“Excuse me,” Risé said to Skye. “I’ll be right back.”
While she waited, Skye wandered over to a table stacked with copies of If I Have a Wicked Stepmother, Where’s My Prince?, a young adult novel she had read at the request of one of the girls she saw for counseling.
She was paging through one of the trade paperbacks, remembering how much she had enjoyed the story, when Risé returned and said, “Those are ten percent off.”
“Thanks, but I already read it.” Skye returned the book to the display.
“Well, then”—Risé motioned to Skye to follow her—“let me show you the treats part of our store.”
When they entered the café, Skye noticed a table covered in cream moiré with a display of decadent chocolates in fancy gold boxes and coffee beans whose foil bags bore exotic names like RAINFOREST WINTER DARK, SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE, and MAUNA LOA SILK.
She commented to Risé, “I see you sell quite a few items other than books.”
“That’s true. In today’s economy a store has to be diversified in order to turn a profit. That’s why we decided to have the coffee and sweets and the gift items. We even have some used books.” She hurriedly added, “But we only accept ones in pristine condition, and in the three most popular genres.”
“Sounds like you’ve really thought this out.”
“Running a bookstore has been our dream for a long time.” Risé’s eyes shone. “Now, how about some refreshments?” She swept her arm toward the selection of pastries in steel-and-glass cases. “What can I get you?”
“These all look wonderful.” Skye scrutinized the array of goodies, spotting a tray of pale tan squares. “Are those shortbread?”
“Yes.”
“Yum.” Skye’s mouth watered. “I’ll take some of those, please.”
“Here you go.” Risé handed Skye a plateful. “They’re my husband’s specialty.”
“Did he make all of these?” Skye gestured to row after row of desserts.
“Yes. He was a cook in the army and loves baking.”
“Was he career military?” Skye took a bite of cookie, closing her eyes to savor the melt-in-your-mouth buttery goodness.
“No.” Risé’s expression was hard to read. “Once he left the army he became a book scout.” Risé must have seen the question in Skye’s eyes because she explained, “Someone who goes to yard sales, thrift stores, estate auctions, etcetera, looking for rare and valuable books and special collections.”
“Ah.” Skye wiped her mouth with a napkin. “And I bet that humongous bookcase near the entrance is full of his best finds, right?”
“Yes, those are his babies.” Risé wrinkled her brow, then said almost under her breath, “I just wish he’d waited to display them until the cabinet was more secure.”
“I’m sure no one will steal them.” Skye figured most Scumble River citizens wouldn’t have any idea the books were valuable.
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Risé shook her head, then seemed to put on her professional persona. “Now, what would you like to drink? We have our usual menu, plus wine and beer.”
“I don’t mind helping myself.” Skye nodded toward the jam-packed room. “I can see how hectic things are, so don’t worry about me.”
“Thanks.” Risé hurried away.
At the coffee bar, a short, wiry man in his late fifties was busy steaming milk and grinding beans. His pale yellow polo shirt had ORLANDO’S TREATS embroidered on the pocket. Skye got in line and waited her turn, then introduced herself and asked for a mocha latte.
“Nice to meet you.” He wiped his hand on his apron, then held it out. “I’m Orlando Erwin. My wife mentioned she met you yesterday.”
They shook hands, and Skye said, “I hope she doesn’t judge me by my relations.” She felt warmth creep up her neck. “My cousin Hugo and I rarely agree on anything.”
“Sounds like my own family.” Orlando’s laugh was contagious, and Skye found herself giggling for no reason.
“Where are you from?” Skye asked as he turned toward the machines to prepare her drink.
“Long Island,” he said over his shoulder.
Ah, that was the accent she’d been trying to place. “How did you end up here?”
“Via the Ho Chi Minh trail.” His tone was casual, but Skye noticed his shoulders tighten. “An army buddy of mine lives here. So when Risé decided to exit the rat race and wanted to open a bookstore in a small town, I remembered his stories about Scumble River and suggested we look here.”
“So you’re running the café.” Skye noticed he said Risé had decided, not they had decided. “And Risé is in charge of the bookstore?”
“Risé’s in charge of everything.” He winked. “But since she doesn’t bake . . .”
“I see.” Skye grinned. “But you’re the expert on old books, right?”
“I guess so.” He raised a brow. “You got some you want me to look at?”
“If you have time. I inherited an old house several years ago, and I’ve been sifting through the contents ever since.”
Skye had helped an old woman when an unscrupulous antiques dealer tried to take advantage of her, and since the woman had no relatives and had decided Skye was her reincarnated daughter, she’d left her estate to Skye. The only condition was that she fix up the house and live there. “I have several boxes.” Skye’s tone was apologetic.
“No problem.” Orlando smiled. “Bring ’em by tomorrow around nine forty-five. Since I’m here early to do the baking, I can take a look before the store opens and we’re interrupted.”
“Thanks.” Skye appreciated the chance to get rid of some clutter. And if the books were valuable, all the better. She could always use some extra cash. “So what do you think of Scumble River so far?”
“It’s not exactly what I pictured from Ryan’s description.” Orlando handed her a steaming cup. “But I’m sure we’ll get used to it.” As he took the next person’s order, he added, “At least here you don’t have to worry about getting killed for the few bucks in your pocket.”
“True,” Skye agreed before moving away from the counter. Obviously Orlando hadn’t heard about Scumble River’s recent spate of murders, and she wasn’t about to enlighten him.
Juggling the mocha latte, the cookies, and a spoon, Skye scanned the café for a place to sit. At first glance, all the chairs seemed to be occupied with groups enjoying the chance to socialize on a Saturday afternoon. She had seen the sign near the exit reading NO FOOD OR DRINK BEYOND THIS POINT or she would have gone into one of the other rooms.
Ready to give up and eat leaning against a wall, she saw an arm waving and heard Trixie shout, “Over here.”
Not surprisingly, the table was covered with plates of pastries. Trixie had been a size four since Skye had met her their freshman year in high school. Trixie didn’t exercise, ate her weight in snack food, and never gained an ounce. If they weren’t best friends, Skye would hate her.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Skye demanded as she nudged aside dishes of strudel and minicheesecake in order to put down her cup.
“No.” Trixie waved a book with a red high heel on the yellow cover. “I picked up this first.”
“Is it any good?”
“So far.” Trixie took a huge bite of lemon pound cake, then spoke around the crumbs, “Isn’t this the cutest shop?”
Skye had just opened her mouth to agree when she heard a commotion in the next room.
“What’s that?” Trixie craned her neck.
Skye twisted around but couldn’t see anything. “Maybe they’re raffling off a prize.”
“Maybe.” Trixie munched thoughtfully. “But I thought I heard a scream.”
“The winner?” Skye guessed, when another, even louder sound reverberated. The chatter of the other diners halted as if someone had pushed the STOP button on a DVD player, and Skye turned in her seat. “Should we go see if everything’s okay?”