“Billy who?” I asked.
“William Bradford, Lisette’s ex-husband. He’s a stalker.” Molly’s fake shiver didn’t mitigate the glee in her eyes.
Harper gave Molly’s arm a little shake. “Don’t overdramatize, Molly. Honestly, we only know this from stuff Lisette’s shared in our online fan group. Who knows how reliable that information is?” She offered me a tight smile. “Don’t be too concerned, Charlotte. Lisette likes to be the center of attention, so she probably blew everything out of proportion.”
“Okay, but if he shows up here tomorrow, will one of you promise to point him out to me?” I frowned. “That is, if you know what he looks like.”
“I do. Looked him up when Lisette was going on and on about his antics. I’ll be glad to identify him if he decides to crash the event,” Molly said. “And honestly, Harper’s right. All we know is what Lisette posted online. It may or may not be true. You know how that goes.”
“If you mean how tricky the internet can be, I do. I used to teach high school students. The things some of them would post on social media …” I shook my head.
“Trust me, fandoms can be worse.” Molly pulled free of Harper’s grip on her arm. “Please don’t worry too much, Charlotte. I’m sure this will turn out to be a wonderful week, with no problems whatsoever.”
I kept a smile plastered on my face until Molly and Harper had left the library, determined not to display the concern their comments about Lisette’s ex had raised in my mind.
But as soon as I reached the parlor, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and called Detective Amber Johnson, my contact at the Beaufort Police Department.
If there was any chance a disgruntled ex-spouse was going to show up at any event held at Chapters, I wanted to make sure the police knew about the possibility ahead of time.
Chapter Three
I spent late Saturday morning alternating between helping Alicia and Damian prepare food and assisting Julie and Scott with setting up chairs on the front lawn and the patio.
“Thank heavens we have good weather.” Julie glanced over at me as we straightened a row of folding chairs. “I know you had a contingency plan to hold the event inside, but I think that would’ve been problematic with the crowd we’re expecting.” As she adjusted the placement of one chair, her pink scoop-neck top rumpled up, exposing a narrow expanse of her toned midriff. Something her boyfriend, Scott Kepler, seemed to appreciate, if his admiring gaze was any indication.
I smiled, pleased that my friend had found happiness with the charming author. Although Scott, at forty-six, was ten years older than Julie, they were a good match. Julie even got along with his preteen daughter, Abby. Scott lived across the state, in Asheville, North Carolina, but he spent a considerable amount of time in Beaufort due to his interest in the history of pirates and boating in the area.
More and more time these days, I thought with a smile. Julie had experienced some unpleasant romantic affairs in the past. It was nice to see her finally involved in a positive relationship.
“I’m sure Charlotte is grateful not to have everyone tramping through her house.” Scott shoved back the damp lock of silver-threaded auburn hair that had fallen into his eyes. “It’s already hot, though, and I expect this afternoon is going to be blistering. I hope your guests are prepared for that.”
“It’s July in North Carolina,” Julie said, flipping her long black braid behind one shoulder. “They should know to dress accordingly.”
I frowned, considering the implications of this. “Hopefully no one will pass out or anything. Maybe I should’ve provided some fans.”
Julie’s dark brown eyes sparkled with good humor. “Never fear—your savvy local bookseller already thought of that. I had some of those basic cardboard fans made, with the Bookwaves logo and info printed on them, of course.”
“As a smart entrepreneur would.” Scott threw one arm around Julie’s shoulders. “She’s a clever one, this girl,” he added, as he pulled her close to his side.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“But rather sticky right now.” Julie wrinkled her nose as she slipped free of Scott’s embrace. “I’m afraid you don’t exactly smell like a rose, either, my love.”
Scott pulled his elastic features into a comical mask as he flapped his arms. “That’s just my manly aroma.”
“Uh-huh.” Julie arched her brows. “Well, mister manly, I suggest that we run home and take showers before we greet Ms. Nobel and the other guests.” She glanced at her Wonder Woman wristwatch. “We just have time if we leave right now. If that’s okay with you, Charlotte.”
