Booked 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “So, what do you want to watch on TV tonight? Family Feud comes on at seven. It’s got to be about that time now since the Shih Tzu from down the street just went by with his owner. Every night like clockwork—pees on the mailboxes. I’d never allow Streetman to do that. Good thing for me is that by the time the Shih Tzu gets here, he’s just lifting his leg to let out some air. So, what do you think?”

  “About what? The Shih Tzu? The mailbox? The clockwork? Wait! The clockwork! That’s it! The dog pees like clockwork. I could kiss you, Mom. Got to get over to the dog park right now. You just reminded me of something. Jerry White is going to be there with Izzy, and it’s the one chance I’ve got to convince him to be at that book club meeting on Wednesday.”

  “That’s the man from the Italian restaurant, right?”

  “Right. Got to go. I’ll be back in less than an hour. Give my regards to Steve Harvey.”

  I reached for my bag and headed out the door. Once again, no time to even run a comb through my hair. Oh well. I doubted very seriously that anyone got dressed up for the dog park. Especially at night.

  If the number of cars was any indication of what to expect in the dog park, I was in trouble. I was wearing decent sandals and really didn’t want to step in anything disgusting. The park was standing room only, with at least fifteen people milling around a cavalcade of dogs, with another twenty or so wedged next to one another on benches. I took my time eyeballing each and every one of them, hoping to find Jerry White.

  With all the movement from the dogs and their owners, it was impossible to get a good look. I had no choice but to walk in and try to be inconspicuous. So much for that.

  “Hey, lady! Did you forget your dog in the car?” It was a man’s voice, aimed directly at me. A tall guy, standing near the entrance.

  “What? No.”

  “Only checking, lady,” he said. “It happens sometimes. Had a woman in here last week who spent a full forty minutes on the bench before she realized she left her dog in the back seat of the car. Good thing it was at night and not in the heat of the day.”

  I nodded and mumbled something as I continued to look for Jerry.

  Suddenly someone started yelling, and I turned around to see what the commotion was all about. A petite sandy-haired lady was shouting “Howard Elizabeth” as if it were one word. I figured she was looking for friends of hers in the dog park.

  “Howard Elizabeth! Howard Elizabeth!” No one responded. The woman stomped over to a black and white mixed-breed toy that appeared to be eating dirt. She bent down and shouted, “Howard Elizabeth, what are you doing?” as if the dog were about to tell her. She shouted again. The dog looked up from the ground, dirt all over its face, and promptly ran in the opposite direction. The woman must have noticed me gawking because she quickly walked toward me and explained. “Howard Elizabeth, that’s his name, likes to eat dirt. Very dangerous. Valley fever and all.” I started to respond when I heard someone else shouting. This time it was a man with a comb-over that made Donald Trump look like Don Johnson.

  “Who owns that curly black dog? He won’t leave the other dogs alone. Just look at him, jumping all over everything.”

  “He’s just a puppy,” someone else shouted.

  “Puppy or not, he’s a nuisance. HOLY COW! Take a look at what he just did now! He stuck his paws in the water bowl and dumped it all over. Whose dog is he?”

  I didn’t want to find myself in the middle of a melee, so I took a few steps back, giving me a better view of the benches. Sure enough, there was Izzy. Seated on Jerry White’s lap and adoring every minute.

  “Hey, Izzy boy!” I petted him. “Good, good boy.”

  Then I looked directly at Jerry. “Have you seen Cindy Dolton? I was hoping she’d be here.”

  “Cindy?” he asked. “No, she wouldn’t be here at night. Says that there are too many dogs and it makes Bundles nervous. Claims the stress gives him diarrhea.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t really know about those things.” Thank God. “Oh well. Figured she’d be here. I wanted to let her know about the book club meeting on Wednesday. For some reason, in the back of my mind, I thought she wanted to attend the next meeting. She seemed interested in that whole cursed book deal. Say, that’s a meeting you should attend. The last time we spoke, before I ran into you at the Bingo game, you had some pretty strong feelings about that book.”

