Double Booked for Death

by Ali Brandon

  “Right this way, Ms. Baylor,” James smoothly interjected. “We have an enclosed courtyard just behind the store that you can use.”

  Darla suppressed a smile. The word “courtyard” was a bit fancy for what basically was a walled rectangle of brick-paved space five feet wide and perhaps twice as long that stretched from back door to alley. At its far end was one of those open-style walls—the kind with every other brick missing—which flanked a wrought-iron gate that opened onto the alley. The accoutrements were equally simple: a wrought-iron table with two matching chairs, and a pair of stone urns holding some sort of evergreens topiaried into three stacked balls. Here, Darla and her employees took lunch when the weather was nice, and here Jake indulged in the occasional cigarette herself; that was, when she wasn’t in the middle of another attempt to quit.

  “Uh, sir, if you don’t mind?” This interjection came from the bodyguard, Everest. “I need to check it out first, sir, just to make sure no fans will see her and try to get in that way.”

  “The space is hardly large enough to fit a mob,” James responded, “and the gate locks from the inside. But I understand your concern. You are welcome to make your inspection.”

  “Jeez, I’m sorry, I forgot that Grandma Everest sees danger lurking behind every lamppost,” Valerie said with exaggerated politeness. Then, giving him a proprietary pat on his beefy arm, she added, “Just kidding, Ev. Come along, if you must, but for Chrissakes make it fast so I can hurry up and suck down a bit of nicotine, okay?”

  Led by James, the odd couple made their way to the back of the store. Darla could almost hear a collective sigh of relief from everyone—herself included—in the wake of Valerie’s departure. What she definitely did hear, however, was a single soft word: “Bitch.”

  Muttered in an unmistakable baritone that seemingly was meant only for her ears, the descriptive made her jump . . . not so much because she disagreed with the sentiment, but because it had come not from Koji, but Mavis. She—or, rather, he—shrugged a skinny shoulder.

  “I call them as I see them,” he explained in the same soft yet manly tones as he began packing up his gear again.

  While Darla struggled a moment in uncomfortable silence—had anyone else heard or noticed what had just happened? —Lizzie shook out the folds of her black cape and brightly proclaimed, “All righty, then. Why don’t I bring out some of those refreshments, like James suggested?”

  “Good idea,” Darla said with a grateful nod in the other woman’s direction. To Hillary and Koji, who were pulling on black cloaks of their own, she added, “I’m going to give my folks outside the heads-up that we’re almost ready to begin. Can I get anything for you?”

  “You might want to grab that stopwatch,” Hillary answered with a sour little smile, while Koji blinked nervously. “I can guarantee that if you don’t, she’ll ask about it.”

  Could be worse, Darla told herself as she headed to the front. At least Valerie hadn’t asked for a bevy of male strippers and a tub of M&Ms with all the yellow ones picked out. She peered out the door only to wince as the fans’ Valerie chant began anew.

  “Almost ready,” Darla yelled to a waiting Jake. “Give us five, okay?”

  Having apparently blessed the miniscule courtyard as being safe for his charge, Everest had now returned to his post. A few minutes later, Valerie also returned, trailing a noticeable odor of cigarette smoke after her but looking surprisingly cheerful. Settling into her chair, she said to Darla, “That’s one cute kitty you have out there. We had a nice little chat.”

  “You mean Hamlet?” she asked in dismay. How in the hell did the little bugger get out? “Solid black with green eyes, about the size of a small horse?”

  “That’s him. What a sweetheart.” Glancing over at her assistant, she added, “Mavis adores cats, too. May, darling, you really should go out and take a look at him. He’s a cutie.”

  Valerie’s smile was genuine, and Darla reluctantly found herself revising her opinion of the woman. If she liked cats, she couldn’t be all bad. Then again, she was talking about Hamlet . . . maybe the pair of them had simply recognized kindred evil spirits and had bonded over some secret blood ritual.

