Publishable by Death

by A C F Bookens

  I had to admit that Mart was right. I really did need a little time away. Between the work to get the shop opening, the first few days of business, and then the two murders, I was pretty worn down. It was too early in my business career for me to be feeling that way, and an afternoon in the warm sun of a spring afternoon seemed like just what I needed.

  Dale’s Seafood Shack was the quintessential Eastern Shore seafood place. Very casual, but with views of the water that you’d pay a fortune for in the city. I’d long ago learned that just because I didn’t eat seafood didn’t mean that I wouldn’t love these places. Cate and I got a table on the covered deck overlooking the river that opened up onto the Chesapeake Bay. I ordered a burger and fries covered in Old Bay, and Cate got a crab cake covered in melted cheese. She also took the liberty of ordering each of us a bottle of Maryland’s own Natty Bo beer. The air was still cool, so we had the entire deck to ourselves. It was the perfect way to unwind.

  As we sipped our beers, I caught her up on the history I’d learned about the store building. “I never knew any of that.”

  “Yeah, it feels weird that such an important piece of St. Marin’s history isn’t noted with a marker or something. I’m definitely going to put something up on the shop and maybe talk to the historical society.”

  “Good plan. Maybe we can have something temporary printed for Saturday, even a one-page hand-out. Our printer down in Salisbury could do something, I bet. Send me some text, and I’ll call him when I get back to the co-op later.”

  “Oh, thanks. That would be perfect. It’s the least we can do to honor Divina’s husband.”

  “Exactly. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt as publicity for the shop either.”

  “True.” I felt my concerns about the weekend climb my ribs. “Speaking of which, I haven’t had a single query about the silent auction. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  Cate gave me a mischievous grin. “The ways of Divina have finally reached you. I take it you now know she’s kind of a big deal.”

  “Kind of? She’s the biggest kind of deal.”

  “Exactly. I saw what you put up on your website – well done – but I’m sure her agent has made it clear to the press that all queries are to go through her. Information management. Divina has been especially wily about not letting most of the world know she lives here in St. Marin’s.”

  “But she has a booth at the co-op.”

  “She does. But she’s not on our website, and she doesn’t let us advertise her stuff. It’s kind of brilliant actually. When people who know her work stumble upon her studio, they are elated, but then, she’s quick to draw them in and remind them that her work thrives when she has her privacy. So far, no one has wanted to risk her art for a bit of fame for themselves.”

  I gave Cate a skeptical glance. “No one? Come one. Not a single person has Instagrammed her shop door and tagged it as St. Marin’s.”

  “Not yet. She’s a persuasive woman, and I think people like feeling as if they’re part of her inner circle somehow.”

  I shook my head. “The ways of celebrity will never make sense to me.” I looked out over the water and then back at Cate. “But her gift is so generous. I can’t believe she’d give something that valuable.”

  “Why not?” Cate said as she shoved a fry into her mouth. “After all, she can always create more of her work. Plus, she is really devoted to the town. She’s funded the park over at the other end of Main Street from you. Paid for an empty lot to be cleaned up and then for the safest, but most fun, playground equipment to be put in. She is a big supporter of the Museum, too.”

  I was impressed. I liked a story of generosity that didn’t come with a lot of accolades. Those gifts seemed more genuine somehow than those that came with the insistence of a name on a building. I really hated the way even all the sports stadiums had become corporate marketing tools. Ravens Stadium was just fine with that name . . . but now some bank paid to have its logo on the building. Ick.

  Cate leaned forward a bit as we finished up our beers. “Any more word on Elle?”

  It took me a minute to figure out what Cate meant, but then I shook my head. “Nothing. I haven’t seen her since we talked to her a couple of days ago.”

  “I still think she’s good for it.” Cate sounded like a detective from one of the NCIS franchises, maybe that woman in LA with the long dark hair.

  “Maybe.” I didn’t really feel like hypothesizing that my new neighbor was a murderer. “I guess you never know.”

