by ACF Bookens
Tiffany laughed. “Sorry. I only ran six miles this morning, so I didn’t get all the extra energy out yet.”
Rocky and I groaned in unison. “Only six miles,” I said. “I’d need to lie down for the rest of the day.”
“Wait until the days I do a full twenty. I’m much less ‘bouncy’ then.” Tiffany’s voice was totally sincere.
“If by ‘less bouncy’ you mean hospitalized and on IV fluids, then me, too,” Rocky said. “Enjoy the lattes.”
Tiffany and I returned to the café, and apparently Mayhem had picked up on Tiffany’s vivaciousness because my dog was waiting, her tail banging against the rack of greeting cards nearby, by Tiffany’s bags. “She must smell the homemade dog treats I brought.”
“You brought homemade dog treats?” I sighed. “I may have to give you my job.”
Tiffany gave Mayhem a treat the size of my hand, and then looked at me. “Well, maybe just your dog.”
I grinned when Mayhem got up and moved over to sit by me, as if she understood. “Sorry, it’ll take more than one treat to win my girl.”
“Good girl,” she said. “Now, what’s first?”
I swigged the rest of my latte and got to it. By the time I’d trained Tiffany on the register, helped her see how to special order a book for a customer, reviewed our upcoming book clubs and events, and briefed her on the John Green event, the poor woman looked exhausted. “It’s a lot. You don’t have to get it all now,” I said.
“It is a lot. But I’ve got it. I might be at capacity for information, though. Mind if I straighten the shelves some?” she asked as she bounced on the balls of her feet.
“Mind? Please, be my guest. If you feel like it, you could even try your hand at a table display.” I pointed to the table I’d cleared so we could display Green’s books.
“Really? Ooh, I love hands-on stuff. Are the books in the back?”
“Yep. Work your magic,” I said.
To be honest, I hated figuring out the logistics of those displays. I just couldn’t imagine what it might look like, so I had to put it together over and over again until it looked right. It was physically exhausting for me. But with Tiffany’s physical energy, I figured she’d enjoy it.
While she carted the books to the front on our library truck, I took a lap before flipping on the neon sign and unlocking the door. I’d probably never match Tiffany for kinesthetic perk, but nothing charged me quite like that first moment of the day when anything could happen in my bookstore. And anything usually did.
8
Marcus came in about eleven, and I re-introduced him to Tiffany before pointing out the truly stellar display of John Green’s books. “Great work,” he said. “You can see all the titles, but the display also works as a whole to draw readers in.”
“Yeah, I was going for a ‘What’s that? OOH, I love John Green, and wait he’s coming here’ thing. I did have one question though. See how this—” I wandered off as Tiffany and Marcus nerded out on stack heights and tiers. I was so glad Marcus now had someone else to obsess over that stuff with.
I wandered with my empty mug back to Rocky’s café and took a seat. The store was still pretty quiet – typical for a winter day early in the week – and I wanted a minute to think about Bixley’s murder, or more specifically, the murders it looked like he had committed. I didn’t condone the fact that someone had killed him, but I could understand why they had.
Still, I couldn’t figure out why someone at the hospital hadn’t launched an official investigation sooner. I meant Javier Petra seemed so sure what had happened to his dad, and the nurse wasn’t balking about her accusations either. So why hadn’t someone put a stop to what Bixley was doing? Surely, he could have been suspended pending an investigation. It just seemed really odd, but I didn’t know enough about hospital operations to figure this out.
Fortunately, I knew someone who did, and double fortunately, I needed to see said someone today to give him the portion of the flyers we needed him and Henri to plaster all over the Eastern Shore. I stopped by to see Marcus, who was recommending The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud to a young woman in the longest scarf I had ever seen. “People really laid into the author because she wrote a protagonist who wasn’t super likeable – if by likeable you mean perky and cheerful – but I loved this book. I felt like it caught something about isolation and friendship and identity that we all know but can’t always put into words.”
