by Kym Roberts
“You have to open it,” she said.
“But I don’t want to! I like it just the way it is.”
My daddy handed me his pocket knife. “Cut the twine and you can slit the ends to pull out the box, the same way your—”
“Momma used to,” my dad, aunt, and I said at the same time. It was a special moment, made that much nicer by the three of us bringing my mom into the room.
I cut the twine and then the edges and gently pulled a large boot box from the end. I recognized it immediately and looked at Scarlet. “You didn’t.”
“What?” Scarlet doesn’t feign innocence well…or maybe she wore it too well and I recognized the ruse because of our friendship.
I lifted the lid to the box and found the boots I’d admired the last time we went shopping in Oak Grove. I hadn’t found them at the “boot store” where everyone bought their cowboy boots. I found them at a little boutique that was all about the color, the bling, and the price tag.
“Scarlet, these are too expensive!”
“Princess, those are perfect.” Sugar’s voice held the awe I felt.
“Those are a disgrace to cowboy boots,” Jessie piped up.
“Maybe that’s why they call them cowgirl boots,” added his wife.
Jessie argued with the love of his life. “If you ask me, no self-respecting Texan would be caught dead in pink boots.”
“That’s my husband,” replied Daisy Mahan. “Never afraid to tell us what he won’t be caught dead in…if you only knew what he might be caught dead in.”
Jessie sputtered as laughs broke out around the table. His wife had put him in his place so neatly, I wasn’t sure Jessie would ever be able to dig himself out.
I hugged Scarlet and moved on to the next package from Betty and Franz, a simple gift bag that had a cupcake cut out of a colorful book page and sewn on the side. The gift tag was also made from a book page that appeared to be pieced with scraps of lace and then quilted onto card stock. A jeweled tiara dangled from the top. Inside were four quilted placemats in shades of pink with a gift card to Franz’s bakery.
Joe and Leila gave me a wine bottle purse that would match my boots. When I opened Cade’s present, I paused, not sure what to think. I looked up from the box he’d wrapped with brown paper and twine with a large letter P cut from a book page and brushed with black ink on the edges. He’d obviously had Scarlet’s help getting it packaged just right.
“It’s a Denver Broncos’ jersey. I know you’ve become a fan since you moved up there, and since their quarterback is your favorite player, I thought you’d like his jersey.”
My daddy covered a smile. My aunt looked confused and Jamal opened his big mouth.
“Charli doesn’t even watch football.”
I could see the wheels start to churn in Cade’s mind and nearly panicked.
“Excuse me. I hate to interrupt the celebration…” A customer stood at the top of the steps. Well-dressed and in his mid-thirties, he held up Lucy Barton’s book, Canoe Moon. “Could someone ring up this book for me?”
Jamal ran forward. “I’ve got it. Sorry, sir, I was slacking in my duties. Let me help you with that.”
“I’m much obliged. Again, my apologies. Happy birthday, Charli.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Beats me,” said Scarlet.
Betty leaned over and whispered in a loud voice, “I think that’s Marvin Perkins, Delbert’s brother.”
Penelope’s breath hitched and Mateo immediately followed the man down the steps.
“How do you know he’s Delbert’s brother?”
“I saw him coming out of the funeral home this morning. The only person there is Delbert.”
Penelope’s coloring had turned two shades of white, and as J. C. squeezed her hand and whispered in her ear, I was suddenly glad he’d come.
Cade returned the conversation to his gift and I knew he did it for his mom, not because he wanted to know if I still harbored feelings for him. That was a given. “You’re not a Broncos’ fan?”
Scarlet, who had guessed the real meaning behind my love for the Denver Broncos’ quarterback the first time I had to dig into my high school wardrobe for clothes, covered for me like a true best friend. “She’s missed Denver since she’s been home, and it’s her way of knowing who she is and where she came from—she’s a mixture of rough desert and wild mountains. There’s no one like our Princess.”
The little version of Princess somehow took offense and squawked at Scarlet’s feet, causing everyone to laugh.
I thanked Cade and told him the gift was perfect.
I opened my Aunt Violet and Jamal’s present next, and my emotions threatened to choke the last breath from my body. The two personalized throw pillows displayed family photographs across the front of the fabric. Embroidered with tiny delicate stitches, the attention to detail captured the images of my mom and dad holding me as a baby on one pillow, and the last family photo we’d taken before my mom got cancer on the second—which was my favorite.
The photographic inspiration for the artfully done pillow was straight from the last Christmas card we’d sent out as a family, a tradition my mom had done since my very first Christmas. Each year our card depicted a family photograph and a caption that held a twist on a Christmas carol. My mom sent one out for my second Christmas that captured me sleeping in a pile of hay when I was a toddler and we were visiting a family friend’s farm. The card had been captioned “Away in a Manger.” For my third Christmas, she sent out a Christmas card of me holding my toy phone up to my ear with the caption “Do You Hear What I Hear?”