  “I did,” Jerry replied. “I mean, I do. I didn’t want unnecessary harm to come to people, but I suppose it’s too late. The media’s made a mockery of this thing. No need for me to be there.”

  “Oh, I disagree. You really should attend. Who knows what’s going to happen with the press there. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to find out second- or third-hand.”

  “You’ve got a point. I suppose I could stop by.”

  “By the way, how did you like Gretchen Morin, the librarian? Interesting woman, huh? Glad I could introduce you at Bingo.”

  I tried offering up a smile, but just as I started to move my lips, Izzy jumped off Jerry’s lap and raced to the fence, barking. I could swear the man looked relieved.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a golf cart going by. Izzy goes berserk at golf carts.”

  “Maybe they’re cursed, too.” I tried not to laugh, but Jerry failed to see the humor.

  “If that book didn’t carry a curse, then it wouldn’t have made the Associated Press.”

  “It made the papers because of its record sales in a matter of days.”

  “And that, my dear,” he replied, “is because the book is cursed.”

  “All the more reason for you to be at the book club meeting. Think of it as your civic duty.”

  Suddenly a voice shot through the park like a bullet. “POOP ALERT! POOP ALERT! SOMEONE’S DOG IS POOPING!”

  “Geez,” Jerry groaned. “I wish they’d give that guy a tranquilizer. Every night it’s the same thing. You’d swear the dogs were crapping explosives.”

  I was about to say something about land mines but didn’t think Jerry was in the mood to appreciate it. Instead, I petted Izzy as the dog jumped back in his owner’s lap.

  “So, uh . . . have a good evening. See you Wednesday.”

  Two more dog owners were coming through the gate as I was leaving. One of them asked if I forgot my dog.

  “No, I don’t think so.” I headed for my car before he could respond.

  By the time I pulled into my mother’s driveway, it was getting dark. I wasn’t sure if I had gotten Jerry riled up enough to attend the book club meeting or if I had merely annoyed him. Maybe I’d have better luck getting the other culprits to be there.

  “I’m home, Mom,” I yelled as I came through the door.

  “Don’t you ever answer that cell phone of yours? I’ve been trying to reach you. Hurry up and sit down. It’s on CNN. The commercial is almost over.”

  “What? What’s on CNN?”

  “The Twelfth Arrondissement, that’s what. It’s all over the news! Did you know there’s a global e-book version? Well, there is, and people who read it in the UK and Germany are now dead.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Shh, it’s starting.”

  I watched, stunned, as CNN international anchor Erin McLaughlin covered the story in London. Apparently there were three deaths, and all three people had been reading or had read the book. In addition, there were four deaths in Germany.

  “Is this hysteria, or is something else going on?” the reporter asked. Then, of all things, she mentioned the Booked 4 Murder book club and how the whole thing got started.

  “Until they can unravel this phenomenon, which began in a small senior community in the United States, I’m afraid we’re stuck with a greater mystery than the one that appears in this novel.”

  “Hmmph.” That was all my mother said, but I knew what she was thinking.

  “Mother, you know as well as I do that this is just a publicity stunt meant to increase sales. You started watching the news
coverage before I did, so tell me, did they mention who the people were and the circumstances?”

  “Car accident, stroke, and brain aneurysm in the UK.”

  “Coincidence. Coincidence. Coincidence. What about in Germany?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “Well, I guarantee it’s going to be very similar. Look, for whatever reason, people seem to be drawn to this kind of stuff—curses, magic, you name it. And it takes a shrewd marketer to create the snowball effect. When the truth comes out on Wednesday, that book will go back to obscurity.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. So, did you figure out how to get those people to the book club meeting?”

  “Not exactly. Unless I get the posse to drag them in. And one of them, Leslie Sackler, doesn’t even live in Sun City West.”

  My mother gave me a quizzical look and smiled. “Leslie. The one we were talking about at lunch today? The beige SUV?”

  “Yeah, her.”

  “Not a problem. Let me get Jeanette on the phone.”