I often thought Marcus could be a professional book reviewer, and more than once, I’d suggested he reach out to Michael Dirda, my favorite book critic, to ask about a mentorship. But he kept saying he just wanted to sell books, not write about them. More and more, though, I thought he could really do something with book reviews. So I’d talked with his mom, who was our resident book reviewer in our store newsletter, and she’d convinced Marcus to take on one or two reviews a month starting in January. I couldn’t wait to see what he said, and I knew our readers would gobble up his insightful, wise commentary. We’d sell books from his reviews, I knew, but more, I was just excited to see him use his considerable talent for understanding a book’s larger implications for a wider audience.
The woman, of course, bought the Messud novel, which Tiffany rang up carefully, and then I grabbed Marcus. “You okay holding down the fort? I need to step out for a couple of hours.”
“Of course. I will, however, need more caffeine. That Tiffany—”
”I know,” I said. “You should see her at eight forty-five.”
“I don’t want to,” Marcus said as he headed toward the café, where Rocky was already pulling a double espresso as if she could read her boyfriend’s mind.
I grabbed my bag from the back, leashed up Mayhem, and headed out with my scooter under my leg. I decided to stop by Daniel’s place. He and Taco were napping on the tufted leather sofa at the back of his garage, and when Mayhem jumped up beside them and laid down, I laughed. “Mind if she stays?” I asked when Daniel pried open one eye.
“Nope. I’ll bring her by later. We’ll just be here, resting our eyes,” he said before letting out a long sigh and closing his eye again.
I really wanted to curl up with them, but I knew Bear would probably only be at the hospital for a bit longer. He usually worked mornings and then spent his afternoons at the free clinic up in Easton. Henri had once told me, “He makes a pittance there, but it fills his soul. That’s what counts.” I really wanted to see him in action at the clinic, but I didn’t have the time for the drive today. I picked up the pace and took advantage of my toughening leg muscles to let the scooter carry me down the sidewalk.
I got a couple of cheers from people I whizzed by, and I wondered if this is what skateboarders felt like when they zoomed down the sidewalk. I’d have to remember to ask Marcus, who was pretty good on a board. In no time, I was paddling my way into the ER like I was the coolest girl in town, and by the time I pulled up to the counter and asked for Bear, I felt downright cool, which was not a feeling I often had or even thought about. But now that I had it, it was, well, cool.
The nurse at the desk said, “Take a seat, Speedy” and gave me a wink as I slid back into my all-too-familiar waiting room chair and picked up Southern Living. There was an article on cottage gardens that could inspire me to attempt something I could barely keep up with come spring.
I was able to read that whole article plus one on the best frozen green pepper recipes before Bear had a moment to step away and speak to me. I pulled the flyers out of my satchel and handed them to him, and then I asked if I could take him to lunch. He glanced at his watch and then caught the eye of the nurse at the desk. She gave me a smile and a nod. “I know where to find you,” she said.
“Guess I’m all yours?” he said with a smile. “But I’m afraid I can’t leave the grounds. So cafeteria food, okay?”
“More than okay. That chicken Caesar wrap they constructed for me the other day was phenomenal. This is not the hospital food I’ve heard rumors of.”
> Bear grinned. “We save that food for the actual patients who have no choice. If you can walk away, we want to coax you to spend even more of your money here, so we make good food.” There was just the tiniest hint of bitterness in Bear’s voice, and I made a mental note to explore that at another date.
After I got another wrap – when I find something I like, I consume it until I can’t stand the sight of it – and Bear helped himself to a piece of barbecue chicken pizza and a bottle of water, he got right to business. “So you finally here to figure out the scoop with Bixley?”
I shrugged and tried to look casual, but Bear wasn’t buying it. “Don’t bat those eyelashes at me, Missy. I’m onto you.”
I laughed and shrugged. “I can’t deny it, Bear. Something seems off with all this. If so many people were dying, why wasn’t the hospital doing anything about it?”