“Of course. I need to do the same. Anyway, I think everything’s ready, or as ready as it can be. Of course, we’ll have to drape the author table and carry out the boxes with the copies of Amanda’s books, but we should probably do that at the last minute.”
“Right. I expect some of the fans will show up early, and I don’t want anyone lifting a free copy,” Julie said.
I surveyed Chapters’s front lawn. The covered front porch served as a backdrop for the event, its white railings draped with author banners featuring Amanda’s photo and pictures of all her books. We’d arranged the white folding chairs I’d rented from a party supply store to face the author table, which was placed at the foot of the front steps. I wasn’t convinced that we had enough seating to accommodate all the fans, but as Julie had said, there was still room for others to spill out into the rest of the yard and onto the sidewalk. Ellen had even offered the use of her front yard if more space was needed.
Julie’s words broke through my musing. “One more thing. I need to remember to bring my change box. Remind me, would you, Scott? I’ve got my phone set up to do debit and credit sales, but I know some people like to pay cash.”
“Sure thing,” Scott said. “If you’ll remind me that we need to stop by Roger’s house when we head back here. I promised him a ride, remember?”
I wiped a bead of sweat from my upper lip, thankful the magnolia and maple that flanked either side of the front lawn offered a little shade. “Roger? Is that someone I should know?”
“Roger Warren,” Julie said. “He’s a friend of Scott’s.”
“A colleague, really.” Scott cast me a smile. “One of my former professors, to be exact. And one of the main reasons I was drawn to Beaufort when I decided to write a nonfiction book about pirates. He’s an expert on the history of this area.”
“He’s a cool guy. A local, although I don’t think he mingles much with anyone except for other history buffs,” Julie said. “I had to twist his arm to get him to do a signing at Bookwaves a few years ago. He said no one would be interested in his scholarly writing, but we actually had a pretty big crowd.”
Scott shook his head. “Roger always downplays his achievements. I don’t know why. He retired from teaching but still writes articles that are crucial to understanding the history of the area.”
“I wonder if Ellen knows him,” Julie said, with a glance over at my neighbor’s house. “I bet she does, since I think they’re around the same age. How old is she, anyway? I mean, she’s so vibrant and active, it’s hard to guess.”
“Seventy-six, I believe,” I said.
“Roger’s a little younger. Late sixties.” Scott nudged Julie’s arm with his elbow. “So don’t go matchmaking, sweetheart.”
Julie shrugged. “Who cares about a little age gap, especially at that age? But no, I wasn’t planning on trying to hook them up. I just thought they’d enjoy talking to one another, if they haven’t already met.”
“That’s true. Roger enjoys chatting with intelligent women. Which is why he likes you,” Scott leaned in to give Julie a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, but I doubt I’m on Ellen’s level.” Julie’s smile faded. “And of course I’m glad Roger agreed to attend, but”—she shot me a concerned glance—“I admit I’m a little worried too. I don’t know what his reaction will be to Amanda Nobel’s books. You know what a stickler he i
s for historical accuracy, Scott. I’m afraid he might challenge Amanda over some of her details. She doesn’t exactly cling too closely to the facts.”
Scott waved his hand through the air. “I wouldn’t be too concerned. Roger may come off a little pompous sometimes, but he’s a gentleman. He isn’t going to be rude, especially not to a lady.”
“I know, but …” Julie bit her lower lip “Oh well, I suppose it’ll be fine. It’s too late to change anything now, anyway.”
“Speaking of late”—Scott tapped his watch—“we’d better get a move on, or that’s what we’re going to be. And I don’t think you want that, since you’re the host and interviewer.”
“I certainly don’t.” Julie cast me a bright smile. “You feel good about everything, Charlotte? We’ll be back as soon as we can, I promise.”
“I think we’re all set. Just remember those fans. I’m sure they’ll be appreciated.”
