Perilous Poetry

by Kym Roberts

  “I handed him my gun.”

  I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or not. My dad chose to keep the gun dry over coming in the water after me. Yet he wasn’t strong enough or big enough to save me and Princess so the point was moot.

  Princess didn’t seem to mind one bit. She was snuggled up under his chin all warm and cozy.

  “You’re cold,” I told Mateo.

  “You’re freezing.”

  “I don’t know what gave you that idea.” I’m not sure Mateo understood what I said. In the short time from exiting the water, my teeth began to clatter so badly I think every word began with cl…clack…clack…clack.

  “You’ll warm up soon as we get you in a hot shower.” Mateo’s arms may have been cold, but his eyes were beyond warm, and once again I couldn’t tell if he was propositioning me or just stating the facts.

  I returned to the safe topic of conversation. “What about my canoe?”

  “I’ll pull it out and my deputy will attach it to the top of his SUV. He’ll bring it by the shop as soon as he’s done with the accident report.”

  “Did I say thank you?”

  “Save it for later.”

  My dad walked up and I was left wondering what later meant. Maybe I was reading way too much into this situation. Maybe I was desperate for attention and seeing something between us when there was nothing.

  Fuzz buckets.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sugar looked up from the Southern Women magazine she was reading behind the counter as she filed her nails and blew a bubble with her gum. Several customers were milling about the store, with two standing in front of our display for Waxing Moon. They both looked in my direction, and I smiled and gave what I hoped was a friendly, you’d-never-believe-me-if-I-told-you kind of look.

  Sugar took in my disheveled appearance. “Girlfriend, that look doesn’t do much for you.”

  “Really? Maybe I should go shopping.” I’d taken off my outer layer of wet weather gear, leaving me shivering in a soaking wet pair of jeans and a fleece-lined hoody. Both smelled like wet dog.

  Princess ran for her bed under the counter as soon as I put her down, and disappeared.

  Sugar sniffed. “Mmm-hmm. That would be a mighty fine plan, but you might want to shower first.”

  “Can you stay a little longer?”

  “I got all day. I don’t go into work at the Shed until nine and Dean’s working. But I do have a mani-pedi scheduled for this afternoon with Joellen.”

  “Thank you! I’d hug you—”

  “And then I’d have to shoot you.” She loudly popped her gum.

  I stopped on my way up the stairs. “You didn’t bring your gun to work, did you?” I whispered over the railing.

  “No”—Sugar’s head bounced one way—“I didn’t bring my gun”—and then the next as she chomped her gum with a bit more enthusiasm.

  “I knew you wouldn’t. I was just checking.”

  She was our only part-time help outside of the family. And for the most part, Dad and I worked for pennies an hour.

  By noon I was almost as good as new. Jamal had been thankfully missing from my apartment, so I’d been able to shower and wash my hair without having to explain everything again. I put a heavy dose of coconut oil on my hair and threw my clothes in the washing machine before heading back to the Barn. Sugar updated me on the shipments that came in while I scarfed down my first and second cinnamon roll.

  “Thank you for bringing these,” I said in between bites.

  “Just make sure you save one for your daddy. He’d be sorely disappointed if he didn’t get one.”

  Princess waddled over and looked up at me. I caved when she blinked her beady little eyes and twitched her nose. “Fine, but you have to go outside and eat some armadillo food for dessert.”

  She huffed and I gave her a piece of my roll, then she disappeared once again.

  “Did you see the picture of the Book Kreeper on Facebook?” Sugar asked.

  I nearly choked on my last bite. “They got him?”

  “Got who?”

  “The murderer.”

  “Oh, no. Someone made an image of this horrible creature that looks sort of like a goat standing on its hind legs, but its front legs are hands. It’s got horns and a long ugly tongue. It’s creepy. Here, let me show you.” Sugar scrolled through her phone and pulled up a post on her Facebook app. The image had been shared over five thousand times.

  “Holy schnikes,” I said. “It’s everywhere.”

  “What?”

  “Krampus.” When she still looked confused, I explained. “He’s the opposite of St. Nick. He’s half goat, half demon, and he punishes bad kids during Christmas.”

  “Well, that’s freaking scary.”

  “Not any more than this Book Kreeper—and he’s real.”

  “The killer looks like a goat man?” Sugar asked.

  I couldn’t help but smile as my dad walked in the front door. “No. That’s just someone’s interpretation. But that Book Kreeper is not going to help our business.”

  Daddy had showered and looked much better than when Mateo dropped him off at his house to get cleaned up. His concern for the store, however, had increased. “No, it’s not. As a matter of fact, I just got a call from Cade.”

  I couldn’t keep the hurt from worming its way into my voice. “Cade called you?”

  “Yes, and he asked me to shut down the app. He said you wouldn’t.”

  “Daddy, there’s no evidence that the murder is connected to the app.”

  “What about this Book Kreeper?”

  Fuzz buckets. I was hoping he wouldn’t side with Cade, but I understood where he was coming from. “We can’t control the fake news stories people put out there.”

  “But we can control the link to our business by shutting down the current campaign.”