He lowered his voice and sat forward a bit. “Same reason we have this nice cafeteria that’s open to the public.”
“Money?” I whispered. The knot in my throat made it hard for me to swallow my chicken. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward even more and said, “Two things. First, the longer people are in the hospital, the more the hospital can charge the insurance.”
“So the hospital makes more money.”
He nodded. “Secondly, word of an angel of mercy gets out . . .”
“And donors go away, investigations are launched, people sue.”
He put his finger to his nose. “That last one especially.” He rolled his pizza up and took a big bite, chewing carefully and swallowing before saying, “This is all bad news, very bad news for everyone, but the hospital rationalizes their lack of inquiry as being about the greater good.”
I frowned. “You mean they say things like, ‘Sacrificing the few for the many.’”
Bear sighed. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other, though. We could have caught Bixley and still cared for most people, even if we had to settle a lawsuit or two with his first victims. Instead, we let him keep killing with the hopes we wouldn’t have to do anything.”
“Who is the ‘we’ here, Bear?”
Bear sat back and looked around. “I know this is going to sound paranoid, Harvey,” he whispered. “But everyone.”
“Everyone?” My voice got suddenly louder than I expected, and Bear winced. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there isn’t a person at this hospital, including me, who hadn’t heard something about what Bixley was doing. All of us could have asked for an inquiry, and if enough of us had, we would have gotten one. But most of us stayed quiet, and so here we are. At least ten patients dead and him, too.”
I slowly ate the rest of my wrap as I thought about what Bear said. The entire hospital knew that Bixley was murdering people, and no one did anything. I was appalled, but then something Bear said snagged in my mind. “You say ‘most’ of you stayed quiet. Did anyone speak up?”
One corner of Bear’s mouth twisted up. “Caught that did you? Good girl. Yes, someone filed an anonymous complaint to the ethics board. They are obligated to investigate, so they did a cursory job. They didn’t uncover anything conclusive about Bixley’s actions, so the case was dropped.”
“How do you know this, Bear?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, but it also felt important.
“I am on the ethics board.” His face was solemn, and his eyes pleading. “So you see . . .”
“And I thought it was personal before. I’m so sorry, Bear.” I studied my friend across the table and thought about how kind he was, how generous, how very moral. I knew this must be tearing him up. “You’ve told all this to Tuck?”
“First thing, Harvey.” He leaned across the table and put his large hand over mine. “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be telling you, Sleuth Girl. Tuck is already looking into it, so you don’t have to. You may be cool as ice on that scooter, but we do not need you getting in the way of a killer.”
I felt a shiver run up my spine. “I hear you, Bear. And I’m not trying to investigate per se. But this thing about multiple murders happening in a hospital, it was bugging me. Made me nervous to tell you the truth. I come here for care, after all.”
Bear’s face grew soft and even more sorrowful. “I know. That’s the really sad part. People will now be afraid to come here because if this can happen once . . .”
This time I put my hand over Bear’s. “Tuck will catch the killer, and then, perhaps there can be justice for all the victims, even Bixley.”
“I hope so, Harvey. I hope so.” Bear stood and bussed our table as I got myself steady again on my scooter. My antics from earlier had made my broken ankle throb, and there were ligaments in my hips that were very unhappy with me. Still, I managed to make my way back to the ER with Bear without wincing too much.
As I was about to scoot out the automatic doors, I hugged my friend and caught a glimpse of my regular chair here in the waiting room. I realized I’d never told Bear about what the nurse had shared about Javier Petra. I gave him the full story, and he nodded most of the way. “Yes, Javier has a real temper. No doubt. And he had good reason to be angry. Still, I don’t know that he could so this.” Bear squinted at me. “My turn to ask – you told Tuck?”
“Right away,” I said. “He’s looking into it.”