As soon as Julie and Scott headed back to Julie’s apartment to shower and change clothes, I went inside to also grab a shower. After blow drying my short hair and applying a light touch of makeup, I slipped into one of my few dresses—a simple jade-green silk sheath that I wore with silver and peridot jewelry—before heading into the kitchen.
I found Damian in the pantry, collecting bottles of wine and liquor to fill several steel-mesh baskets.
“Working alone? Where’s Alicia?”
Damian held up a blue bottle of vodka. “After we finished prepping the food, she decided she’d better shower and change before any guests show up. I plan to run home and do the same but first wanted to pull stuff together to have it ready to carry out later.”
“Anything we need? Extra ice or garnishes or anything?”
“No.” Damian placed the bottle in the basket close to his feet and straightened to his full height. Although I wasn’t short, he was considerably taller. He gazed down at me with a smile. “Everything’s all set. You did a great job with the shopping, as usual.”
“I make lists,” I said, with an answering smile. “Habit. I think it comes from being a teacher all those years.”
“It works.” Damian flipped a couple of his black dreadlocks behind his shoulders. “I know I look like a mess right now, but don’t worry—I plan to pull the dreads back and change into something classier before I man the bar.”
“I never worry about that. You always look professional on the job.” I gave him a wink. “No matter what Alicia says.”
“Alicia’s old school. Kind of like my mama. Neither one of them approve of my hair. But you know”—Damian shrugged—“life’s too short to worry about stuff like that.”
“That’s certainly true,” I said, my expression sobering. An image of my late husband, Brent, flashed through my mind. He’d died unexpectedly, and much too young.
“Anyway, I think we’re all set for this afternoon.” Damian carried the basket to one side of the pantry and set it beside the others. “I’ll just leave these here until closer to the reception.” Adjusting one of the rows of bottles, he glanced over at me, his dark eyes full of curiosity. “I actually know one of your guests. Surprised me to see her staying here, especially since she lives so close.”
“You mean Molly Zeleski?” I asked, remembering that she lived in Morehead City.
“Yeah. I knew her as Molly Dent, but I’m sure it’s the same person. She looks pretty much the same, even after ten years. She went to my high school.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Not really. She was a senior when I was just a seventh-grader.” Damian wiped his fingers with the white dish towel he’d tucked in the pocket of his faded jeans. “It was a religious school.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Really?
Damian grinned. “Bet it seems unlikely, knowing me, but my mama is a strong Christian woman. She wanted all us kids to get the ‘right teachings,’ as she used to say. With my brother and sister, it worked—he’s a Baptist minister, and she’s a private duty nurse. But with me …” He lifted his hands. “I rebelled and ran wild, until I discovered cooking and got my head straight.”
“It was a private school, I assume?”
“Yeah. It was a decent place,” Damian said, “but pretty small. Nothing like the public schools where you taught, I bet. All the grades were jammed together in one building, so I’d see Molly around, but more than that”—Damian twisted the towel between his hands—“I heard about the trouble she got into.”
“Oh?” I leaned against one of our steel pantry racks and studied him, noting the concern in his eyes. “Trouble like typical teenage antics or something more?”
“More. She had a real bad temper, at least back then. The hair-trigger kind. She’d be all fine and cheerful, but someone would say or do something that ticked her off and bam!”—Damian snapped the twisted towel through the air—“just like that, she’d go off on them.”
I frowned, tapping my fingers against one of the perforated metal shelves. “She was aggressive?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Damian tossed the towel over one shoulder. “That’s why I was kinda concerned when I saw she was staying here. I know people can change, and I’m the last person who has any right to complain about a bad temper, but when I saw her it brought back memories. And not pleasant ones.”
“Did she ever attack you?” I asked, stepping away from the shelf to face him directly. If someone had harmed one of my staff, even if the altercation was in the past, I wanted to know. While Damian did have a short fuse, he had never, to my knowledge, physically attacked another person.