  “That would destroy Jamal’s business before it even got started.”

  Just then, two high school boys walked in the front door. “Hey, Princess. Sugar. You guys got that book about the Book Kreeper?”

  I smiled through my grimace. “We’ve got Waxing Moon in stock by Lucy Barton, but it has nothing—”

  “That’s it!”

  “It’s not about the fictional Book Kreeper,” I insisted.

  “Yeah, yeah, we know. But Waxing Moon is like the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

  Both boys went to the display and grabbed a copy of the book. Then came to the register to pay.

  “Aren’t you boys supposed to be at school?” my dad asked.

  “We’re on lunch, Mr. Warren. We’ll be back in time for class. We just wanted to get a copy of the book before you sold out.”

  “Are you coming back for the book signing next week?”

  “Book signing? You’re going to have the Book Kreeper here in the store?”

  “Noooo.” My response rolled off my tongue like a roller coaster as my dad crossed his arms. “Lucy Barton, the author of the book, will be here next Tuesday night.”

  “Dude, that means the Kreeper will be sneaking around!” One elbowed the other. “We could catch him!”

  “Or you could be his next victim,” Sugar added over her nail file.

  The color drained from their faces.

  “Yeah…we’ll…we’ll have to think about the signing.”

  My dad sighed and walked away.

  “No one’s getting murdered.” I handed the books to Sugar to ring up. “That Book Kreeper thing is just some made-up internet scare tactic. It’s not real, and it’s certainly not attached to Waxing Moon or Ms. Barton.” I walked after my dad. “Or the Barn!” I said over my shoulder.

  I caught up with Dad in the tearoom as he was pouring two glasses of sweet tea. I’d designed the stall as a teenager, making sketches of white lace table c
loths draped over several small round tables, each one adorned with centerpieces of holiday flowers in mismatched antique milk jugs and vases. Old rusted signs with food advertisements and serving trays decorated the stable walls. My dad made those sketches a reality while I was gone; from the lace napkins with the store’s initials embroidered at the corner, to the wire-back chairs placed around the tables, and the deer antlers attached to the wall for coat racks, he’d done it all.

  “We may sell more books, but is it really good for business?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I do know that Jamal needs this.”

  “I figured as much. I just don’t want all of this to be at the Barn’s expense.”

  “I don’t either.”

  We sat in silence until we heard the automatic barn door swish open, the bell ding, and a cold breeze flow through the barn.

  “Holy guacamole, where’s Charli?” Scarlet asked.

  “We’re in the tearoom, Scarlet!” I called out to her.

  Scarlet came around the corner of the stall. Her hair was straightened with little wispy flips on the ends. Her bangs brushed her eyelashes and her blue eyes sparkled with a fit of temper. She had on a brown leather jacket that looked really good with jeans and brown cowboy boots.

  “O.M.W. You will never guess who I just caught peeping in your windows.” Scarlet pulled Sterling Koch into the stall by the ear. Sterling was the owner of the Book Grove in Oak Grove that was closed for renovations, and judging by the grimace covering his face, he was uncomfortable being caught in the act. In his early forties, he was the skinniest man I’d ever seen. He gave Ichabod Crane a run for his money with his lanky features. And despite Scarlet’s short stature, Sterling was struggling to keep up with her pace from his slumped-over position.

  “Where did you find him?” I asked.

  “Outside the tearoom.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d only met Sterling once at a library auction, and knowing he was spying on the store was much better than him peeping in my apartment windows. “What were you doing spying on the Barn?” I asked as Sugar followed them into the stall.

  “I was just seeing if the tearoom was open. I was thirsty,” he whined.

  “He was standing on the bench, trying to see across the other side of the Barn,” Scarlet said.

  “Mr. Koch, what can we do for you?” I asked.

  “If you could get this woman to let go of my ear, I would appreciate it. Then a tall glass of sweet tea would be splendid.”

  “Scarlet.”

  If the yelp that escaped Sterling’s mouth was any indication, Scarlet was twisting his ear like a southern momma with a misbehaving teenage boy.

  “Scarlet.” My daddy gave her a look that made the guilt rise up in her chest. She was still fighting it back down as she let go of Sterling’s ear with a huff. Then she walked over and poured two glasses of sweet tea.

  Sterling looked at her and cautiously made his way to the table. “Much obliged, Ms. Scarlet.”

  “I bet you are,” she ground out.

  I couldn’t help the giggle as he cowered in his seat, waiting for Scarlet to hit him.

  “What brings you to Hazel Rock?” I asked.

  “I live here.”

  “Since when?”

  Sterling’s tone was defensive, his eyes even more so as he looked around between us, wondering if he had to answer. He didn’t, but something about the way Scarlet and Sugar leaned in made him explain. “Since I rented an apartment last month.”

  Sugar nodded. “I saw him parking in the Tremont Apartments last week. I just assumed he was visiting someone.”

  “Why’d you move to Hazel Rock?” my daddy asked.