  We paid our bill, and Cate texted Lucas to let him know we were headed over to the museum. I’d been wanting to go there since I’d moved into town five months earlier, but I had just been too busy.

  Lucas met us at the door and gave us the tour through all the exhibits. I had no idea there was such a rich history of watermen. I loved looking at the photos of the old timers out on boats that looked barely watertight but that brought in thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of some of the world’s best seafood. Plus, I loved the special exhibit of maritime art. The paintings of water scenes weren’t quite as good as the real thing, but if you couldn’t live on the water, the best ones made it feel like you could taste the air.

  Next, Lucas walked us out to the shipyard, where local artisans were crafting – with old-fashioned tools – a traditional tall-ship, complete with masts carved from single pine trunks. Just now, the workers were hand-hewing the planks to cover the exterior of the ship’s hull. It was a laborious and grueling task to build each ship, I could see that, and it made me want to watch even more of those treasure-hunting shows, not just for the treasure now, though, but to recover some of the labor these people had put into these beautiful vessels.

  “This is amazing, Lucas. Thank you for the tour,” I said as we headed back toward the main building.

  “My pleasure. Come back anytime. I’ve gotten you a membership, so just wander over when you need a break.” He headed me a little card with my name on it, and I smiled.

  “Oh my word. Thank you so much. I’ll be back for sure. I need to go see that oyster shack.” I gave Lucas a hug. “Oh, and if I send over a list of maritime titles for the new section I’m adding to the store, would that be okay? I don’t want to impinge on the gift shop here, but I would like to honor this history in the shop for sure.” I’d been resistant to the idea of going too “on brand” for the store, especially since Lucia Stevensmith had made the suggestion, but now, it felt like I was just honoring the stories of this place. I liked that.

  “Absolutely. Maybe we can even do an event together sometime? You sell the books, and we get the ticket proceeds.”

  “Ooh, I love that. Let’s make that plan.”

  He gave us a hearty wave as we walked back up to Main Street. Cate said, “Soon, you’re going to have events coming out your ears.”

  “Actually, I’d love that. Those kind of things bring new people to the store, and while I love St. Marin’s, I can’t sustain the shop on the number of books people here buy.”

  “Right. Well, this weekend should help . . . and it looks like you’ve got buy-in from the other shops in town.”

  My mind flashed back to Max Davies’ and his weird concern about becoming a target. I told Cate about our conversation, still befuddled by his fear.

  “Max is an odd one, for sure. But maybe he’s afraid of something else.”

  I turned to look at my friend as we walked into the street. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, maybe he’s afraid all those people might suss out what he did.”

  I chuckled. “So now you think Max Davies is the murderer? Is there anyone you don’t suspect?”

  She gave my hand a playful slap and said, “Well, you . . . at least not yet.”

  When I got back to the shop that afternoon, the place was full of people quietly reading or sipping coffee. Mart gave me a wave from the register as I came in and gestured toward the fiction section, where Sheriff Mason was reading the back cover of an Inspector Gamache mys
tery. “Didn’t take you for a police procedural kind of guy, Sheriff?”

  “You know, I’m probably not. Somehow, reading about a murder in a small town isn’t really appealing just now.” He carefully slid the book back into its spot and aligned the spine with the rest of the shelf. “Maybe when I retire though.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d worked in a bookstore before.” I gestured toward the tidy shelf.

  “Right about now, I’d take the quiet of books,” he looked toward the storeroom door, “although it hasn’t exactly been the easiest of openings for you, huh?”

  I shrugged. “Not really, I guess, but even when I think I just want to recommend books and spend time reading, I find that I get into something else anyway. This time that something else just found me.” I puffed out my cheeks and blew a long stream of air. “Did you need something?”

  “Just wanted to give you a quick update. But before I tell you what I know, I need you to understand something. I’m only telling you all this so that you don’t try to snoop it out yourself. I’m hoping that if I satisfy your curiosity, you’ll take a step back and just let us do our jobs.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me.