“No, nothing like that. We don’t have any real history.” Damian looked down at his hands, which were now clasped tightly at his waist. “She called me a name once or twice, but that was it.”
“I see,” I said, considering what that name had likely been. “Well, if she says anything like that to you while you’re working this event, or any time this week, you let me know right away. I’m not going to put up with that sort of thing at Chapters.”
“Thanks, but I imagine she’ll be on her best behavior, what with her idol staying here too.” Damian lifted his head and looked me in the eye. “And I don’t need you to save me from anything. I was fighting that battle long before I met you. I know how to take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you do. I just want to assure you that I’ll back you up.”
Damian’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “I know. Wouldn’t work here otherwise. But I’d better get a move on if I want to run to my apartment and back in time for your party.”
“Okay. See you later. And,” I added, as his walked past me, “thanks for alerting me about Molly. Like you said, she may be a completely different person now, but it’s probably a good thing that I know to keep an eye on her. We don’t want any problems like we had last year.”
“We sure don’t,” Damian said as he left the pantry.
I waited until I heard the back-porch door slam before I wandered out of the pantry and into the kitchen. Examining the covered platters that lined the center island, I considered the information Damian had shared about Molly Zeleski.
There’s really no reason to worry, I told myself, as I tucked a loose piece of plastic wrap under one of the ceramic platters. Just because someone was a hothead in the past doesn’t mean they’ll pull any shenanigans now. Besides, what are the chances that something so drastic could happen, two years in a row?
Chapter Four
I was glad Julie had thought to provide fans for our guests. Despite the shade offered by the front yard trees, by the time we reached the second portion of our author event, the afternoon heat had slicked the inside of my elbows and soaked the back neckline of my dress. As Amanda talked about her road to publication, I stood at the edge of the lawn, blinking the sweat from my eyes while I tried to focus. It wasn’t easy—I was at the back of the crowd, and the heat made everything even a few yards away appear to shimmer.
The crowd didn’t seem to mind.
While I waved my fan emblazoned with the Bookwaves logo so furiously that the cardboard pulled away from the wooden stick, the guests appeared oblivious to any discomfort. They were so attuned to Amanda Nobel’s every word that many of them had dropped their own fans to the ground or into their laps.
After Amanda spoke about the inspiration for her books, Julie jumped in with a series of interview questions before opening things up to questions from the audience.
“Quite a crowd.”
I turned to the tall, thin, older woman who’d moved close to my side. “Hello, Fee. Are you an Amanda Nobel fan?”
“Oh my, yes. I just love her books,” Ophelia Sandburg said, as she adjusted the yellow sash decorating the waist of her daisy-patterned cotton dress. “But I’m also here for Julie. She’s a book club friend, after all. And I do like to support Bookwaves. Having an independent bookstore in town is so important.”
“Very true. I’m delighted to see Julie get so much publicity for the store. Hopefully that will translate into future sales.”
“I’m sure she’ll sell a good many books today, at least.” As Ophelia shaded her eyes with one hand, her violet nail polish shone in sharp contrast to her fire-engine-red dyed hair. “Is that Scott in the front row? I can only see the back of his head, but that auburn hair is pretty distinctive.”
“Of course it is,” said the short, stocky woman who’d bustled up beside Ophelia.
“Hello, Bernie,” I said, with a nod of welcome.
Bernadette Sandburg looked like she was dressed for a tennis match rather than an afternoon tea, in a white polo shirt and blue plaid Bermuda shorts. “Would you take a gander at all those slack-jawed faces. Never seen such a bunch of obsessed fans since I attended that Beatles concert back in the day.”
“I imagine they think Amanda is just as much of a rock star,” I said.
Bernadette ran her fingers through her hair, which, while cut short like Ophelia’s, retained its natural steel-gray color. “Don’t see the attraction myself. I expect it’s that TV show that’s actually made her so famous. I mean, the books are all right, if you like that sort of thing …”
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