Hardback Homicide: A Shelf Indulgence Cozy Mystery

by S. E. Babin

  Gary ended the night in sobbing tears and had to be driven home by the fake police officer. I was remorseful after it was over, but Gran was ecstatic. "I bet that teaches him. His parents should be ashamed of themselves!"

  I thought for sure we were all going to jail, but we scared Gary enough to where he never said a word about what happened, and neither did any of the other girls involved. Most of them moved away from this place, but every once in a while, I saw Lila and we shared a secretive smile.

  Gary was a perfect gentleman after that and ended up marrying one of the girls from his senior class. He doesn't come into the store but occasionally I'd see his wife.

  "I saw Gary the other day," Gran said. "That's a completely different young man than he used to be." She didn't say thanks to us, but I knew that's what she was thinking.

  "I still can't believe we did that."

  "It worked!" Gran said and that's all she needed to know. She didn't care about getting into trouble and it was even worse now that she was older. "Tell me where I need to be and what time I need to be there, and I'll make sure I'm there."

  "Are you sure you want to do this?" Part of me felt guilty about sending an elderly woman into spy, but Gran ate stuff like this up.

  "Of course, I do! People don't let old people participate in things anymore. It's maddening. I'm old, not dead or crippled."

  "I'll pick you up and take you, just in case we need to beat a hasty exit, okay?"

  "Alright, darling. You give me a call as soon as you have the details."

  We disconnected just as I pulled into the driveway.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, I knew exactly where the will reading was going to be. Houghton, Harper, and Hooker, not too far away from here in Silverwood. The place had all kinds of rumors about it, the last one about it being overran with cats. The rumors had been flying for a while about some of the lawyers in that practice, but I didn't see what the fuss was about. I considered most things to fall in either the none of my business or the I don’t care category. Maybe the lawyers would let Gran in. They seemed kooky enough to go along with it. We didn’t have a lot of law firms around here so the ones we did have had to be prepared to do all kinds of paperwork. You never knew what was going to happen in this town.

  I called Gran back and gave her the details and then called Harper to tell her I'd be late. When she pushed me for details, I told her I was going to lunch with my grandma so she wouldn't push. She needed plausible deniability just in case this thing went south. I didn't think anyone would arrest an 80+ year old woman, but you never knew in this town.

  I wanted to know exactly what was being said about this will and if Carrie had any other family coming out of the woodwork who might act as a beneficiary.

  I stretched and grabbed myself a sandwich. I wanted to get to bed early tonight. Tomorrow promised to be a crazy day. Fingers crossed Grandma still had it in her to participate in shenanigans.

  * * *

  Gran opened the door wearing a hideous pair of purple pants and an orange sweater. I blinked several times before I said good morning to her.

  "Is there a reason you're wearing that?" I asked politely.

  "Honey, you don't show up as an out of town, unknown relative wearing black. I need to be unknown for a reason!" she exclaimed. She reached down into a brown paper bag at her feet and pulled out a massive feather boa. "Is this too much?" she asked, flinging it around her neck dramatically.

  "Umm. Yes. Way too much, Gran." I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing as she sashayed around the house, flicking the boa left and right.

  "How do you do, dahling," she drawled to no one in a terrible French accent. "My name is Fifi LeFay and I am here to ensure you see nothing of your inheritance. I am zee lost love child of your father and the famous French movie star, Cameron LeRoux."

  My shoulders shook with laughter as I watched her, even as I hoped she didn't really hope to gain access to the law firm acting like that.

  She was in her eighties but looked early sixties. Her figure was trim and compact, and she stood about two inches shorter than me. She kept her hair a sedate red, colored once a month at a salon down the road, and chin length so it swung dramatically as she spoke. Normally, she wore little makeup, just enough to give herself some pizzazz. But today, she'd taken it to an entirely new level. She wore bright red lipstick and enough rouge on her face to make her look like she was late for circus practice. Her eyelashes were so long she looked like she was wearing two spiders on her eyelids. The only thing halfway sensible about her this morning was her shoes.

