by ACF Bookens
Apparently, a 5’5” white woman in dress pants and a blouse from Kohl’s stands out, too, because she made a beeline for me as soon as she came in the door. “Delaney told you I’d be here.”
“Yes, he did. I asked him because I wanted to talk to you about Juan. Do you mind?”
“I do mind, but what choice do I have? I can’t have you following me all over the city, can I?”
Oh, the melodrama was almost comical, but I didn’t even crack a smile. “Thank you. Can I get you something?”
Just then a waiter arrived at our table – I’d had to order my macchiato at the counter and wait for it, but I was not Melissa Ward – with a half a pastrami sandwich and a tiny cup of espresso. “Here you are, Ms. Ward.”
“Thank you, Antonio.” She looked at me. “They know me here.”
“Apparently,” I said with a wry smile, and for the first time, she smiled back at me.
“I love Alan Ginsburg. Howl is a masterpiece. I know it’s kind of silly, but I really just love being where he was, you know?”
I did know. I had traveled – years ago – to the Lake District in England and walked around feeling like Wordsworth was right there. When I had seen daffodils or a pretty, fluffy cloud, I almost cried. Nothing brought his poems alive like seeing what inspired them.
I didn’t say any of that though, not wanting to sound like I was trying too hard. Instead, I nodded and pointed at City Lights Books across the road. “I like going there for the same reason.” City Lights had been the Beats bookstore. It still was, in fact. It was the only bookstore I’d ever been in – and I loved bookstores – that had an entire section dedicated to books on anarchy. I loved it.
I must have said the right thing because I saw Melissa soften right in front of me. Her face became even more beautiful without the tension around her eyes, and her posture sagged just enough that she looked relaxed, less on guard.
“I think Delaney might have told you why I wanted to get together.” I braced myself for a barbed word, but she just sighed.
“He said you were looking into Juan’s murder. I’m so sad about that.” Her voice was soft, and somehow, I believed her.
“You two were engaged at one point, right?”
“We were, but it was best that we broke it off. We weren’t compatible, you know?” She took a bite of her sandwich – a big bite-- and I liked her even more.
“Oh, I know that feeling very well. My husband and I just separated.”
She swallowed her bite with a big gulp and said, “Wow. That’s big. You okay?”
I couldn’t believe I’d just told her that, but then, she seemed to get it somehow. “I am actually. It was my choice. And even though I’m not used to it yet, I’m glad it happened.”
She took a gulp of her espresso and nodded.
“Back to Juan, though.” I felt a little awkward calling him Juan, but it seemed even weirder to call him Juan Montague or Montague. “I’m the one who found his body.”
A spray of espresso tickled my face as she looked at me. “You were? Oh, that must have been awful.”
She was literally the first person who had said that to me, and I kind of felt like crying. “Yes, it was actually. Very.”
A few moments passed as we watched the people of San Francisco walk past the window. We both needed a moment to just be with Juan’s death, to let it be there with us.
Then, Melissa picked up her tiny cup, poured back the rest of her drink, and said, “So you want to know if I killed him?”
I figured we were both playing it straight now, and I liked that better than the cat and mouse. “Yes, yes, I do.”
“Is it weird that I want to thank you for asking? I mean, you’re half-accusing me of murder, but, still, you’re the first person who has talked to me. Aren’t the police investigating?”
That was an excellent question. I hadn’t heard one word from Officer Jensen since the night of the murder, so I had no idea what they were doing. Police dramas made me think that they would have at least contacted Melissa because she was his ex-fiancée, but maybe that wasn’t really worthwhile. How should I know? “I have no idea what they’re doing. All I’ve learned about investigation, I learned from NCIS: Los Angeles.”
She laughed so hard that the people at the next table looked over. “Oh, I love me some Deeks.”
“Oh me, too.”
We spent the better part of the next hour talking about our favorite TV crushes. Clearly, we shared taste in men – Antoni from Queer Eye, Damon from Vampire Diaries, and of course Jess from Gilmore Girls. We clearly had a type, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have been attracted to Juan if I’d met him under other – okay, under living circumstances.
Eventually, I looked at my phone and realized I’d been away from work from almost two hours. No one kept a close eye on our time, given how much we were out speaking, but still, I needed to get back.
“Yeah, I need to get going, too. But I never did answer your question.”
I had noticed that, but now it felt rude to grill my new friend about her alibi for last Thursday. I smiled.
“I wouldn’t have killed Juan. I liked him too much. Truly. But I also have an alibi. I get my nails done every Thursday afternoon.”
The two times I’d had a manicure it had only taken a half-hour, and my skepticism must have shown because Melissa said with a smile, “Okay, I get a full-on spa treatment every Thursday from 1-7. Manicure, pedicure, massage, facial – the works. It’s glorious.” She stood and dropped her purse on her shoulder. I didn’t know purses, but it looked expensive. “You should come sometime. Like Thursday?”
I couldn’t even imagine what something like that would cost, but it was clearly out of my budget.
“My treat.” Again, I needed to work on my poker face. “Meet me at the Red Door on Jackson at 12:45 on Thursday.”