  “You’re going to come right out and ask Jeanette to bring her? She’ll know we’re up to something.”

  “Relax. I’ve got my ways.”

  I didn’t doubt it for a minute, but I was still uneasy as my mother placed the call.

  “Jeanette? Glad you’re home. It’s Harriet. Got a minute?” Pause. “You didn’t happen to watch CNN just now, did you?” Pause. “Well, you’re not going to believe it, but that book was on CNN. CNN! Unexplained deaths in Europe.” Pause. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, anyway, that’s not the reason I called. I met a woman today at the supermarket who lives across the street from Edna Mae Langford’s house, and we got to talking. That checkout line was ridiculous. The store needs to hire more cashiers. Well, to get to the point, this lady told me she saw someone in Edna Mae’s driveway acting suspicious. And that’s not all. She saw the car. Said it was a tan wagon or SUV with writing on the back window, but she couldn’t see that far.”

  Words spewed from my mother’s mouth nonstop.

  “Jeanette, are you still there? Uh-huh . . . No, she didn’t call the posse. Why on earth would the posse come out just because someone was in someone else’s driveway? The woman didn’t realize what was going on and never expected Edna Mae to fall, much less break a hip. She blames it all on that book curse. Uh-huh . . .”

  A quick breath and she kept on going. “So, I talked her into going to the book club meeting on Wednesday so she could tell everyone firsthand what happened.”

  Then, my mother paused. A pregnant pause.

  “No, I don’t think she got that close a look at the woman in the driveway. That’s not the point. The point is, none of this would have happened if Edna Mae wasn’t reading that book. Uh-huh . . . Yes, awful. Anyway, just thought you’d be interested. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  She lingered on the phone while Jeanette said a few more words. I was utterly speechless by the time my mother had finished.

  “What? What’s the matter, Phee? You think Helen Mirren is the only one my age who can act? And how did you like the way I wove everything back to the book curse? Pretty smooth for a woman my age, huh?”

  “Yep, smooth. You can act and make up dialogue at the same time. So, do you think it worked? Do you think Jeanette will get Leslie to be there on Wednesday?”

  “Yes, I do. Trust me. If Jeanette and her friend were responsible for Edna Mae’s fall, then they’re going to do everything possible to see to it the woman doesn’t open her mouth at the meeting.”

  “You’re not thinking Jeanette and Leslie would do anything to harm that woman? And by the way, her name is Bev. Bev Mortenson. And she isn’t even going to be at the meeting. You made it all up.”

  “I know that and you know that, but they don’t. Still, I think that Mortenson woman who lives across the street from Edna Mae will be fine. Those houses are so close together, it would be impossible to figure out which one is hers. Goodness. Elderly women probably live in all of those houses. Jeanette and Leslie would be hard-pressed to figure out which house belongs to the lady who spilled the beans.”

  “No one spilled the beans. You made it all up.”

  “Exactly.”

  My mother was pretty clever, but I’d never realized how conniving she could be. “Guess that leaves Josie Nolan and—Someone’s pounding on the door, Mom!”

  “Who on earth would be pounding on the door after dark? Unless it’s Herb Garrett and something has happened on the street . . .”

  “I’m up. I’ll get it.”

  “Don’t open the security door. Just the regular one,” my mother yelled.

  “I know. I know.”

  “And look down for snakes. They crawl around at night.”

  “I think you mean slither.”

  “Slither, crawl, whatever it is they do. Forget the snakes. Get the door.”

  Whoever was pounding also rang the doorbell and continued to ring it as I started to open the front door.

  It was Shirley Johnson, and she was frantic. “Don Lemon! Don Lemon! At Bagels ‘N More!”

  Shirley looked as if she was gasping her last breath as my mother yelled for her to come inside. Streetman took off and hid under the couch as I opened the security door.

  “Don Lemon! From CNN. He’s here with photographers and who-knows-who. It’s about the book curse. They’re going to be at Wednesday’s book club, and they’re going to be interviewing people in Sun City West tomorrow. Lord Almighty! Don Lemon!”