  Gran loved her tennis shoes so much that if she had to wear a dress, she'd complain about the shoes all night and accuse them of being torture devices designed by the Nazi's to subjugate women.

  She was delightfully weird and one of my favorite people. "I'm a little concerned about this," I warned. "You aren't going to pretend to be French, are you?"

  She spun around, her sneakers squeaking on the tile floor. "Of course not. I'm just warming up to get into character. I'm going to be her father's birth mother, discovered only through new DNA evidence. You hear about all those DNA tests going up on that 23 site? Whatever it is? It's not unheard of for people to find new moms and dads and brothers and sisters. All those people should be ashamed of showing up to church on Sunday with all those sins riding around in their britches!"

  It was out there, but it could work. It might shatter Carrie's illusion of her father, but she didn't seem like a super good person any way. It still bothered me. "Are you sure that's the best idea? What about maybe a cousin or something? Someone not directly linked to her father or mother? I just want to make sure she wasn't involved in her sister's death, not ruin her life."

  "Psssh," she said. "You think this woman murdered her sister, don't you?"

  "I'm not real sure, Gran. Maybe. I'm just gathering info now."

  She stared hard at me, her brow furrowing. "Fine. I'll be a cousin then. A first cousin."

  Gran was awfully old to be a first cousin. "Maybe just keep it vague, then."

  "You're a lot less fun now that you're in your thirties," Gran grumbled.

  "Come on, old lady," I said good naturedly. "Let's get you in the car so we can get into trouble."

  Gran picked up the paper bag by the front door and walked out.

  "What's in the bag?" I asked as I made sure the door locked behind me.

  "Sunglasses, just in case I need them. A wig, in case I decide to be someone else. I got a notepad, thinking maybe I could be a reporter. And two bottles of those energy drinks, just in case I need to run out real quick like." Her eyes went shifty. “And a couple more things in case of an emergency.”

  This was a mistake. I could feel it in my bones. Opening the door for Gran, I helped her in the car. "This is going to be a disaster," I murmured more to myself than her.

  "Sure is!" she agreed good naturedly. "Make sure you keep the car running just in case we need to make a quick getaway!"

  It took less than ten minutes to get to the law firm. I made Gran keep all of her props in the bag, even the wig. She leaned over, patted me on the hand, and slid out of the car, spry for a woman her age. The prospect of mischief put a spring in her step, and I clasped my hands over my mouth to keep from cracking up as she pranced up the steps. My phone rang, and I opened it without looking.

  "I'm going to keep the line open," Gran stage whispered. I looked over to see her speaking into her purse.

  A snort of laughter escaped. "Good idea, Gran. Now get inside and get some info!"

  My heart was beating double time as she opened the doors to the firm. A woman with a friendly voice greeted her. "Hello, my name is Sara. Can I help you?"

  "Yes, you can," Gran said, thankfully without a French accent. "I'm here for the will reading of one Marcy Olds. Her father and my lover were best friends, and he promised us we'd be in the will!"

  Hysterical laughter burst from me. My gran was certifiable.
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  You could hear a pin drop in the room.

  "Um, excuse me," a male voice said. "Who are you again?"

  "My name is Carmen!" Gran declared. "I demand to be let in!" There was a shuffle and the sound of a door slamming open came through the line.

  "As you can see, Miss Olds, your father has left you everything, including the collection of rare -" The voice broke off. "Excuse me? You cannot be in here!"

  "It's a free country," Gran shouted. "And you there, your father owes me a house in the country and an apple orchard!"

  "Who are you?" Carrie's voice came, shocked and annoyed.

  Static came over the line, then, and all I could hear was bits and pieces. "Get out, Gran," I murmured to myself. "Get out, get out, get out."

  "Ma'am," the male voice said, the reception becoming clearer again, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave!"

  "I want what's mine!" Gran said, her voice becoming a hysterical wail.

