Death by Pumpkin Spice

by Alex Erickson

  His health was part of the reason he’d retired in the first place. I got my obsessiveness from him. He would forget to eat, forget to change clothes, or sleep, just so he could finish one last chapter. He never mistreated us or totally abandoned his family, though there were some days you could tell he wanted to get back to writing. His dedication is what made him such a good writer, though it definitely took a toll on his well-being.

  “When’s it coming out?” I asked, and then remembering the boxes that had come in a few minutes before, I added, “Is it out now?”

  “No, not now,” he said with a laugh. “I’m here to announce the book and sign some of my old novels. Rick thought it would be a good idea to make an event of it, and where better than right here, in a store that bears the name of one of my books?”

  At mention of Dad’s agent, my mood darkened just a little. “Rick? Is he here?”

  As if summoned, the door opened and in walked Rick Wiseman. He was wearing a suit that looked as if it had come off a bargain bin rack, worn until it was little more than rags, and then tossed into a trash bin. His hair was much thinner than when I’d last seen him, but that didn’t stop him from trying to conceal the spreading bald spot with a bad comb over. When he saw me standing next to my dad, he grinned, exposing his crooked left front upper tooth. He was holding a travel coffee mug with his name written on it in big black letters.

  “Kristina!” he said, holding out his arms for me. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Rick,” I said, not budging from where I stood. One glance at my dad and I forced myself to turn my scowl into a friendly smile. He’d just gotten here, so there was no reason to sour the festive mood with my distaste for the man.

  “You’ve grown up so much,” he said, seemingly oblivious to how I felt about him.

  “I have.” I hadn’t seen Rick for at least ten years now, and I’d hoped to go another ten or twenty before I ever saw him again.

  “We should get together and catch up sometime,” he said, glancing around the coffee shop. “Somewhere nice.”

  I caught the implication and my smile grew even more strained. “Want a refill?” I asked, nodding toward his coffee mug. “What are you having?”

  He shook his head and grimaced. “Vanilla latte. Made it myself. Brought the machine with me so I wouldn’t have to drink something from a package.”

  I bit my lip hard enough I very nearly drew blood.

  “It is quite a quaint little place you have here,” he said. “Could use some paint, but I think it’ll be fine.” His attention snapped over my shoulder. “Cameron! There are five more boxes outside and they aren’t going to walk themselves in here.”

  I glanced back to find the man who’d carried in the boxes hurrying down the stairs, and away from Vicki, who he’d obviously been talking to. “Sorry, Mr. Wiseman.”

  “Don’t Mr. Wiseman me.” Rick sighed. “Come on. Let’s make sure you don’t mess something else up . . .” He turned back to me. “Nice to see you again. We’ll definitely have to talk.”

  Rick strode out ahead of Cameron, who kept his head down all the way out of the store. The poor guy looked as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

  “Why is he here?” I asked Dad, who was watching the display with a frown of his own.

  “He wanted to come. I told Rick it wasn’t necessary, but he’d insisted.”

  “That poor man.” I hoped Rick wasn’t loading Cameron down with all five boxes of books at the same time. “Is he Rick’s son?”

  Dad laughed. “No, not his son. I guess you’d call him his assistant. Cameron Little has been working at the agency for the last year now, though I’m not sure what all he does.”

  “Why does he put up with him?” I wondered out loud.

  Dad gave me a look. “Now, Buttercup, Rick works hard. He can be abrasive, but his heart is in the right place. I’m sure they both get quite a lot out of their working relationship.”

  I wondered about that, but kept my opinion to myself. Rick only cared about one man, and that was Rick. If my dad stopped earning him money, I’m sure he wouldn’t hesitate to drop him and move on to the next sucker. Sure, it’s cynical, but I had a feeling it was the truth.

  The door opened and I braced myself for another interaction with Rick, but instead, I was broadsided by something far, far worse.

  Rita Jablonski made it all of two steps inside before it registered who was standing just inside the door.