  “Sure, maybe later,” Mavis agreed with a hint of a smile and in a soft soprano that made Darla do a mental double take. Surely she hadn’t imagined the masculine voice that had come from the assistant just a few minutes earlier? “Excuse me, Valerie,” Lizzie interjected, a stack of the author’s books in her arms. “James asked if you’d sign a few of these for the store real quick while we queue up the first group of readers.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  Flipping open the first one, Valerie scrawled her name in sharp letters. Lizzie, meanwhile, expertly ran through the rest of the stack, tucking each dust jacket flap like a bookmark at each title page so that the author didn’t have to fumble for the right spot in the book to sign her name. As for James, he had pulled a camera from his vest pocket and clicked away while Valerie wielded her pen.

  Always get the author to sign some store copies first, James had reminded them both earlier in the day. Otherwise, if you wait until the end of the event, your author invariably has writer’s cramp and the signatures are almost illegible.

  Which made sense, Darla thought. After three hours of dashing off one’s name, it was inevitable that the quality control would go down. Despite James’s disdain for genre fiction, he knew the value of a signed first edition to fans of a particular author. Valerie finished signing the last one with a flourish and then set down her pen. She frowned a bit at Lizzie, who stood clutching the signed stack, an expectant look on her face. “Was there something else?”

  Lizzie gave an eager nod, though it seemed to Darla that her expression had taken on a strained air. “Actually, I wanted to see if you remembered me. I’m Lizzie Cavanaugh. We took an Intro to Novel Writing class together back in college. Professor Jardin’s night class.”

  “I recall the class, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you. Did we ever talk?”

  “I sat right next to you. We were in the same critique group for the class project.” When Valerie continued to stare blankly, Lizzie persisted in a sharp tone, “You read my work in process, about a girl who breaks up with her fiancé and decides to go to the police academy. I’m sure you remember that.”

  “If you say so, Lisa,” the author agreed with a careless shrug, while Darla cringed a little on her employee’s behalf, “but I’m afraid I don’t recall your book, or you. Of course, that was quite some time ago, and it was a large class, wasn’t it?”

  “It’s Lizzie. And, yes, twenty people . . . really large.”

  Head high and cape swirling, Lizzie marched over to the register and tucked the signed books under the counter. Recalling their earlier conversation about her college days, Darla could imagine that if Valerie had treated Lizzie the same casually cruel way when they were students together, no wonder Lizzie had a chip on her shoulder about the woman.

  Valerie merely blinked, and turned to her publicist.

  “For Chrissakes, what are we waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Darla didn’t wait for further encouragement. Grabbing up her own black cape and pulling it on, she propped open the store’s front door and called down to Jake and Reese, “We’re ready.”

  Spontaneous applause rose from those closest to the front of the line, and though it was not meant for her, Darla felt a small thrill sweep her anyhow. So this is what it’s like to have a fan base, she thought with a grin. Maybe being famous wasn’t a half-bad gig after all.

  From her post at the top of the stairs, Darla could see the movement begin at the rear of the line and ripple forward. The sight reminded her of the train station scene in the old Hitchcock movie where Cary Grant’s falsely accused character disguises himself as a redcap and disappears into a veritable sea of scarlet-hatted porters, to the dismay of the police in pursuit. She could picture a teen on her cell phone trying to get hold of her BFF to
let her know where she was this night.

  Hey, Tiff, I’m here in line at the bookstore. You’ll find me, no problem. Look for the girl wearing a long black cloak and red lipstick.

  But as the whooping and laughing fans began rushing toward the door, Darla realized with a jolt that perhaps she’d made a tactical error in not getting out of the way sooner. Everest, however, had obviously done this kind of thing before. Before she could move, he had slid into place in front of her. At more than six feet tall and well over three hundred pounds, his mere presence was enough to halt the girls at the threshold.

  “Ladies, show me your bracelets,” he ordered, getting what looked like a Black Power salute in return as the front of the pack simultaneously raised their fists to display the bands in question. “Thank you. Now, we’re going to do this quietly, and in order. You young ladies walk inside in a nice line, hear?”