  I gave him a small nod.

  “Okay then. We did find Stevensmith’s hair on the handle of the umbrella, so it looks like it was the murder weapon.”

  I shuddered. I had held that handle.

  “Any fingerprints?”

  He scrutinized my face. “No. Nothing usable. And nothing particularly unique about the sage ash either.”

  My shoulders dropped. “We’re no further along than we were.”

  “The police are no further along than we were, Harvey. I know you want to help, but you are not a part of this investigation.” His voice was kind but forceful, and I felt color run up my neck.

  “I’m sorry.” I let out a long sigh. “I feel kind of helpless, though. These people died at my shop, and I feel responsible somehow, like I need to do right by them.” I slid my hands through my hair. “Plus, I’m just a really curious person. My mom used to say I was a Nosey Nellie, like that girl on Little House on the Prairie.”

  The sheriff put a hand softly on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t say you’re anything like snooty Nellie Oleson. And curiosity is a good thing. But Harvey, in this case, you could be putting yourself in real danger.”

  I knew that all too well, but apparently I didn’t seem to care. I did care, however, that I not make things harder for the sheriff. “I hear you. I’ll stay out of things and just share information that might come to me.” He gave me a stern look. “You have my word that I won’t go looking.”

  He gave my shoulder a squeeze and turned toward the door. “Thanks, Harvey. Glad you’re here.”

  I waved as he headed out to his patrol car. I was glad I was part of this town, too, but I’d be even happier when they caught the murderer.

  Even though Mart was there to walk home with me, Daniel and Taco still showed up right on time to join the entourage back to the house. Daniel always smelled just a little bit like motor oil and cedar, and tonight, the odor was even stronger. Leave it to Mart to leave no sensory experience unnoted. “Do a little slip-sliding in an oil slick, my friend?” she asked as she slipped her arm playfully into his.

  He shrugged, but I saw pink tinge his ears. “I lost my grip on an oil pan under a Dodge 1500 and got soaked. Guess my shower with Lava soap didn’t cut it, huh?”

  “I like it,” I said quietly as I slipped my hand into his. I saw the color in his ears deepen.

  Mart chattered away while we walked, and I loved it. She made sense of the world by talking, so I’d long ago learned she didn’t need – and sometimes didn’t even want – my responses. She was quite content to fritter on while Daniel and I walked quietly and enjoyed the cool evening.

  At the door, Mart slipped inside with Mayhem, giving me a wink as she went. Daniel and I stood on the small front stoop under the old-fashioned barn light and just looked at each other. “I could get used to this,” he said.

  “Me, too.” Then, he leaned down and kissed me softly.

  I took a step back to head toward the house and fell as Taco’s long sausage of a body took me out at the knees. I landed with a thud and just enough sense to catch my head before it smacked the concrete.

  Daniel knelt down quickly with a look of great concern on his face. My tailbone definitely hurt, and I suspected I’d have quite the neck ache in the morning. But I started to snicker and then laugh until I was crying and rocking back and forth as I tried to catch my breath.

  Eventually Daniel sat down next to me and waited for me to settle. When I could talk again, I said, “You better get used to that, too. I’m not the world’s most coordinated person.”

  “Me neither. Like my new cologne, Eau de Pennzoil?” Then, he laughed so hard his shoulders shook.

  10

  I was right. My neck was so stiff from my fall that when I woke up, I could only tilt my head but not turn it. I’d been here before. Too many hours reading books in awkward positions had led me to stiff necks many times. I recalled a tip that author Laraine Herring had shared at a book reading for her novel Ghost Swamp Blues. She said that for a stiffness, you needed to move that body part a hundred times in every direction. It had worked for me before, and I sure hoped it would work again. I had a lot to do and no time to have to rotate my entire body every time I had to make a turn.

