by S. E. Babin
Hardback Homicide
S.E. Babin
Copyright © 2019 by S.E. Babin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
Previously published by Sweet Promise Press - 2019
For coffee who giveth me life and Netflix who giveth me the feels.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Also by S.E. Babin
About the Author
1
“Pour me another and keep ‘em coming,” I said to my assistant, Harper, as she waved the coffee pot at me. I held out my mug like a dutiful soldier, and Harper poured in the life-giving liquid beans that would enable me to get through another day after yet another sleepless night. I rarely had trouble sleeping. I lived a low-stress life surrounded by good books, a gorgeous, uneventful town, and as much coffee as the local handsome supplier could get me to buy. This meant a lot. He was cute, and he used that and his wonderful beans to prey upon my addiction to java. If he didn’t move out of this town soon, I was going to have to find a coffee drinker’s anonymous group.
I poured in a disturbing amount of cream and a slightly less disturbing amount of sugar and rattled off my daily attack plan to Harper.
“Respond to Jeff’s email today with another big fat no.”
“Check!” said Harper.
“Re-sort the mystery area. Again.” I rolled my eyes. Mrs. Hanson came in again complaining about Jeffery Deaver books getting mixed in with the Agatha Christie’s. Considering the old woman kept buying them, I think she was just trying to blame us for her impulsiveness… and her addiction to mysteries a little more hardcore than good ol’ Ms. Christie.
“Maybe we should just switch out the jackets so she can buy all the Jeffery Deaver books she wants with zero guilt.”
A snort escaped me. “She’ll find something else to complain about. Trust me.”
Harper poured herself another cup of coffee and leaned against the register. Her blonde hair was done up in a messy bun today, just like it was almost every day. Harper was a low maintenance, low everything kind of girl, but I’d seen her get dressed up on a few occasions and she was a total knock-out. Of course, I always thought she looked great even with her old slogan shirts, skinny jeans and black-framed glasses that made her sparkling green eyes look enormous. But Harper wasn’t the kind of person who took compliments graciously. Every time I told her she looked nice, she’d grumble something about not being able to find a hairbrush. I eventually gave up. One day she’d realize the male traffic we had pouring in and out of here on the weekends had a lot less to do with books and a lot more to do with her.
Until then, she was doing a lot for our bottom line because whatever book Harper recommended to those hapless males, they’d happily buy. I learned to keep my amusement to myself over it. Harper was a smart girl, a wonderful employee, and a massive bookworm.
You kind of had to be to work in a shop like this one. Tattered Pages focused on the new, quirky, and the rare. We could order whatever books you needed if we didn’t already have it in stock, and you could read here if you wanted. I made a point of setting up several comfy lounge areas scattered around the store. There were bean bag chairs, recliners, hardback chairs for the strict, and even a small meditation area scattered with zafu cushions and soft pillows.
One thing I didn’t have and was working toward was a small eating area where people could order some coffee and something sweet with their purchase. I hoped to have that up and running within the next few months. Then my dream of owning a bookshop/small cafe would finally be realized.
The other resident of the bookshop sprung up onto the counter and promptly rubbed herself against Harper’s arm. She reached over and gave Poppy a scratch behind the ears. The red Persian came with the store after the old owner passed away. She’d been made part of the sale which I hadn’t been too happy about, but Poppy turned out to be a welcome addition to the Tattered Pages family. The townspeople loved her and, as cats were wont to do, she tolerated them back.
A lot of things had changed for me since I plunked down my entire savings to buy the store. I’d knocked down a few walls and completely renovated the place. I sold most of the stock and replenished it with my own choices. Rare books were kept under lock and key, fitted with a screeching alarm just in case someone tried to pry it open. Nothing like that really happened around Silverwood Hollow, but I wasn’t originally from here, so better safe than sorry for me. I’d grown up several towns away but had lived here for close to ten years now.
My shop was nestled between a cupcake shop and a specialty oil shop. I frequented both of them because: a) I loved cupcakes and b) specialty oils were cool, and the owner made fresh bread every single day and offered it up as samples to dip in the oil.
I could not resist the bread and it was obvious from the extra fifteen pounds I carried around. I didn’t mind much. If I gave up bread, I gave up joy. No one wants to give up joy. So, I continued popping over there a few times a week to see what new thing Jenny had to offer and what new bread recipe she managed to come up with.
Plus, I loved the name, Olive Twist!
The cupcake shop was another demon of its own. I frequented that one almost every day, much to my own chagrin. In my defense, she moved in after I’d bought the store and renamed it. Otherwise, I probably would have found a new location away from such tasty temptation. Sprinkle Heaven was just that. Delicious, frosted heaven.