  They heard. As soon as Everest stepped aside, the girls marched into the store with almost military precision, walking two abreast to the register to pay, and then winding through the maze toward the table where Valerie awaited. Darla saw him doing a head count as well, allowing in perhaps forty of them before cutting off the procession at the threshold.

  “You’ll have a maximum occupancy here, ma’am,” he told her with a professional nod, his single diamond earring catching the light. “Don’t want any problems with the fire marshal.”

  Darla gave him a grateful smile and went inside. The air of orderliness that Everest had imposed continued to hold, though within half an hour the noise level had risen substantially. That was to be expected, so she grinned and bore it. Lizzie and James were working the table, passing books down to Valerie with almost automated precision, while the constant camera flashes lit up the place like a disco. Mary Ann played the register with professional panache while chatting up the teens, several of whom proposed to buy her dress on the spot. The elderly woman smilingly declined all offers but passed out business cards with her brother’s store’s website so they could join her special vintage clothing email newsletter.

  “Oh yes, I’m quite the social networker,” Darla overheard her tell one teen who had expressed surprise that someone of Mary Ann’s generation had an email address, let alone actually communicated in that fashion.

  And so, with all positions filled, Darla was left with little to do but supervise.

  “I’m going to go check on Jake and Reese,” she called to Mary Ann, and then squeezed her way through the caped throng to the door.

  A cool breeze swept her like a literal breath of fresh air, and she inhaled deeply. Though her black cape was but a cheap knockoff, it made a pretty effective blanket . . . nice out here in the early autumn night, but stifling in the crowded store. At the bottom of the stairs, she spied a familiar pink backpack and waved to Callie, who jumped up and down and waved back. With a final smile for the girl, Darla turned her attention to the rest of the line.

  While it seemed that Hillary and Koji—stopwatch or not—were keeping things moving in the store, the line here on the street didn’t seem to be getting much shorter. Though the barricades still remained in place, it appeared from Darla’s vantage point that the blue sawhorses had steadily shifted. The line was no longer a neat, single file affair, but rather an untidy column three and four abreast in some spots.

  Moreover, a new wrinkle had been added to the festivities. The Lone Protester had abandoned her post across the street and was now walking up and down the line of Valerie’s fans, her sign held high. That one-woman demonstration was not going unnoticed by the faithful, for Darla could hear a few vulgarities being shouted over the general backdrop of noise.

  She barely had time to tell herself, Trouble waiting to happen , when it did.

  SIX

  TWO OF THE FAN GIRLS REACHED OVER THE BARRICADE and grabbed at the Lone Protester’s poster. The tug-of-war that ensued was over almost before it began, however, for Jake was already headed in that direction.

  As Darla watched in relief, the woman swooped down upon the girls and promptly broke up what might have turned into a small melee. Darla was too far away to hear what was said afterward, but from the resulting pantomime, it was clear that Jake was laying down the law to the two who’d instigated the incident. As for the protester, Jake didn’t let her off unscathed, either, but was pointing her back toward the opposite side of the street.

  Let this night be over, and soon, Darla found herself praying to the gods of literature.

  She waited awhile longer to see if any other disasters might befall the crowd. When relative peace seemed to be reigning, however, she went back inside, only to discover that the earlier snail-like pace of the line had slowed to positively glacial. The party atmosphere, however, had not abated. She noticed with an inner grin that Callie, who was now halfway through the line, was busy snapping a covert picture of her sister, who had bent to look at another fan’s tattooed ankle.

  “Why did the line quit moving? Is everything okay?” Darla asked Mary Ann.

  The older woman nodded. “Ms. Baylor said she needed a break.”

  She glanced around to see if the girls nearby were paying attention; then, in an exaggerated stage whisper, she added, “I think she went out back to have a smoke.”

  “She just had one!” Darla pointed out and shook her head. If Valerie was going to take a smoke break every hour, it would make an already long night longer.