  “Slow down, Shirley, I’ll get you something to drink. Iced tea okay?” my mother asked.

  “Water will be fine. I stopped into the bagel place to get a dozen bagels and there he was, complete with his crew. People were swarming all over him.”

  “Here, take a sip of water,” my mother said, handing Shirley a bottle of spring water from the fridge.

  Shirley didn’t merely sip the water. She guzzled it. I waited a second before asking her how she found out about Don Lemon’s assignment here.

  “Lord Almighty. In all my life, I never expected to walk into a bagel store and find Don Lemon there. I was standing right near the cashier when he told her about his assignment. Then it was total chaos. Here, look. I snapped a photo of him on my phone while I was waiting for my bagels. The minute he sat down, he was swarmed. Lordy, I got so nervous I almost left without my bagels.”

  Sure enough, there was Don Lemon, sitting at one of the tables surrounded by the twenty-something coffee drinkers and the late-night geriatric crowd.

  “Which one is Don Lemon?” my mother asked.

  “The cute one.” Shirley and I both responded at once.

  My mother didn’t seem too phased. “Well, I’ll get concerned when CNN sends Wolf Blitzer.”

  “I think they only send him out if it’s a war or something.” Shirley continued to talk about the book curse and how the whole thing was exploding all around us.

  “I tried calling you, Harriet, but your line was busy, so I decided it would be easier to drive over. I’ve already called Lucinda and Cecilia. They were going to call people, too. Oh Lord! Do you realize what this means?”

  It was impossible for my mother to utter a word. Shirley never let up. “It means they’re going to film us at the book club meeting. I’ve got to get my hair appointment moved up to tomorrow. And my nails. I don’t want my nails on national TV looking like chewed-up caramels.”

  “I really don’t think anyone’s going to be looking at your nails,” I started to say, when my mother poked me and broke in.

  “If word gets out, those salons are going to be packed.”

  “The phone’s ringing again, Mom.”

  My mother darted for the kitchen as Shirley went on about her hair and nails. All I could do until my mother returned was to nod and mumble, “Uh-huh.”

  “That was Louise Munson, and she just found out from her sister-in-law in Surprise that Fox News is there, staying at the Hampton.”

  Shirley looked as if it was the next stock m
arket crash. “Good Lord! I have simply got to get a hair appointment. I don’t care if I have to drive all the way to Phoenix. I’m not going to be on national, no . . . make that world news looking like some retired backwoods schoolmarm. I’ll call you tomorrow, Harriet. I’ve got to run. And nice talking to you, too, Phee.”

  Shirley was out the door before I knew it, but that didn’t mean the excitement was over for the night. My mother’s phone kept ringing, and each call was more frantic than the last. CNN might have technology, but it was nothing compared to the rumor mill. I leaned back on the couch and listened.

  “No, I don’t think you can lose ten pounds in twenty-four hours.”

  “Why would they be sending the state police?”

  “Tell your great aunt, Walter Cronkite has been dead for years. Yes, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t know if they will let you hold up a sign promoting your pet sitting.”

  And on and on it went. Each call more bizarre than the last. It was twenty after eleven when the phone finally stopped ringing and my mother and I could get to sleep.

  “There’s one good thing about this, Phee,” she said as we turned off the lights in the living room.

  “What’s that?”

  “You won’t have to worry about Josie Nolan and her crew showing up. They’ll be there all right, front and center.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because she’s a realtor, and realtors will take advantage of any publicity. Why, I’ll bet she’s already put a large box of business cards in her car.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Believe me, it’ll be standing room only. That library will be filled to capacity as soon as the doors open.”

  “Mom, I don’t know if I can go through with my, well, you know, my . . . conclusion. I thought I’d be in front of the book club and the suspects, not world-wide media.”

  “Ignore the camera. You’ll be fine. Oh, and, Phee, whatever you do, don’t wear anything too form-fitting. Martin Chomwitzer isn’t the only one with a roving eye around here.”

  “Eeew.”