  Again, Sterling acted like a mule being pulled into a burning barn. Except a mule wouldn’t budge. Sterling caved. “Because I’m renovating the Book Grove and my apartment and making it all a part of the store.”

  I looked at my dad. We’d always embraced the “everything’s bigger in Texas” at the Barn. The Grove, however, had always been the quaint little nook type bookstore. Sterling had the book signings and we had the bulk. But despite him going bigger and trying to mooch into our part of the market, we’d been the ones to change the spirit of sharing by having Lucy Barton come to the Barn. And our timing probably looked like we were trying to undercut his business.

  “And why didn’t you just come inside and see the store?” My daddy’s voice was calm, yet at the same time, insinuated Sterling’s behavior had been ridiculous.

  “Because we’re rivals.”

  “We’re two very different bookstores,” I said.

  “Both vying for the same business.”

  “In two different towns,” my dad clarified.

  “In the same county.”

  Sterling stood; his scrawny form taking on its full height. He was done making small talk, but downed the rest of his sweet tea with pleasure. Then he looked around the store before taking baby steps toward the front door. When he got to the doorway into the main part of the barn, he had to squeeze by Scarlet and Sugar. Both were glaring at him. Sterling murmured, “Excuse me,” and left.

  I turned toward Daddy. “He’s not real happy about us having a book signing.”

  “I imagine not.”

  “But we’re not doing anything wrong…right?”

  Daddy smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with making the Barn profitable, but if other people pay a price for our success, then we’re doing something wrong.”

  “I didn’t even think about us hurting his business—”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I caught the additional meaning behind those three little words. All I’d been thinking about was the Barn’s success along with my cousin’s new business. But who else was paying a price for our profits?

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a busy day of young customers looking for the novel about the Book Kreeper, I was happy to lock up the store and begin counting the money in the register.

  “Charli Rae Warren, why are you fiddle farting around?”

  I looked up at my dad. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know darn well the boys are playing Monday Night Football.”

  “And?”

  “And everyone in this town goes to the Shed to watch the game.”

  “I’m not really feeling like a game tonight, Dad. It’s been a long day.”

  “The best way to end a long day is to celebrate it with family and friends. Come on, you’ve got friends down there and I’ll buy the first round.”

  “I suppose that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” I smiled at my daddy, closed the register, and zipped up the deposit bag. Then I tossed him the bag. “You lock up the money and I’ll feed Princess.”

  A few minutes later we were in the Hazel Rock’s only bar, the Tool Shed Tavern. Joe and Leila Buck had inherited the bar from Joe’s parents and remodeled it to fit the old west feel of Hazel Rock’s Main Street. The walls were covered in rough cedar with antique farm tools hung throughout the entire bar. Leila had insisted they all be screwed down so no one could grab one in a fit of rage during a football game—she knew all about the kind of passions a loss could stir.

  Big screen TVs were scattered throughout the bar and were testament to Joe’s love of the game. Most nights you’d see a variety of sporting events unless it was football season. Then you’d only see different teams on several TVs. Unless the boys were playing, like tonight. If our team from Dallas hit national television, every TV in the house was tuned into the game.

  On Friday nights, the dance floors were full and the entertainment was reserved for a live band that rivaled Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth. Two-stepping and swing dances filled the main floor while a hodgepodge of other dances filled the sunken and raised levels dedicated to dancing.

  Dad and I sat at the main b
ar that ran the length of the building. Our seats were kind of in between the television sets but had been the only seats available when we arrived. The fans were on an all-time high with our team record of eight and one—everyone was celebrating the potential end of a Super Bowl drought. The talk of this year’s team going all the way seemed a bit premature. Having lived in Denver, I hadn’t gone without a Super Bowl title like the fans in my hometown had, but I could understand people in Texas cheering our hometown boys.

  The lone stool next to me filled and I looked over to greet my new neighbor. The smile fell off my face when I saw Cade Calloway’s hazel eyes.

  “How’s it going, Mayor?” I asked and turned back to my drink.

  Cade traded pleasantries with my dad and then leaned in and asked, “Mayor? I’ve been reduced to your mayor?”

  “What else am I supposed to call you?” I asked, looking over the top of my glass at the game on TV. I couldn’t focus on who had the ball, but Cade didn’t need to know that. “I don’t believe our relationship has reached any other level.”

  “Princess.”

  I both hated and loved the way he said my nickname. It was everything you dreamed about from a sexy Southern man. My eyes reluctantly followed the sound of that lazy drawl.

  “You and I both know our relationship is well beyond titles.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that without swaying the conversation in a direction I wasn’t comfortable having with my daddy sitting next to me pretending he couldn’t hear a word, so I decided to change the subject. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s fine. J. C. is smothering her. She’s not sure if she can handle much more of him being at home with her, but it’s worse if she tries to go anywhere. He’s right there on her heels—or telling me I need to escort her.”

  “I’m sorry she went through that, but I’d rather she keep J. C. at home, then he won’t be harassing my cousin.”

  “Actually, I think that’s what she’s doing.”

  I looked over at Cade and he grinned. Fuzz buckets. Another favor I’d owe the Calloways.