“I couldn’t . . . “ I started to decline, but then I remembered the way I had always refused even the small things that Trevor had tried to do for me, and I said instead, “Actually, that would be great. Thank you so much.”
“See you there,” Melissa said over her shoulder as she walked out the door, a little sway in her perfectly pleated skirt.
Had I just become friends with a beauty queen? I smiled as I hoofed it back to work.
* * *
That night, Delaney and I actually talked on the phone. I had texted to say I thought it would be easier to work out details for Friday night if we just chatted, and he had called five seconds later.
“I totally agree,” he said. “It’s also just nice to hear your voice.”
He could probably see me blushing through the phone.
“I sort of had lunch with Melissa today. I like her.”
He laughed. “I’d like to say I’m surprised, but most people like her when they get to know her. She’s just got some thick defenses when you first meet her. For good reason.”
I didn’t want to snoop into my new friend’s personal life, so I let that one go. She could tell me in her own time. I told Delaney about lunch, about our shared appreciation for authors whose work we admired. I left out the list of TV men I had a crush on.
“So, did you ask her about Juan?”
“I did. She has an alibi. A solid one. I called the salon where she spent the afternoon. Everyone I talked to said she had been there.”
“You just called up a beauty salon and asked if Melissa had been there.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, of course not. I’m not dumb. I told them that I was trying to surprise Melissa with a birthday extravaganza on Thursday and wanted to talk to all her usual, um, service providers. They were thrilled. She must be a big deal there.”
“She’s kind of a big deal everywhere.”
“Kind of like you?”
He was silent a minute. “Does that bother you? I mean that people know who I am?”
I took a deep breath and really thought about it. “No, it doesn’t. Maybe that’ll be different if th
e photographers show up at our dinner on Friday, but no, otherwise, it doesn’t bother me. I have a question for you, though. Does it bother you that I’m just separated from my husband?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No, not right now. Maybe later it might. But now, this is just a first date, Harvey. So, we’re just having fun.”
I liked that answer, partially because I didn’t want to get serious, partially because he was thinking that we could.
We chatted about the date a bit – dinner at a little café in Little Italy and then a walk to Coit Tower – and then talked about our days before circling back to Melissa.
“So, one suspect off the list?” he asked.
“I guess so. If this was a mystery novel, I’d be down to just one or two suspects at this point. Right now, I’m sort of down to none.”
“Does that mean I’m in the clear then?”
I laughed. “Well, I don’t know. Do you have an alibi?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I was at practice.”
“Practice for what?” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I felt ridiculous.
“I can see why my notoriety doesn’t faze you. You don’t even remember what I do for a living.”
“Ha, ha. So, you were at football practice? Isn’t it a little early for that?”
“Not a football fan, huh? We start practice in July.” He laughed quietly.
I had no knowledge of football at all. I wondered if I needed to learn. “Nope. You play for the Vikings,” I teased.
“Hey now. You know I’m bringing you a Raider Nation t-shirt on Friday.”
“I’ll wear it with pride.”
6
Ms. Wang was having a field day with my joy, and I loved it. I purposefully picked up the pep in my step as I stopped by her store on Thursday morning. I was dying to tell someone about the plans for my date, and Mart had been out on her own romantic adventures the night before. So, Ms. Wang it was.
“That sounds perfect. Lots of time to talk. Lots of time to hold hands.”
I giggled as I imagined my tiny hand in his huge one. I didn’t hate the idea.
“What are you going to wear?”
I had obsessed over this already and had no idea. I didn’t have money to buy a new outfit, and I couldn’t wear the same black dress I’d worn when I met Delaney, no matter how I shifted the bow. “Nothing.” I blushed. “I mean, I have nothing to wear.”
Ms. Ward came out from behind the counter and looked at me. I was wearing my usual uniform for work – a maxi dress and cardigan with sandals. “Do you have any shoes that are slightly sexier than Birkenstocks?”
I picked up my left foot and turned it around. I loved these shoes, but sexy they were not. “I do have these silver sandals with those strings that go up my ankle from a wedding I was in a few years back.”
“Can you walk in them?”
“They’re just low heels, so yeah?”
“Okay, wear those with that purple dress I’ve seen you in. Carry a sweater. Put on more make-up and wear some really good-smelling lotion. Oh, and earrings. That’ll do it.”
I think my mouth was hanging open. This tiny woman who only ever had her hair up in a make-shift French twist and whose only sweater had sported a hole in the elbow for as long as I’d known her had just put together a perfect outfit for me.
“Thank you, Ms. Wang. Wow. You could do this professionally.”
“Only for you, dear. Only for you,” she said as she went back around the counter.
“Oh, and by the way, I’ve ruled out my only two suspects for the murder up the street.”
I saw Ms. Wang’s body stiffen. “You’re still poking around at that, huh?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I don’t know that the police are doing anything at all.”
“What do you mean? They’ve been here several times to ask me questions.”
“They have?” I found that surprising since I’d still not heard from anyone.
