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“He doesn’t like me like that, you fool!” she cried, but felt touched by Brutus’s behavior. So she planted a gentle kiss on his brow, which was puckered with worry. “Oh, sugar plum,” she said. “I only love you, you foolish tomcat. Don’t you know that by now?”

“I guess sometimes I don’t,” he murmured.

“Here, look at me,” she said, and tilted his head. “You’re the only one for me, cuddle cakes.”

He smiled then, and they kissed.

Chapter 8

Marge was leafing through a Jackie Collins book, to see if there weren’t any pages ripped out or remnants of food left when old Mrs. Samson walked into the library, carrying her usual shopping bag full of books.

Mrs. Samson was a little old lady and one of Marge’s regulars. She came in almost weekly, and judging by the number of books she read probably did little else but read.

“All finished already, Mrs. Samson?” asked Marge pleasantly.

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Samson, twin blushes on her cheeks as usual. She preferred to read the saucy romance novels—in fact the saucier the better. “Anything new?”

“I put a couple of books aside for you that I think you might like.”

“Oh, goodie,” said Mrs. Samson, and followed Marge to the counter.

Marge dove underneath her desk and brought out a nice pile of books she hoped would satisfy her customer’s voracious reading appetite.

Mrs. Samson picked up the first book and studied the bare-chested male on the cover. Her blush deepened.“Now doesn’t this look nice,” she murmured. “Is it very steamy?”

“As steamy as it gets,” said Marge with a smile. She was well aware of the woman’s predilection by now, and since she always feared she’d run out of books for the old lady to read kept stocking up on the more steamy segment as much as her budget allowed.

“Thanks, Marge,” said Mrs. Samson, displaying a toothy grin. Then she placed her bag on the counter and Marge proceeded to scan the books while Mrs. Samson disappeared between the rows of bookcases in search of more reading material.

And as Marge placed the books Mrs. Samson had checked in on the book cart, her mind returned to the topic that had been engaging her for the last couple of weeks: her daughter’s upcoming nuptials.

The topic had created a certain amount of tension between mother and daughter. Marge wanted to organize a big wedding for her only child, while Odelia herself, and her future husband, wanted to keep things small. They only wanted to invite a couple of friends and their nearest relatives and have them all over for dinner at the house.

At the house! Marge had already explained to Odelia how they couldn’t possibly all fit, but her daughter insisted they could, at least the number of people she had in mind.

Marge, on the other hand, wanted to do things in style and hire a wedding planner and book a nice venue. Though how they were going to get a good place this late in the proceedings was beyond her. She’d advised Odelia and Chase to put the wedding off until the spring, or even the summer, and take their time to do things properly.

Odelia wouldn’t hear of it, though, and said she’d always dreamed of a small affair with only her nearest and dearest.

And while Marge could see where she was coming from, she insisted they needed to involve the town. She hoped and prayed that Odelia would only marry once, and she wanted to make it a day to remember. If they did things Odelia’s way she feared her daughter might regret it later, and Marge wanted to avoid that at all cost. Well, not at all cost, necessarily, but still. She’d talked it over with Tex and they were prepared to pay for the whole thing. It had created another point of contention, as Odelia didn’t want to hear of it. She and Chase were going to pay and no one else.

Marge sighed as she placed a book on wedding etiquette on the cart and started pushing it in the direction of the racks of books. And she’d just started replacing the books in their designated spots when the library doors swung open and Vesta and Scarlett walked in.

Even though Marge had welcomed the fact that her mother had reconciled with her friend, sometimes she wondered if this newfound friendship wasn’t actually a bad thing. Vesta by herself could do a lot of damage, and now that she’d found herself a partner in crime things could be exponentially worse.

“Marge!” Vesta yelled. “Marge, show yourself. Oh, there you are. Trouble in paradise, honey. It looks as if Dan killed some woman—probably his secret girlfriend. And you know what that means, don’t you? Doom and gloom.”

“What?” Marge cried, as she almost dropped a copy of Miss Marple’s complete short stories. “What are you talking about?”

“A woman was found murdered in Dan’s office,” Scarlett explained with visible glee. “And your brother seems to think that Dan did it.”

“Yeah, and if Dan is sent up the river that’s the end of the Gazette I would think, which means your daughter will be unemployed.”