Trudy was a wizard when it came to cupcakes. From the traditional to the downright bizarre, she cornered the market on unique when it came to the tiny cakes. Plus, even though I couldn’t keep my hands off her treats, she sent business into the store all the time just because people liked to shop after they ate something delicious.
Poppy abruptly dropped and rolled over, exposing her belly to Harper. She grinned and quickly scratched her belly. With Poppy you never knew exactly how much petting she could take before she swiped you with a paw. She was a temperamental beast, but she kept the kids entertained when they came in. It was all I could ask for, really.
Harper sipped her coffee. “Anything else you want me to do today?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think so. Everything should be good until Friday. Then we have to get ready for the twenty percent off sale. Plus, we have the festival coming up. Maybe we should start brainstorming some ideas for that.”
The Silverwood Hollow Harvest Festival was hands down the primo event of the season. People came from all over to attend. It was chaotic but wonderful and I loved every second of it. Volunteers signed up to help decorate the town square and almost all the shop owners worked together to decorate their shops in the same theme. There were always a couple of hold outs. Craig, the old curmudgeon who owned the custom knife shop, never decorated, and we finally had to stop asking him after he threatened to start throwing knives at us.
This town was full of colorful characters. Lucky for me, I liked weird people.
Harper’s eyes lit up. She adored fall and all of its wonderful things
. “We should have a bake-off. The grand prize winner gets a big basket of books and a $50 gift certificate for the shop.”
My gaze narrowed as I thought about it. “It could work. Should we make it a little more specific than that? Maybe make it pies? Or fall desserts?”
Harper straightened. “Ooh and have an additional category for best use of cinnamon or cloves!”
“Maybe we could add in a fall-drink category.” I tapped my chin as I thought about it. “We’d have to keep an eye on Corky if we allowed alcohol in.”
A smirk lit up Harper’s face. Corky was my aunt on my mother’s side. I loved her to death, but she was a handful, especially when she whipped her flask out. My mom and I hid the thing at least once a week, but it didn’t matter if Corky found it or not. The next time we’d see her, she’d have a brand-new flask and the same sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
“Does it really matter if we had alcohol or not considering she’s going to bring it in anyway?” Harper snickered. She, like most of the population of this town, adored Corky, but her shenanigans had the potential to be really embarrassing. Plus, I didn’t think she even sipped out of the flask. I suspected she kept it as a prop and as an excuse to act outrageous.
“We’ll just have to watch her,” I said and sighed. “Let’s get it all down on paper and present it to the other stores around here. Maybe we can get them in on it, or at least see if they want to donate anything.”
"Like cupcakes?" Harper asked, her eyes wide and innocent. She knew exactly how much I loved those Sprinkles cupcakes.
"Maybe," I said and winked at her.
The bell over the door jingled merrily, and we both turned to see who'd come in. Tattered Pages had a loyal following in the town, but we also got a lot of traffic from tourists. Some seasons were busier than others.
Fall was arriving in Virginia, and with it came the changing of the leaves from bright green to dark reds and burnt oranges. The weather was pretty constant and stayed at a brisk fifty something degrees during the month of October. November, when the harvest festival was scheduled, would dip down into a cool forty something. Harper and I were both wearing a long sleeve shirt and a zipped up over vest. Every time the door opened, a brisk wind would blow into the store, shifting our hair and freezing our noses.
It wasn't too cold yet. That honor would save itself until around Christmas time and we Virginians were a hardy stock.
Jen from Olive Twist! stepped in and with her came the smell of warm, yeasty bread and something with garlic. Like Pavlov's dog, my mouth started to water.
"Garlic?" I said, perking up and sniffing the air. "What is that?"
Jen, pretty and perky for so early in the morning, grinned as the door shut behind her. "It's my new garlic rye loaf." In her late forties, Jen was slim and fit. Her light hair was just starting to silver at the edges of her hairline, but her complexion was still wrinkle-free and smooth. Her face was round, and her cheeks were tinged pink by the cool air.
She smacked my hands away gently as I started to reach for it. "Hold your horses," she said as she walked over to the counter. Steam rose from the brown paper bag as she opened it and slid the bread out. Placing it on top of the bag, she dug around in her purse and pulled out a small knife.
"Always prepared!" she announced. Jen sliced through the bread, cutting two generous slices and handed one to me and Harper, who'd followed behind me.
I snagged mine greedily and took a huge bite. Buttery, garlic goodness burst on my tongue and I stifled a moan. Bread was one of my major vices, but it was one hard to feel guilty about. The other was my habit of weekend, pajama wearing Netflix binges. Both were bad for my waistline.
Jen stared at us in anticipation. "What do you think? I want to introduce this next week and maybe put it in rotation as a menu item."
I perked up at that. "You're going to start selling bread?"
"Sure am," she agreed.