  “Oh!” It came out as a surprised sound as her eyes widened. Then, her hand fluttered to her chest as she realized exactly what she was looking at. “Is it really . . .” She sucked in a breath and for a moment I thought she might let out one of those screams teenaged girls make when they see their favorite pop star.

  “Rita,” I said, hoping to stem the tide before she started gushing, but it was too late.

  “James Hancock! It’s really you.” She started breathing in and out like she might hyperventilate. She fanned herself off as she hurried over to where we stood. “I can’t believe it. You’ve finally come after all this time. It’s a blessing, I tell you. A downright blessing straight from Heaven, sent to me on this most blessed of days.”

  “Hi,” Dad said, holding out a hand, polite as ever. “I am James. You are?”

  “Dear me.” Rita was flushed as she took his hand. “Rita Jablonski. I’m your number one fan.”

  I just about choked. We went from overexcited teenager straight to Misery. Could this get any worse?

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Rita,” Dad said, practiced smile in place.

  “We’ve met before,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I got your autograph from a signing you held a few years back. I traveled quite a ways to meet you then.” Her eyes widened. “Are you doing a signing here in Pine Hills? Please tell me you are! I can’t imagine what other reason you’d have to come to our little town.”

  I cleared my throat, but I might as well not have been there.

  “I am,” Dad said, his smile turning amused. “It won’t be until this weekend, however.”

  Rita just about glowed with excitement. “That means you’ll be here all week!” I could see the wheels spinning behind her eyes and knew whatever she was thinking couldn’t be good.

  “Rita,” I said, forcing her to look at me. “Dad and I haven’t seen each other for a few months now. We’d like to have a few minutes to catch up, if that’s okay?”

  “That’s fine, dear,” she said, actually shooing me away. “You’ll have plenty of time to catch up, I’m sure.”

  Behind her, the door opened and Cameron came in, three boxes in his arms this time. Rick trailed behind, carrying only his coffee mug. The least he could have done was to offer to carry the last two boxes, but apparently, physical labor was beneath him.

  “I have an idea!” Rita said, clapping her hands together and startling me half to death. “We hold a writers group meeting every Tuesday night. You should come and talk to our members!”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Dad said, for the first time sounding uncertain.

  “Nonsense!” Rita patted him on the hand. “It will be a special meeting, one held in your honor. I’ll let everyone know you’re going to be there and they can prepare for it. I bet we’ll have at least three times as many people show up, all because of you! It’s going to be fantastic!”

  And before my dad could protest, Rita spun away. Her cell phone was in her hand even before she reached the door. As she stepped out on the sidewalk, I could hear her say, “Georgina! You won’t believe who I just ran into!” And then the door closed, and she was gone.

  “What just happened?” Dad asked, a bemused expression on his face.

  “You don’t have to go,” I said. “Rita gets overexcited at times and forgets that people sometimes like to make up their own minds about what they do.”

  “She seems nice enough.”

  “She is,” I said. “But if you let her, she’ll have you paraded all ov
er town. You won’t have a moment’s peace.”

  Dad patted me on the arm. “I’m in town, so I might as well go. I’d like to get to know the people here and the writers group seems like the perfect place to start.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  A crash and a pained yowl caused us to turn. Cameron lay sprawled on the floor, the boxes of books spilled before him. The store cat, Trouble, sat a few feet away, licking his back foot, and glaring at the poor assistant like he’d stepped on him on purpose.

  “Be more careful with those!” Rick shouted. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I’d better go help out,” Dad said with a sigh.

  “Yeah.”

  He kissed me on the forehead. “It’s good to see you, Buttercup.”

  “You too, Dad.”

  And then he was up the stairs in vain attempt to calm his raging agent and to help up the battered assistant. Vicki was there to comfort her poor black and white kitty.

  I watched from my place by the door, mind racing wildly, wondering with the sudden appearance of my dad, and knowing of Rita’s obsession, who it would be that would end up having to comfort me.