guarded. “Some creep pulled up in a car, rolled down the window, and told me my books suck. I grabbed the door handle and told the jerk to come out of the car and say that again because I had a few things to say back, and the driver took off—I lost my balance and fell facedown in the street.”
“Man or woman?” Dana’s eyes were hard as she asked the question.
Angel dodged the woman’s eyes, suddenly busy brushing the dirt off her filmy skirt. “What difference does it make?”
After a long silence, I spoke to Dana. “Maybe you should report the incident to the police? Ms. Stark is a celebrity, and this could be a stalker incident, and we all know stalkers can be dangerous. At the very least Angel should file a police report in case it happens again.”
It was an intelligent and logical response—and exactly the wrong thing to say.
“No way!” Angel blasted. “Don’t you get it? I’m the one exposing the incompetence of how their brothers in blue over the next hill completely botched Bethany’s murder investigation.” Angel vehemently shook her head. “No police. No way.”
To my surprise, Dana Wu agreed.
“Angel’s right. This is too close to where it all happened. In my opinion, Angel’s got no friends among the local authorities. And nobody wants this story to turn up in the newspapers.”
Something in me expected to hear Jack’s voice at that moment saying, Hmm, apparently not all publicity is good publicity, all of a sudden. I reached out with my thoughts anyway. “Jack?”
But the ghost was nowhere near me now, because I had stepped beyond the fieldstone walls of my bookstore. Why had Jack’s spirit been imprisoned inside the store since his death? I had my theories, but I still didn’t have any real clues.
Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, Angel Stark did not return to the store. Instead, she slumped down on the curb next to a battered rust-red pickup truck with “Bud Napp’s Hardware” emblazoned in black on the side panels.
“I still need that smoke,” Angel announced. “Then I’m going back to that lace-doily inn up the street and shutting down for the night.”
As she spoke, Angel produced a thin brown cigarette from a hidden pocket, then fumbled for something to light it with. There was an embarrassing pause, for none of us smoked.
A sudden toot from the car alarm sounded as Johnny unlocked the cab of his uncle’s Napp Hardware pickup truck and reached into the glove compartment to retrieve a Ronson lighter, which he opened with a snap.
“Thanks,” Angel said as she took a drag.
Johnny looked ready to walk away when Angel smiled from the curb and touched his hand. “Hey, I want to talk to you . . . Thank you for what you did out there.”
Standing in the shadows, Mina watched as Johnny hesitated for a moment, then crouched down in front of Angel.
Aunt Sadie saw the hurt look on Mina’s face and nudged the girl’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t you take care of your boyfriend?”
Frowning, Mina called, “Hey, Johnny. Are you coming?”
Johnny turned. “It’s okay, Mina. Go on back in and finish your shift. I’ll hook up with you later, like we planned.”
Her eyes narrowing, her hurt turning to anger, Mina spun and marched back inside.
Dana took my arm. “I think the show is finally over for tonight.” Politely but firmly, Dana pushed Aunt Sadie and me back into the store, too.
Sadie moved behind the counter, while Mina headed back to the events room. After that, the rest of the evening was a blur. Dana gave me the heads up about some of the hot author tours she knew would be barreling down the tracks, but had not yet been announced.
Meanwhile, my aunt tallied up the day’s receipts and counted out the cash in the registers, and from the Community Events space I could hear metal chairs banging and clanging loudly. I assumed that Mina was using the task of breaking down the room to vent her angry frustration with Johnny’s playing along with Angel’s flirtations.
I considered talking to the girl, but I knew it was something that had to work itself out. Young love is nothing if it isn’t volatile—which has got to be the oldest story in any bookstore.
Near the end of my conversation with Dana, we realized we had a few mutual acquaintances in publishing, holdovers from my days in New York. Dana was happy to fill me in on the latest gossip. Time slipped by and I didn’t notice that Mina had left for the night, or that Aunt Sadie had retired to the apartment above the store—the home we both shared with my son, Spencer, since my husband’s suicide a little over one year before.
“Oh, wow, it’s after midnight,” Dana cried. “I really have to run.”
I rose and escorted her to the front door, which my aunt had locked after Mina left. Dana and I said good night, and she promised to drop by again before she returned to New York City the next afternoon.
Then, dead on my feet, I yawned and locked the door. My eyes dry and red from wearing contact lenses for hours, and the start of a headache throbbing at my temples, I turned out all but the security lights and activated the burglar alarm.
Just then, a tapping on the front door startled me. I peered through the window and saw my slight, young employee standing on the dark sidewalk. I deactivated the alarm, unlocked the door, and Mina Griffith stepped inside.
Mina’s freckled face appeared flushed. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. McClure, but I need to use the phone. My cell battery died and the pay phone in front of Koh’s isn’t working.”
I ushered her inside. “Who do you need to call? Are you stranded?”
Mina nodded. “I can call Rebecca, my roommate. She drove me to work today, and she can pick me up. Johnny was supposed to meet me at Frenzetti’s Pizza and give me a ride, but he’s an hour late and they’re closing up . . .”
Her voice faded, and I felt a stab of pity for the girl.
“Look, maybe there was a plumbing emergency or something and his uncle needed him,” I said. “Maybe he’s trying to call you and your cell is dead.”
Mina nodded listlessly.
“Why don’t I drive you home myself?” I offered.
“No,” Mina replied resolutely. “Rebecca can get me.”
I could see how upset Mina was, and I suspected she needed to pour her heart out to her roommate as soon as humanly possible. Twenty-five minutes later, Rebecca was pulling up, honking lightly in her Toyota, then Mina was gone.
AS I LOCKED up, set the alarm, trudged upstairs, and fed our little orange striped cat, Bookmark, I sincerely hoped Johnny Napp would turn up in the morning on Mina’s doorstep with a fistful of daisies and a good excuse—one that didn’t involve Angel Stark.
I checked on Spencer, and found him asleep. I gently kissed his tow-headed bangs, untangled his legs from the sheets and pulled them over his torso, then slipped back out the door.
I was sorry that I hadn’t spent much time with Spencer today. I had been busy getting ready for the author appearance, and he had day camp, so he’d been gone all morning until late in the afternoon. Then came Angel Stark’s appearance and I had to manage that.
Usually Spencer enjoyed the author appearances, but this time I felt that the R-rated nature of Angel Stark’s true crime book precluded a nine-year-old attending. Fortunately, Spencer willingly agreed to remain upstairs, most likely because Friday night was Cop Show night on the Intrigue Channel, and Aunt Sadie and I had stocked the freezer with all his favorite treats. (Thank heaven for cable and Hot Pockets.)