“When you aren’t here, I have to bartend, so don’t blame me.”
Bess snorted at the idea of “bartending.” The Hole didn’t serve liquor, only beer, and they had a whopping three taps to complement the four or five canned and bottled options they offered. It was more difficult to make drinks at Starbucks.
“Is Carol still here?” Bess asked.
“In her office, as usual.” Lucy hitched her thumb toward the back of the store.
To get to Carol’s office you had to go all the way to the back of the shop and up a short flight of stairs to reach what the staff referred to as “the Rabbit’s Loft.” The loft looked out over the store by way of a long picture window. Carol’s desk faced the window—a vigilant overseer and micromanager.
“I hope you aren’t giving Lucy any shit,” Carol said as Bess walked in.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You better get used to her. She isn’t going anywhere. In fact, if I retire, she’ll probably be your assistant manager.”
“If you leave me this store I’ll fire that peppy little Becky in a heartbeat.”
“No can do, her job security would be a condition of your management, same as Wayne’s. I’ve hand-picked these people and they’ll stay as long as they like.”
“I don’t know why we’re talking about it. You’ll die in this store and we all know it.”
“It’s true. I’m trying to plan it out so as to get the most possible drama. I can’t decide if I should leave a trail of clues to my corpse or try to expire in a crawlspace and haunt the new releases.” A smile creased the stoic façade of Carol’s face.
“Sounds like you have a full night of planning. You should get going.”
“Lucy’s here until close. Wayne will be here in about an hour to cover the floor.”
“Once Wayne gets here I’ll send Lucy home,” Bess said, trying to suppress her own smile.
“No way. This might surprise you, but most people go to bars at night. You’ll need her. At least I hope you do.”
“Okay, you win, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bess wandered down to the sales floor, which was just as dead as the bar. But then, Thursday afternoons weren’t notoriously busy at any store. Bess took the free time to wander over to the religious section and skim the titles for something involving saints. Carol purposely shunned most Christian books, saying that Antioch had plenty of them already and would benefit more from something outside what could be found in every church pew in town. Bess saw that The Handmaid’s Tale was the newest employee pick in the section and smiled.
Finally, her eyes settled on a book titled Saints, Sexism, and Sinners: Eve Was Framed. After searching the table of contents, Bess skipped to chapter seven: “Imaginary Saints and the Warnings They Gave Us”. Margaret of Antioch only received one short paragraph.
As with most stories, this one begins with a dude wanting to fuck. In this case the dude is Olybrius and the hole he wanted to fill belonged to Margaret of Antioch. Margaret spurned his advances and was righteously punished. That punishment came in the form of beheading.
Beheading was a popular theme in Antioch these days. Bess couldn’t speak to the filling of holes. The story didn’t quite align with anything Bess knew of Amelia Earhart, but she still felt like it had something to do with the message she’d heard the night before.
“You find Jesus?” a voice cut into her thoughts. Bess looked up and saw Wayne, his eyes on the book in her hands.
“Hardly,” Bess laughed, putting the book back on the shelf. “You know me, never found a book I didn’t like.”
“Well, I’m on the clock if you’ve got something better to be doing. Or if you want to keep on reading about Jesus.”
“I wasn’t reading about Jesus,” Bess said. Wayne was a nice man, but he had the tendency to take a joke too far. He’d probably still be talking about Jesus next month, like he was trying to force an inside joke out of casual happenings. He was older than Bess, with short hair that had become mostly grey over the three years Bess had known him, and his dark brown skin had deep creases around the eyes from years of laughing at cheesy jokes and fake smiling at customers.
“You can play cool if you want, but I know what I saw.” Wayne dropped a wink at her. “That does remind me, though. You know my church has a young adult Bible study I think you’d really like.”
“Wayne, I love you, but I haven’t been to church since I was twelve.”
“Sure, sure. But I think you might like it. Other young people. It’s a nice social time.”
“I appreciate the offer.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to tell me twice. I won’t pester you about it.” But he remained next to her.
“What’s up, Wayne? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“I heard through the grapevine that you had a date last night, young lady.”
“And I assume the grapevine is named Carol?” Bess asked, rolling her eyes.
“Lucy and Carol, actually.” He leaned in like Brutus to the senators.
“You’re all a bunch of gossiping church ladies.”
“So, who is this mystery man? Carol said he’s white.”
“His name is Greg. And what the fuck?”
“Now Bess, didn’t your father ever tell you not to date a white boy?” Wayne asked, looking stern and playful all at once.
“As a matter of fact, he did. And if I didn’t listen to him, what makes you think I’m going to listen to a nosey old bookseller?”
Wayne laughed and clapped her on the back. “I guess you won’t listen. Now, don’t get all bent out of shape. I was just trying to pull your leg a little.”
“Well, my leg’s tired. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve had enough talk about my love life at work to last me for the rest of the year.” Bess was smiling even though she didn’t feel much like it. She didn’t like her personal business on display at her job. It wasn’t professional. The last thing she needed was for Wayne to call her dad and start discussing the men she was seeing. Bess and her father didn’t speak much. If she thought too much about it, it made her sad. They’d been close once. Bess’s mother died of pancreatic cancer when she was in college and things had never really been the same. He resented Bess for being away and Bess hated him for trying to hold her back. Their relationship devolved into strained birthday phone calls and Christmas morning breakfasts.
Bess wandered back up to the office and sat behind the small, cluttered, wooden secretary desk she claimed as her own. From one of the shelves she pulled a pocket notebook and opened it to a clean page. After thinking a moment, she wrote a small list: Margaret of Antioch, Beheaded, Feast Day, July 20.
Thus far most of her clues were inferences and giant assumptions. Taking the notebook with her, Bess headed back out to the floor. There was plenty for her to be doing in the office, but she couldn’t focus.
A blond man sat at the bar now, facing away from Bess. Where in the fuck was Lucy? She picked up her pace. Something about the man was familiar.
“Sorry about your wait, what can I get you?” Bess asked the man.
“Bess!” he said. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Greg?” she asked, but it was more shock than question. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course.”
“How did you know I worked here?”
“You told me. Last night.” His smiled faded for a second before reemerging, confident, as if it had never faltered.
“I don’t think I did.”
“I thought I’d stop in, surprise you,” Greg said, his attention fully on Bess. “I had a really nice time last night.”