“Good.” He bent down and hugged me again. “Now, I’m headed to put a flyer in every break room in this hospital. We need a full house for Mr. Green.”
I smiled and waved as I scooted back to the shop, wincing all the way.
9
When I arrived, Daniel, Mayhem, and Taco were just approaching, too, and they waited for me as I slowly scooted the last few yards. I must have looked pained because Daniel slipped an arm around me and shifted my weight off the scooter and onto him, even as he deftly maneuvered two hound dogs to his other hand. “You okay?” he asked. “You’re very pale.”
“I may have overdone it,” I said with another wince. “Take me to my throne.” I tried to sound regal, but my voice was hoarse with agony. “And bring me my royal pills.”
Daniel rolled his eyes and half-carried me to my wingback chair before going to the break room to find the bottle of ibuprofen I’d told him was in my purse. When he returned, he bowed and said, “My Lady” as he handed me two red pills and then trotted off in search of water and coffee at my behest.
When he returned, I caught him up on what Bear had said. ”So there’s some sort of profit motive involved, huh? Surprise, surprise.” Daniel was, at heart, an optimist, but when it came to all things business, he was a cynic through and through. While he ran his garage ethically and with a generous heart toward his customers, he had come to understand that many people in the world were just out to grab all they could. It was the one shard of bitterness he carried, and I was afraid this time he was right.
“That’s what Bear thinks anyway. He’s pretty sure that there’s a sort of passive cover-up of Bixley’s actions—”
“Hey, you two,” Damien interrupted so suddenly that I jumped a few inches off my seat. “Oh sorry. I thought you saw me coming.”
I looked around quickly and wondered how in the world he had thought that given that he had come up behind me.
Daniel shot me a quizzical stare and then stood to shake hands with our in-house Santa. “How you are doing?”
“Just fine. Great, actually.” He turned to me. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask if you’d thought about having Santa for a couple more nights a week. Seems I’ve made quite the impression.” He held up his phone and scrolled up through his Instagram feed. It was full of him in his Santa hat taking selfies with people on the street. “It’s incredible, right?”
“Incredible is one word for it,” I said. “People are stopping you on the street to have their picture with you because a man died in your lap.” I felt like my voice was full of disgust, but either I was more subtle than I thought or Damien wouldn’t know disgust if it hit him in the face.
�
�Yep. I’m kind of a celebrity. I mean, not like that Pattinson guy or anything, but still.”
For a minute, I got the image of Robert Pattison as a glittery vampire Santa and almost started to laugh, but my discomfort with Damien’s ability to revel in this reason to be the center of attention overrode the giggles. “So you want me to pay you to work extra nights because you want to satisfy your adoring fans?” Again, there was a definite sneer to my words, but also again, Damien seemed oblivious.
“Yep, could we? I mean I think you’d probably make a lot more money than you pay me, especially if I plug your books. Maybe you could set up a display of true crime books around me or something?”
I was halfway out of my chair and ready to drop my cast on Damien’s toe when Daniel stepped in. “I’m not sure that books about serial killers and notorious murderers are exactly the right thing for the Christmas mood Harvey is going for here, Damien.”
For a split second, Damien frowned, and I was hopeful that maybe mild fame hadn’t obliterated all of his good judgment. But nope, clearly, he was stupefied by his own glamorousness because he said, “Well, maybe I could just recommend them to people. You know, help you boost your sales?”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me think about it, okay?” I am a total pushover most of the time, far too quick to make people happy, so I’d learn to say, “Let me think about it” when I even had a slight hesitation about something and really wanted to be sure that I did, in fact, want to do what I was already leaning toward doing anyway. “I’ll text you later.”
“Cool,” Damien said and then walked to the door, where he stopped and peered out as if he was going to have to make a break for it past the paparazzi.
“Unbelievable,” I said.
Daniel grinned. “It’s like we have our own reality show, The Eastern Shore, but instead of ‘The Situation’ we have ‘Murder Santa.’” He winked at me.