Her last twist on a holiday carol, “Deck the Halls” depicted the three of us sitting on the back deck of our apartment with a very full Brazos River in the background. The railing around the deck was tastefully decorated with greenery, silver bells, red ribbon, and clumps of holly. A Christmas tree stood to one side while my parents sat on a rocking chair built for two, with me on their lap. We all had on jeans and boots, and my dad was wearing one of his typical plaid shirts in shades of red and white. My mom and I wore red sweaters with a small cluster of holly branches pinned to our shirts, and although the pillow I currently held in my hand didn’t have the title of the card on it, I remembered what my mom had imprinted on our Christmas greeting that final year: Deck the Dolls with Boughs of Holly.
My daddy had always called my momma doll.
Again, I almost teared up as I got up and hugged my aunt and cousin.
“At least they didn’t get her a pillow with a Book Kreeper on it,” J. C. mumbled.
The room went silent.
“Dad,” Cade warned.
“J. C. Calloway. Learn your manners,” Penelope scolded.
“What do you mean? What’s a Book Kreeper?” I asked, unable to let the dig go.
Cade shook his head and smiled. “It’s nothing, Princess.”
Despite his words, I could tell his grin was forced.
J. C. started to open his mouth but was glared into silence by Cade and Penelope.
Mateo turned all heads in his direction when he announced, “I have a gift for you, but it’ll have to wait until we have some privacy.”
Not one floorboard creaked. Not one throat cleared. If I hadn’t been so stunned, I would have counted the mouths that had hit the floor. Mateo had somehow snuck back upstairs and made his announcement that was filled with so much innuendo, he may as well have stripped down to his skivvies and announced he had a special gift for me to unwrap. What was he thinking? He’d already given me a gift that was waiting in my purse for me to open it.
If everyone in the room read his meaning wrong, he wasn’t about to correct them. Nor was he embarrassed by the ideas crossing every mind in the room. He just continued to lean one shoulder against the shelves with his feet crossed at the ankle, his gaze steady with me i
n its sights. All he was missing was a cowboy hat and boots and a hand-rolled cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth to carry off the look of a Latino version of Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. The difference being it was modern day, we were in a bookstore, his look was anything but threatening, and his muscles bulged out of a short-sleeve uniform shirt.
But still, the gun was present on his hip, even if it was a semi-automatic, and the tough as nails persona was there.
Drat the man.
I didn’t dare look at Cade, but I could feel his gaze flying between me and Mateo. My daddy rescued me.
“You and everyone else are going to have to come out back to see the gift I bought you.”
Scarlet grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “You’re going to love it!” Everyone else followed as we traipsed down the steps and out the backdoor of the Barn.
I looked around but there was nothing on the back patio that looked out of place. “Close your eyes,” my daddy ordered.
I did as I was told, and he grabbed my arm and walked me out into the yard. I could hear everyone else following behind us and started to open my eyes.
“No peeking, Princess. In fact, I want you to cover your eyes.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I complied. “Yes, Daddy.”
The grass became rocky, and I could tell we were walking down toward the river. “Watch your step,” he ordered. A few moments later we stopped and he turned me toward my right.
“On the count of three you can open your eyes. One…”
The whole crowd joined in on, “Two, three!”
I opened my eyes and found I was looking at the new privacy fence we’d installed between our property and the antique store next door. One thing was different, though. Hanging between two posts was a brand new pink canoe with two oars.
“Do you remember what you said about your thirtieth birthday?” my daddy asked.
“Bobby Ray Warren, you wouldn’t dare push that girl into that!”
“Charli’s a good swimmer,” Scarlet tried to assure my aunt.
“The best,” added Cade.
I looked at my dad, who was grinning from ear to ear. My aunt and my daddy were the only ones who knew the meaning behind the canoe. My momma had proposed to my daddy in a canoe on the Brazos River. And as a teenager, I had promised my daddy if I wasn’t married by the time I was thirty, I would buy a canoe and take Cade Calloway down the Brazos River and follow in my momma’s footsteps.
I looked back at Cade and saw Mateo standing behind him.
Funny how life changes.
Chapter Thirteen
The party ended early when Mateo got a call to respond to a burglary call at our main competition, the Book Grove, in the neighboring town of Oak Grove, the same place where our electrician, Matt Allen, had been accidentally electrocuted. Up until we’d scored the book signing with Lucy Barton, all local book signings had been held at the Book Grove. Granted, they hadn’t had an author anywhere near the status of Ms. Barton, but they were the go-to bookstore in the area—up until now. The owner had decided it was time to remodel the store and give us a run for our money with his remodel. I thought the area could use two stores without it getting ugly or weird. Sterling Koch didn’t quite see it that way.
Mateo set off to see what the big deal was at the scene that would call for the sheriff’s response, and the rest of our guests took it as a sign to break up the party and get back to work. I was relieved, and more than a little disappointed Mateo wouldn’t be present when I opened my gift that evening. I ignored my cousin’s ribbing and demands to tell him all the dirty little details about the Mateo’s package.
I strongly suspected I wouldn’t use the word little after I opened it.