  "You don't have anything in here that's yours!" Carrie shouted. "It's all mine! I finally get what should have been mine from the beginning!"

  With that, stunned silence fell. My mouth fell open.

  "Well," Gran said, "with that little nugget, I suppose I ought to be on my way."

  "Oh my gosh," I whispered. I started the car and backed out of the spot. I pulled as close as I could to the door.

  It sounded like Gran was running. As fast as an eighty-year-old could run anyway. I watched as the doors burst open and an orange and purple flash sped toward my car. I reached over, opened the door, and Gran slid in, a maniacal grin on her face. "Go go go!" she shouted and then began to laugh like a crazy person.

  Hysterical laughter spilled from me as she slammed the door. I mashed the gas, and we sped out of the law office parking lot like bloodhounds were after us.

  "Woo!" Grandma exclaimed. "Did you hear all that? Carrie! That woman is some piece of work. Wanting what her daddy had and not content with what he'd given her. She has to be guilty!"

  Pride burst within me. "That was awesome, Gran. A little nuts, but you got what I needed." We were almost out of Glendale and going a more sedate speed, when a Toyota Avalon pulled up behind me.

  Oh. No. My eyes widened as I looked in the rearview.

  Detective Hardy Cavanaugh was behind me and he did not look amused.

  14

  Gran isn't concerned until Hardy turned on his lights to get me to pull over. "Oh my stars!" she exclaimed. "Are we getting pulled over?" Gran clapped her hands together. "Do you think we'll get arrested, Dakota?"

  I debate mashing the gas pedal down and hauling butt out of there but then we really would get arrested. "Admit nothing, Gran." I eyed her purple and orange outfit. "Do you have anything else in that bag?"

  Gran eyed me. "Like a change of clothes?"

  Her eyes gleamed. "'Course I do. I wasn't sure what character I was going to play, so I brought a few things."

  "How fast can you change?" I looked down at the speedometer. 55 miles per hour. I could pretend my brakes weren't working all that well and that's what took me so long to slow down.

  "Honey, I still got mad flexibility," Gran answered. "I take yoga down at the Y every few days. There's this cute instructor named Hans. He has buns of -"

  "Gran!" I pinched my brow. "Grab something not so ... loud and change. Just make sure he can't see you." My gaze flicked to the rearview mirror.

  Gran gives me a contemplative look. "Do you know that man?"

  "I do and he is not going to be happy with me." I very gently started to decrease my speed.

  Gran reached down and rummaged through the bag. She pulled out a pair of old sweatpants and a sweatshirt that said, "Granny Gangster." I don't even want to know where she got it from.

  Gran hunched down in the seat and shrugged out of the orange monstrosity of a sweater. She shoved it back in the bag and pulls the sweatshirt over her head. She didn’t bother slipping out of her pants. Gran just shoved her shoes off and pulled the sweatpants right over the purple ones.

  "Thanks, Gran," I whisper. "Also, that sweatshirt is horrendous."

  "I got it at a rap concert," she volunteered. "It was Senior Night at the Bingo Hall and also open mic. A couple of friends of mine fancy themselves rappers like that Nicki Minaj. They keep claiming their milkshake is bringing all the boys to their yard. I don't know what that means, but milkshakes give me the runs, so I don't drink them anymore."

  I cringe and pray I never have to explain the meaning of that song to my grandmother. Ever. "That's nice, Gran," I said, my voice faint.

  "So, who's the young buck behind us and what does he want with you?" Gran is peering in the rearview. "He looks like he's cute. My vision isn't what it used to be, but that jawline looks like it could cut glass!"

  I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I slowly pulled off to the shoulder. I turned off the car, gave my grandma a look, and exhaled a deep breath. I was so not looking forward to this.

  "Deny everything, Gran, okay? Everything."

  "You got it, kiddo. They can't prove it was me." She cackled and put her hands in her lap like she was an innocent old lady. The sweatshirt screamed she was not, but maybe I could claim she was homeless, and I was only driving her to a restaurant for a meal.

