Murder of a Bookstore Babe

“Shh!” Skye scowled at Trixie. Several customers had turned to look at them. “Not now.” Even though it was nearly impossible in a town of three thousand people, half of whom Skye was related to, she tried to keep her love life private.

Trixie ignored Skye’s command for silence. “You told Simon.”

“Shut up.” Skye resisted an urge to put her hand over Trixie’s mouth and instead dragged her behind a display of feminine products. “I thought you forgave me.”

“That was when I thought you hadn’t told anyone else.”

“As I explained to you, I only informed him before I accepted because of . . . Well, you know.” She was uncomfortable discussing Simon’s vow to win her back.

“Still.” Trixie sniffed. “You did tell someone.” A tear slid down her round cheek. “And it wasn’t me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Skye swallowed, touched by Trixie’s pain. “What else can I say?”

“You can say that you’ll help me save Tales and Treats.”

“Of course I will. I don’t want it to close any more than you do.” Skye hugged Trixie. “Pick me up at two for the grand opening.”

Skye was waiting on her front porch when Trixie’s car roared into the driveway. Skye checked to make sure the front door was locked, then walked down the steps and climbed into the passenger seat. A lot of people in Scumble River didn’t bother with deadbolts, but Skye had had a few too many close calls with deranged killers to leave her door open.

As Skye was buckling her seat belt, Trixie said, “I figured out how to find some dirt on Pru. I’ll use the Internet.”

“Really?” Skye asked, tucking her purse behind her legs. “How?”

“I’ll Google her.”

“Oh.” Skye had finally begun accepting that the computer was a viable tool, but she still wasn’t comfortable with some of its features, like search engines. “Every time I try to find information that way, I get a zillion hits and end up wasting more time than if I had just looked it up in a book.”

Trixie flung the Civic into gear and stepped on the gas. Her prized Mustang convertible was long gone, sold to pay off a debt, but she still drove as if she were racing on the NASCAR circuit. Skye gripped the dashboard as Trixie backed out of the driveway without even glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, stop flinching.” Trixie slowed to a modest sixty. “You know I’m a good driver.”

“How about all those tickets you’ve gotten?”

“The speed limits are ridiculous.” Trixie tossed her head. “I’ve never been in an accident.”

The constant acceleration and braking were making Skye motion sick, and she closed her eyes. Finally, the car stopped and Skye looked around. Trixie had parked the Honda nearly half a mile from the bookstore. “Can’t you get any closer? At this rate we could have walked from my house.”

“I circled twice.” Trixie checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “All the parking spots are filled with your cousin’s used-car inventory.”

“Shoot.” Skye got out of the Civic and tugged her black jeans into place. “I hope that doesn’t keep people away.”

“There was quite a crowd by the entrance, so I think today it’ll be okay. During normal business hours, when they aren’t giving away free refreshments, it might be a different story.” Trixie linked an arm with Skye’s, and they headed toward the shop. “Anyway, walking is good for you.”

“If that’s true, why does the mailman look like Jabba the Hutt?”

“You are so not funny.” Trixie snickered. A few minutes later, she said, “Look.”

“At what?” They were a block away from Tales and Treats, and all Skye could see was that the half dozen wrought-iron tables and chairs arranged in front of the large front window were fully occupied. “You knew it would be packed.”

“Not that.” Trixie pointed to the entrance. “That.”

“Crap.” Skye hadn’t expected Pru to rally her troops so soon, but a small group of women holding protest signs was marching in a circle in front of the store’s entrance.

“Get a load of Pru’s Crew,” Trixie hissed.

“Yeah, but where’s their leader?” Skye asked.

As Trixie lifted her hands in puzzlement, one of the women thrust a leaflet into it. “Have you found Jesus Christ?” The picketer was a young blonde with long straight hair held back with a cornflower blue headband.

“Yes.” Trixie crumpled the flyer and deliberately dropped it on the ground. “He was behind the sofa the whole time.”

“If you’re a good Christian, you won’t go in,” the blonde persisted.

Skye gripped her friend’s arm, not sure what Trixie would do, but before she could say anything, an older woman with snow-white hair and a face that looked like a dried apple joined the first and said, “Now, dearies, just turn around and go home. I’m sure sweet girls like you have no idea this place is a den of iniquity.”

“The hell we don’t.” Trixie narrowed her eyes. “Censorship is the real evil.”

While Trixie was arguing with the protesters, Skye read the various protest signs. ROMANCES ROT YOUR BRAIN. SCIENCE FICTION IS THE WORK OF THE DEVIL. DO YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER READING PORN? STICK TO JANE AUSTEN AND JULES VERNE.