"That's going to be terrible for my waistline and wallet," I said. "But delicious for my belly," I added to soften my words.
"It's a natural progression," Jen said as she lay the knife down on top of the paper bag. "I've been selling oils for so long and making the bread just as a hobby, but for years people have been asking me where to get the bread from." Her shoulder lifted and fell in a slight shrug. "Thought I might as well give them what they're asking for."
"I can't wait," Harper said around a mouth full of bread. "This is wonderful."
"The garlic came from the Coon's farm up the road," Jen said. "Seasonal, so I have to stock up and make sure I store it properly." A frown touched her brow. "If I do it wrong, I'm stuck using grocery store garlic, and it just isn't the same."
I cut myself another slice of the dark rye bread. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up. This is amazing."
"You girls keep the rest of that," she said and waved as she adjusted the purse over her shoulder. "I have to get back to the shop."
My mouth dropped open. "You're leaving us the whole loaf? That's a terrible thing to do, Jen!"
Her laugh echoed in the store as she swept out of the shop, the bell jingling as the door opened.
I stared down in dismay at the garlic rye loaf.
Harper snorted in amusement. "There's this thing..." Harper began. "It's called willpower."
I waved the knife at her. "Don't judge me. This is delicious bread.”
I cut myself another slice and swore I'd eat salad for dinner.
Life was all about balance.
2
Two hours before the shop closed, I was on my hands and knees sorting through a box of used books someone had just brought into the store. For the most part, people around here didn't drop off things too damaged to be used. Sometimes, though, we had people using our store as a dumping ground.
This box seemed to be a combination of it. The girl who dropped it off was young, probably early twenties and claimed to be from out of town. She was fixing a place up to make it a rental property and pulled the books out of one of the extra bedrooms. She barely waited around for me to give her a receipt and seemed to have zero interest in the contents.
I pulled out three water damaged books - two of which were too soaked through to be legible. The third might be salvageable so I set it aside.
I ran my hands through the box, quickly moving books to the side and out of the way. It was only when I got to the bottom that my hands started to shake.
"No way," I whispered as I pulled out a copy of The Great Gatsby. The hardcover was bright blue with a pop of red on the spine.
If this was what I thought it was ...
I cracked open the book carefully, my gloved fingers holding the book with the reverence it deserved, and gasped.
It was signed and the printing date was 1925. I scanned the copyright page, holding my breath until my gaze lit on what I was looking for.
I held it up like Rafiki held up Simba when he was announcing the new king and let out a little screech.
"Dakota?" Harper asked, her voice concerned. Her head poked around the corner. Harper's eyes widened and her mouth formed a little O of surprise.
"No way," she echoed. "Is that?"
I nodded, my head wobbling around in excitement. "It is. A first edition." I lowered my voice. "And signed."
Harper came around the corner full speed and collapsed down beside me on her knees. "May I?" she asked.
"Not until you get some gloves on," I admonished.
Harper's cheeks colored pink. "Of course." She rushed around and rummaged underneath the counter. When she came back, I handed over the book. Harper carefully opened it. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
"This is amazing."
"And worth a bundle," I added unnecessarily. I had to look it up to be sure, but I thought this would run for over ten grand.
"Should we call them back?" Harper asked anxiously.
My eyes widened. "Are you insane?" I hissed. "No way. This is like finding a Rembrandt at a garage sale. Freely given and all th
at." I got off my knees with a groan and stood up. "Plus, I've already given them the tax sheet. It's ours."
Harper looked doubtful, but I shook my head. That was business. Never give away anything you haven't investigated. Nine times out of ten it was kids going through their parents' effects and giving things away because they no longer had the room. Those times were when we got the best treasures. This generation was different. A lot of times they didn't realize what they actually had and didn't take the time to figure it out. They just wanted to go back to normal.
It was sad, really, but we benefited from it more often than not. Harper handed the book back to me, and I carried it to the back. We kept a safe in the office for things like this, though this was the first time something this valuable had landed in our laps from a donation box. I didn't want it to get misplaced, which was easy to do in a store full of books. The doorbell jingled while I crouched to open the safe.
Harper could handle whatever came in, so I continued opening the combination lock. The safe had just clicked open when Harper opened the office door. Her face was a mix of annoyance and anger.
I frowned as I looked up at her. "Everything okay?"
"Jeff is here," she said, her words short and clipped.
I sighed and carefully slid the book into a breathable cloth sack. I tucked it into the safe, on top of some important papers and shut the door to the safe. I double checked to make sure it locked properly and stood up, wiping dust off my knees.
"Did he say what he wanted?" I asked as I held the door open for her to walk back out.
"Nope. He insisted he see you, though." Harper brushed past me in a cloud of floral scented perfume, anger etched into every step she took.