  They could most definitely prove it was her if they had surveillance. Hardy tapped on the window.

  His amazing jawline was taut, and his eyes sparked with anger. I pressed the button to roll down the window.

  He leaned in, resting his arms on the bottom of the window. "Hello, Dakota." His voice was calm and measured which told me one thing.

  He was positively furious.

  "Hello, Hardy," I said, my face frozen in a smile.

  Gran leaned over. "I'm Dakota's grandma. She didn't tell me she knew such a fine, young specimen of man!"

  Hardy blinked, his face a picture of confusion. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. And crying. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do right now.

  "Uh. Hello, ma'am."

  Gran reached over and extended her hand. "Charlotte Adair," she said.

  He took it. "Hardy Cavanaugh."

  "Now that's a nice strong name. So many boys growing up given stupid names like Chet or Bowser or Richard." She sighed. "Hardy shows confidence and strength. Tell me, how do you know my granddaughter?"

  Hardy was nonplussed. His chest rumbled a short laugh. "We met on an investigation."

  "Oh, isn't that nice? And so romantic. Now answer me a question. Are you going to ask her out?"

  "Gran," I hissed. "It isn't like that."

  Gran reared back and examined me. "And why not? You're single. This young man isn't wearing a ring so I can only imagine he's single." She peered at him. "Are you single? Or do you have some girl pining away for you?"

  "Ah, I'm single," he said. His gaze lingered on my burning face.

  "Well then, you won't find another girl in the entire area of Silverwood Bay sweeter, prettier, or smarter than my granddaughter."

  A grin was peeking out from the side of his mouth. "Maybe not. But that isn't why I stopped her, Mrs. Adair. I got a complaint of an elderly woman causing a ruckus at the local law firm." His eyes lit on my gran. "Do you happen to know anything about that?"

  She batted her eyes up at him. "Do I look like I know anything about that or causing a ruckus? I'm 84 years old! The only kind of ruckus happening in my life is when I forget to go down to the knitting shop and buy the right kind of yarn for my project." She clutched her hip. "In fact, that's where we were going to now. You see my hip acts up - arthritis, so it's hard for me to drive some days."

  "I see," Hardy said. A put-upon sigh escaped him. "Dakota, I hope you're heeding my warning to stay out of this case. It's awfully convenient that Ms. Olds had a will reading today and we get a report of two women hauling tail out of a parking lot in a car they described as almost identical to yours."

  "I have an impeccable driving record," I said. "Not a single speeding ticket. I'm not t
he kind of person who "hauls tail" Detective. I own a bookstore for goodness’ sake."

  Hardy exhaled a breath, tapped once on my roof, and stood up. "Have a nice day, Ladies," he said before he began walking back to his car. Gran unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over me, and stared out my window at his retreating form.

  "You could do a lot worse than him, Dakota," she said when she was finished ogling him.

  "I don't even want to talk about it, Gran." I started the car up and drove away. "You were supposed to stay quiet."

  "I threw him off balance, honey. You did notice he didn't ask a whole lot of questions, didn't you?"

  I did. I glanced over at her.

  "Men don't like to be put on the spot about asking someone out for a date. He wanted to run away screaming."

  A snort escaped me.

  "So, you should thank me."

  My lips quirked in a smile. "Thank you."

  "And stop for ice cream up here to the right," Gran demanded. "I need something sweet to help balance out all that adrenaline."

  15

  Carrie Olds stood in my shop, holding up an old copy of Watership Down. Harper took it from her and gently laid it down on the counter.

  "I was wondering if you could appraise this," she said. "It's one of the few my father didn't leave a value on." Carrie looked sallow and tired. An oversized cardigan hung on her shoulders. She wore no makeup and her lips were cracked and dry.

  I sidled up to Harper and examined the book. It was a hardback and looked to be an original first edition. I bent down to grab a pair of cloth gloves from under the counter and slipped them on before I opened the book.