She looked a little flustered and came out from behind the counter to restack the perfectly stacked boxes of Granny Smiths. “I mean, I guess they think I might have seen something since I was here.”
“Maybe. But I was here, too. . . “
“Oh, forget I said anything. Just be careful, okay? I’ve read some on that Delaney Fishman of yours. He and Montague were into some shifty business.”
I laughed. “So, I’m not the only one who has been snooping, am I?”
She cut me a hard look but then forced a smile. “It did happen just up the street. Kind of close to home.”
“Yep, exactly. But just so you know, Delaney was at practice that night. I asked him.”
“Oh, okay. I guess the coach backed that up, huh?”
It was my turn to give her a sharp look. I hadn’t thought I needed to check on that. Did I need to check on that?
* * *
The next two days went by both so fast and at the speed of a turtle walking backwards. I tried to pass the time at work by pouring myself into new fundraising possibilities by searching our database of businesses, and it actually proved fruitful. I got three initial meetings with managers at small retail shops for the next week. The first evening, I purged the last of Trevor’s stuff and texted him to pick it up on the stoop Saturday morning when I had decided I’d go for a run down at the park, for old times’ sake. No need to risk running into him, but I was tired of seeing his stuff, especially his art stuff. He replied, “Ok.” I tried not to let that get to me.
Thursday night, I kept busy rearranging my bookshelves in both genre-specific and alphabetical order. I’d always wanted to do that – a habit from my years as a bookseller in college – but Trevor had always teased me so much that I never got very far in the process. Now, though, I unloaded all six of my bookshelves – the apartment living room was lined with them – and began sorting.
I loved books. They had been my companions through the sad days of my life, even the recent sad days when I’d had a partner but an absent one. I couldn’t imagine my life without books.
As I separated fiction from nonfiction and then nonfiction into creative nonfiction, books about books, and mystery novels, I let myself slide back into an old fantasy. I’d always dreamed of opening a bookstore in a small town. A place where everyone could come, have a cup of coffee, pet my bookstore dog, and actually buy a book or two. I’d have author readings and host great parties for the best books that were coming out for children. I even had this vision of hosting a dog birthday bash once a year on my dog’s birthday and inviting all the neighborhood pooches.
Trevor had always scoffed at that dream – “Too much work for too little reward,” had always felt like an ironic statement from a man who spent literally sixty hours of week painting and had never sold a painting – but now that I was on my own, I let myself go a little wild with my imagining.
After I put the last stack of books on the shelves, I decided to take a quick look at the internet to see what I could find about how to open a bookstore. I knew this might be a rabbit hole of information, but I couldn’t help myself. I found sites on how to write a business plan and where to find the cash to buy a building and get inventory. I looked at other bookstores sites and admired their cute names. Everything that seemed helpful, I bookmarked and printed. Then, I started to plan for All Booked Up, my own bookstore. I didn’t know how or when it would happen, but I knew it would happen.
At 2 a.m., I made an executive decision: I was taking tomorrow off. I set my alarm for 6 a.m., climbed into bed with my latest mystery novel, and woke up only long enough to call in and let my boss know I was taking a personal day. Then, I slept until 10 a.m.
* * *
With a whole day and a really exciting date ahead of me, I decided I’d do a little more research. I threw on my favorite yoga pants and a t-shirt that said “Got Books?” and headed toward Clement Street. I swung into Cleon’s shop and picked up a fresh cup of his best pour-over dark roast. I had decided to walk to Green Apple Books,
a quirky, mostly-used bookshop in the Inner Richmond. I needed the exercise, and it was a rare sunny day on my side of the city. I’d made a good choice to take the day off, that was for sure.
I was more than halfway there and had just crossed Park Presidio when I heard someone call my name. I tried to look around discretely to see if someone was calling an old white guy named Harvey – that was the usual – but then I saw David Sheridan coming toward me from across Clement. “I’ve been looking for you,” he shouted, drawing the attention of a dozen Russian women sweeping in front of their shops along the street.
I waved and smiled, even though I felt a little anxious that someone had worked that hard to find me. San Francisco was not a small town after all, but David’s big grin set me at ease almost immediately.
“You were looking for me?”
“Yeah, that lady at the corner market told me you’d headed this way. I biked down until I found you.” He gestured toward a blue road bike locked up across the street. “Can I walk with you?”
“Sure.” We continued on down Clement side by side. “So why were you looking for me?”
“I wanted to tell you that my girlfriend Nancy – I think you saw her at the park the other day? The cute redhead?” He was blushing and looked so happy that I found myself really happy for him, despite how hot I still found him to be. “Anyway, Nancy said Juan told her that he was trying to buy some property up your way, right near your house on 25th.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. Maybe that’s why he was up there.” I could feel my heart rate quickening, but I wasn’t sure if that was from the walk, the high-test coffee, or the new lead. “I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but why would Juan tell Nancy that?”
“She works for the city planning office, and Juan was her coach. Guess they got talking about his hopes to buy a bunch of buildings right around the corner from you – 25th and California, I think she said – and put up a bunch of condos.”