  I started by doing simple head turns while I was in the shower. The hot water helped, and by the time I’d turned a hundred times in each direction, I was beginning to feel the muscles give. Then, while I made Eggo waffles – the whole wheat ones because I wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to my health – I tried to put my ears to my shoulders over and over again. Then I did forward bends and pointed my chin to the ceiling. By the time I put on my coat to head out the door, I could turn to call Mayhem without feeling like someone had rammed a hot poker down my back. Thank you, Laraine.

  And I was so glad I could move when I got to work because there was a line. A veritable LINE at the door of my bookshop. Rocky was standing just to the side of the door with what I imagined was the same expression I was wearing – one of stupefied glee.

  “Any idea what’s up?” I asked as I sidled up to her.

  “None. But I didn’t want to go in without you. These folks look, um, hungry.”

  She was right. People were shifting from foot to foot and looking at their watches over and over again. A couple of folks were scanning the crowd looking, presumably, for me.

  I looped my arm through Rocky’s and said in a deep voice, “We’re going in.”

  She squeezed my arm against her. “Aye, Aye, Captain.”

  Then we gently bumped the crowd out of the way, unlocked the door, slid through, and shut it tightly behind us. I felt like I was trying to keep Aslan in when there was a squirrel in the front yard. I almost had to shove one woman’s rubber-booted foot out of the door.

  “Gracious,” Rocky said as she hurried over to the café. “I’ll get the extra carafe going.”

  “And I’m going to do a quick Google search to see if I can figure out what’s up.”

  It took a scan of only the first three results from my search of “All Booked Up St. Marin’s” to see that the buzz had been caused by a post from our friend Galen Gilbert, who was apparently a Bookstagrammer with a HUGE following. On Wednesday, he’d posted a picture of his bookstack that he’d picked up here in the shop, and then yesterday, he’d featured a photo of the shop with a blinking arrow and the words “Go HERE NOW!” on it. I clicked over to his profile and saw he had 86.7K followers. I was dumbfounded. He seemed so unassuming, and maybe that was his charm. Whatever got him those numbers, I needed to know his secrets . . . and I needed to thank him.

  Clearly at least a couple dozen of his followers did exactly what he said, and here they were, in the flesh and eager.

  I texted Mart, who was planning to head to a local winery this
afternoon but was sleeping in this morning. “I need help. Big crowd at door. Come now!!!!”

  Her reply came three seconds later. “Baseball cap it is. I’ll text Daniel and be there in ten.” Gracious, she was a good friend.

  I prepped the shop, got the thumbs-up from Rocky, and opened the door. Now, this wasn’t exactly the kind of frenzy that happens when they have those wedding dress sales at those big New York boutiques, but for a small bookstore that had been only open two weeks, one person waiting at the door would have been a thrill; twenty-eight people at the door felt like a miracle.

  The book lovers filed in and headed out across the store. I could see that fiction was a big hit, and someone went right to our small drama section. Children’s books garnered a few visitors, and a couple of folks went right for the caffeine – I admired their focus and did the same quickly before what I hoped would be a long day of selling books.

  Soon, Mart arrived with Daniel and Taco close behind. When I saw the look of relief on his face as he took note that I was fine and even smiling, I realized that Mart hadn’t explained very well the nature of the situation. “Sorry she scared you,” I said as he leaned on the counter beside me.

  “All she said was that you needed help. She was practically jogging here, so I figured it must have been a crisis.” He looked around. “Now I see you do need help, just not the way I thought.”

  I gave his shoulder a bump. “Mart can be a little too enthusiastic sometimes.”

  “Ah, that’s a good quality in a friend. Glad you’re alright.” He undid Taco’s leash, and the Basset headed out to find Mayhem, who had already staked her claim on the big pillow by the history section. “Okay with you if I stay and help out? Fridays are my light days.”

  “Sure. But really? Fridays are light?”

  “Yep. Most of the locals head out of town for the weekend on Fridays if they don’t want to manage the tourist traffic.”

  I frowned. “But the tourist traffic is what keeps the town going.”