Murder of a Bookstore Babe

Skye’s mouth opened and closed, but before she could think of a reply, a male voice boomed, “My reading will begin in one minute. Please take your seats.”

Risé swept everyone into the literature alcove, introduced the author, and then stepped away, allowing the man to take her place behind the podium, aka the desk. Folding chairs had been arranged in rows facing him. He wore jeans, a tweed jacket, and a hat rather like the one on Earl’s head, although without the bite taken out of the brim.

As Skye sat down, Earl announced, “I’m gonna go talk ta the book lady. She won’t have nothin’ ta do what with you all sittin’ in here.”

Skye opened her mouth to point out that he’d miss the talk, then thought better of it. Maybe that was for the best. With Earl, the lights were flashing, the gates were down, but there was no train coming.

“Me and the other kids’ll be waiting in the café,” Junior told his dad.

Earl nodded and went in search of fame and fortune.

Skye glanced at her watch. It was one o’clock. Trixie had said she’d try to meet her here, but Owen had wanted her help in buying some new clothes at Farm and Fleet in Kankakee, and she might not make it back in time. Just in case, Skye put her tote bag on the seat next to her to save it, although people weren’t exactly pouring into the room. Besides herself, there were the three ladies that had provoked Glenda’s ire, four or five teenagers, a strange guy dressed in a long overcoat, and Orlando.

The author, Walker Josephson, picked up a hardback with a cover featuring a tough-looking man holding a big gun in his hand, his arm around a seminaked girl. Twenty minutes later, Skye was fighting to keep her eyes open. Josephson had a monotone voice, and she would have much preferred that he talk about the story rather than read it to them.

When the writer finally closed the book, took a sip of water, and asked for questions, Skye looked around. Who would be brave enough to go first?

Orlando stood and said, “Walker, thank you for coming to our bookstore.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Josephson nodded his head regally.

Next, a brunette from the trio of women raised her hand and said, “It’s such an honor to have you here in Scumble River.”

Thank you, little lady.” The author sucked in the small potbelly that hung over his waistband. “Which of my books was your favorite?”

“Oh.” The brunette tittered. “I haven’t actually read any. I don’t have time to read. Are they available on CD?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “Any other questions?” He glanced around the small space, stroking his beard.

Silence. Then finally one of the teenagers asked, “Did you write the whole book yourself, or did you, like, copy some of it?”

“That would be plagiarism.” He glared at the girl. “I would never do that.”

“Sorry. My history teacher said to ask.” The girl chewed, then blew a bubble with her gum. “He told us if we came to this we got extra credit and he wouldn’t fail us for using papers we bought on the Internet.”

“Well.” Josephson seemed to be unable to think of anything else to say.

Skye felt sorry for him and raised her hand. “Could you tell us a little about your writing process?”

While he was explaining his method, Risé stepped back into the room. Once he finished, she said to him, “Thank you, Walker.” There was a smattering of polite applause. When it died down, she pointed to a table off to the side. “We have cookies and coffee, and Mr. Josephson will be happy to autograph books for you.”

Orlando slipped out of the room, but everyone else rushed for the refreshments, and Skye had to fight her way in the opposite direction. Once she got her book signed, she walked over to Risé and asked, “Do you have a minute to talk to me?”

“Sure.” Risé raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think there will be a run at the register.”

“Somewhere private?”

“Okay.” Risé led the way. “We can use the back room.”

When they were settled, Risé in an old office chair and Skye perched on a box, Skye said, “I wanted to warn you that my cousin Hugo found out about what happened in your previous job and plans to tell everyone.”

“I know.” Risé shrugged. “It was never a huge secret, although it would have been nice to be able to leave it in the past.” She grimaced. “I wish it hadn’t happened, but I had no idea my boss was running a Ponzi scheme. The police cleared me, and I was hoping to start fresh.”

“You might want to give the Star an interview and get your side out in the open. Maybe something on the order of the positives in starting over.” Skye made a face. “I don’t always agree with Kathryn Steele, the paper’s publisher, but she’s usually fair.”

“Good idea.” Risé nodded. “I don’t worry about what people think—they don’t do it often enough for me to be concerned—but it does bother Orlando. And right now he’s struggling to stay sober, so I don’t want him more stressed-out.”

Skye nodded sympathetically. “Then it really would be a good idea to let people know what really happened versus what Hugo might say.”