  She headed toward the back and found the signing table abandoned except for James. As for Lizzie, Darla thought she saw her at the front of the line, chatting with a couple of the teens. Of course, since everyone was cloaked and hooded, it was hard to know for sure. Neither Hillary nor Koji were anywhere to be seen. Probably on a bathroom break while the boss lady was doing her thing, she guessed. Mavis had vanished as well . . . hiding upstairs away from the crowds? Darla stood tapping her foot for a few minutes longer. Tempted as she was to head out to the courtyard and drag the author back inside, she knew that tactic would not go over well. Better she head out front again and let Jake and Reese know they might be in for a longer stint than they’d anticipated.

  As she opened the door, another welcome breeze swept past her, carrying with it the familiar shrieks of laughter and waves of chatter. Passing traffic and the incessant flash of phone cameras lent a strobe effect to the scene. Darla was reminded of those horror movies deliberately filmed to look like home videos taken by someone with a bad case of the shakes. She could feel a headache coming on; fortunately, she had an almost full bottle of aspirin tucked under the counter.

  Darla had just popped two tablets and squeezed her way past Everest, when over the ambient noise, she heard a single, earsplitting squeal of rubber.

  It took her only a heartbeat to realize what that sound meant. By then, a small passenger van was stopped about halfway down the block on the side of the street closest to where Valerie’s fans were gathered. Behind it, half a dozen other cars had plowed to a halt, horns blaring. Reese was sprinting from one direction toward the van, while Jake was rushing from the other. Vaguely, Darla was aware that the crowd noise had faded to a murmur, while the sound of her heart beating double time seemed suddenly louder than even the honking horns. She was running toward the van now, while a frantic voice in her head cried, Don’t let it be that, dear God, don’t let it be that.

  Some of the teens had spilled over the barricades, and Darla had to shove her way through them. Only then was she close enough to see what the light from the van’s one unbroken headlamp revealed upon the asphalt. Her step faltered. For a moment, she feared she might sag to the sidewalk.

  She managed to keep her balance by focusing her attention on Jake, who had her cell phone to his ear and was shouting something into it. Darla noted that the van’s front two doors had sprung open, with the driver and several passengers now huddling behind the twin shields of steel as if warding off the sight before them. Darla didn’t blame them. Just like them, she didn’t want to gaze at the motionless figure
tangled in a long black cape that lay sprawled a few feet in front of the van, one limp arm pointing toward a rectangle of white cardboard farther down the pavement.

  A few girlish screams promptly rose from those closest to the scene. The cries echoed down the length of the line and were punctuated now by the repeated pulse of a police siren, no doubt courtesy of the traffic-control cop. One of the caped fans, more responsible than the others, had already leaped into the street to check on the fallen girl. Reese pushed the fan aside and knelt beneath the headlight’s harsh gleam. After a quick check, he glanced back up at Jake to give a swift shake of his head.

  Darla stared in disbelief. Shouldn’t he be giving her mouth-to-mouth or chest compressions or something? But when Reese scrambled to his feet, she realized that the girl must already be past saving.

  She watched as he stripped off his black denim shirt, revealing a tight black T-shirt printed with the words NYPD and POLICE, as well as a gold badge that dangled from a lanyard around his neck. The sight spurred her back to action. She shoved her way to the curb and caught his eye.

  “Can I help?” she called in a tremulous voice, hoping she could be heard over the hubbub.

  He shook his head but tossed his long-sleeved shirt in her direction. She caught it and tucked the garment under one arm, not sure whether to be insulted or relieved that apparently her only role in this catastrophe would be to serve as valet.

  Reese, meanwhile, raised his badge at the crowd, the metal gleaming as it reflected the van’s single headlight beam.

  “Quiet down!” he commanded, his free hand making the universal take-it-down-a-notch gesture. “This is now a police investigation. I need everyone to back up and take a seat on the sidewalk. No talking above a whisper, and remain in line until we say you can go. Anyone who saw the accident or what happened beforehand, we’ll be coming by in a bit to take your statements.”