Dad and I made plans to go canoeing the next morning, since the weather would be nice and the river was full, due to more than the usual rain during the month of October and first part of November. But for the rest of the day, Dad ordered me out of the Barn and said he’d close up the store. This had to be one of the best birthdays on record, even if I was dateless.
I gathered my goodies and returned to my apartment to write thank you cards. If I didn’t do it immediately, chances were, I wouldn’t get them done.
Once I had completed the task, I scrolled through my social media and saw a post that caught my eye. Jamal was tagged along with an unusual image. It was an illustration of Krampus, the legendary anti-Santa Claus, with jagged teeth, twisted horns, and a knotted brow covered in long black hair. His hands were large, his fingers were gnarled and looked more like claws and digits. His frame was strong and powerful as he stood like a human with hooved feet that resembled a goat’s. His red eyes glared menacingly and were the same color as the red lederhosen he wore. An open bag of bloody books was slung over his shoulder and an ax dripping blood was held in his right hand. Above the picture were three words in bold letters—The Book Kreeper.”
The image was a horrific and an insensitive display of sick humor. Some of the comments on the thread suggested just that. Others loved it and thought it was awesome in its artistic genius. I had to wonder what closet those people lived in.
The most disturbing part was how many times the post had been shared—over seven hundred times and growing.
I dialed my cousin. “You have to shut it down,” I said as he answered the phone.
“Well, hello to you too.”
“Jamal, you have to shut the app down.”
“What now?”
“This Book Kreeper thing. It’s horrible. It’s insensitive and spooky as all get out. It will kill our business.”
“On the contrary, it’s going to build your business.”
“You’re wrong—”
“No, I’m not. Look how many people have downloaded the Book Seekers.”
“It doesn’t matter. A man died and this is exploiting his death!”
“It’s advertising Lucy Barton’s mystery.”
“I bet she doesn’t think so.”
“Actually, I talked to her rep this afternoon. She said their sales were up.”
“That’s sick.”
“That’s our world.”
“I don’t want the Barn to be a part of it.”
“It already is. There’s no going back now.”
“You could shut that down on your page.”
“Do you really think that’s going to change anything? It’s being shared off other people’s pages across the country and some people in Europe. People who know nothing about the murder, know about the app, thanks to the Book Kreeper.”
A sudden thought crashed through my head and into our conversation. “You didn’t draw that, did you?”
“Get out! You really don’t believe I’d do that, do you?”
I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. Things were changing too fast. My cousin was living high, and I was beginning to get freaked out. “Promise me you didn’t do it.”
“I swear, Charli. I didn’t do it.”
“Do you know who did?”
“Well…yeah, kind of.”
“What do you mean, kind of?”
“It’s a gamer I know online. An incredible artist who actually made the logo for the app.”
“The Book Kreep—Keepers app?”
“Yeah.”
“You gotta tell him to take it down.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Cause the artist has gone dark.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, I tried to make contact to take it down when I first saw it, but all of my emails got kicked back to me. His website crashed. His Facebook account has been deleted and his gaming ID’s have been banned.”
“Then call him.”
“It’s not that kind of friend. We only talk online.
”
“What’s his real name?”
“I have no idea.”
“What do you mean you have no idea? How can you do business with someone and not know his name?”
“That’s the way the world works,” he said again.
I didn’t like the way the world worked. In fact, I was hating the way the world worked. I’d wanted to disappear into Hazel Rock and forget the rest of the world. Which was an interesting thought considering less than a year ago, I wanted to zip-in and zip-out of my hometown.
“You’ve got to do something, Jamal.”
Jamal sighed. “I’ll see if I can track him down through Juicy or his business.”
“Juicy? Are you talking about your partner, Juicy Killer?” When Jamal nodded, I asked, “She knows him too?”
“Yeah, she recommended him for our app cover art. He did some personal artwork for her. I’ll see if she’s got a number for him.”
Our conversation ended and I turned off my computer. I was beyond upset that J. C. had apparently known about this nasty image while I’d been in the dark. Princess scratched on the door and I let her in and put down her water for her bath. She hopped into one tub, rolled around in the water and soap mixture, and then moved over to the rinsing tub to complete the process. She hopped out onto the rug and I picked her up with a large beach towel. I had to admit, this had become my favorite part of my day. Rubbing her shell, her belly, and behind her ears, I sang “All the Pretty Little Horses,” a lullaby my mom had sung to me when I was a little tike in diapers. Granted Princess wasn’t my baby, but she liked eerie sounding music and “Little Horses” was her favorite. Especially since I’d changed the lyrics to include a “dillo” instead of a “lamby.” She always groaned when I got to that part.
Bath complete, I set her on the floor and proceeded to put a quarter can of cat food in her bowl. I looked in my fridge and found my lunch leftovers had magically been delivered. The fairy left a note: Dinner is on me tomorrow night. Cade.
How the man got in my apartment was a mystery that I’d have to solve tomorrow. For now, chicken fried steak was calling my name. I polished off my dinner and my phone dinged with a text message.
