“So that’s where she was.” Patty muttered the words under her breath, but I was close enough to make them out.
“What are you doing?”
Neither of us had heard Jordan approach. Patty stared at her boss like a fox caught in the proverbial henhouse, while I mustered as innocent-looking a smile as I could.
“Just looking at this box of books,” I said. “I was thinking about buying one. I haven’t read it yet.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she looked from Patty to me. “These aren’t for sale.”
“Then what are you going to do with them?” I thought that was a reasonable question. She could surely sell them for a lot more than list price—books signed by a famous mystery writer the day he was murdered. Talk about collectible.
“I meant they’re all spoken for,” Jordan said in a more conciliatory tone. “They’re all special orders.” She turned and reached for the box.
“You know, I saw Godfrey yesterday morning,” I said. “I know he had plans for lunch. Was that when he signed them?”
Jordan stepped back from the box and glared at me.
Patty watched avidly, her eyes going back and forth between her boss and me.
“No, it wasn’t,” Jordan said, her face flushing. “If you must know, he signed them yesterday afternoon. I went by his hotel room.”
“Gosh, then maybe you were the last person to see him alive.” Patty could hardly contain her glee. “I bet the police will want to talk to you.”
Jordan, in the act of reaching for the box again, stumbled against the counter. When she turned, her face was dead white. For a moment I thought she was going to faint, but she rallied. She pulled a high-seated stool over and sat down on it. “What happened?”
“You haven’t heard?” I was surprised. She was probably the one person in Athena who hadn’t. “Godfrey was found dead in his hotel room last night. The sheriff’s department is treating it as a suspicious death.”
“Oh dear Lord.” Jordan muttered the words over and over.
“Can I get you some coffee or something?” Patty, suddenly contrite, appeared anxious.
Jordan waved her away. “No, just go do your job for once.”
Patty’s sulky expression didn’t bode well for her dedication to the task, but she went away quietly.
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned by how shaken Jordan still seemed to be.
Diesel, sensing her distress, stood up on his hind legs and stretched his right paw out, touching her thigh. Jordan gave him a shaky smile and a rub on the head.
“If she ever does penance for anything, it’ll be for that double-jointed tongue of hers.” Jordan paused and breathed deeply. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. It’s a shock, hearing news like that. So completely unexpected.” She continued rubbing Diesel’s head.
“You really had no idea?” Was she a consummate actress, only pretending to be stunned?
Jordan shook her head. “No, why should I? I never make it to the ten o’clock news. I’m always too tired. And nobody called me, either.” She snorted. “Though I’m surprised Patty didn’t.”
“Was Godfrey a particular friend of yours?” I wasn’t sure how she would react. This might be my last visit to her bookstore if I wasn’t careful, and I certainly wouldn’t like that. “Sorry, but you seem pretty shaken up.”
“More than a bookstore owner should be for a writer who hadn’t deigned to enter her premises in five years?” Jordan laughed, a bitter sound. Diesel sat back on his haunches and stared up at her.
“I suppose so, yes. If you put it that way.” Perhaps I should have excused myself and gotten the heck out of there, but curiosity kept me.
“I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not sorry the bastard’s dead.” Jordan stood up, and Diesel scooted back beside me. “He embarrassed the hell out of me by not showing up here—twice—for advertized events. Not to mention the money I lost on returning hundreds of copies of his books—books I could easily have sold. But he didn’t have to balls to show his face in here.”
“That’s too bad. No wonder you were pissed at him.” I didn’t know what else to say. The passion in her voice startled me. Right now, she sounded angry enough to have killed him.
But anger this intense because of business?
Or was there something more personal behind it, as Patty claimed?
I couldn’t ask her that outright, or I really would be banned from the bookstore. At the moment I couldn’t think of a subtle way of getting at the information either.
“Now, is there something I can help you with?” Jordan became very businesslike.
“I would still like a copy of Godfrey’s latest book.” I nodded at the box of signed copies. “If those aren’t available, an unsigned copy will do.”
Jordan stared at the box for a moment before reaching into it and pulling out a book. “It’s okay. You can buy one.”
“Thank you.” I went around to the front of the counter, Diesel at my heels. As Jordan rang up my purchase and bagged it, I pulled out my debit card.
The transaction finished, Jordan returned my card and handed me the bag. “Thank you very much.” She didn’t smile the way she usually did, but she also didn’t look like she never wanted to see me in her store again. That was a relief.
“Come on, Diesel. Got to finish our errands.” I flashed Jordan a smile as the cat and I headed for the door, but the bookstore owner had already turned away.
Outside the store, I paused. Diesel sat down and looked up at me. I gazed back at him, lost in thought.
Why had Jordan changed her mind and let me buy one of the signed copies?
Should I take it as some sort of bribe? Because the book would probably soon be worth a lot more than the $26.95 plus tax I paid for it.
Or was it Jordan’s way of telling me she had nothing to do with Godfrey’s death?
Short of asking her point-blank, I didn’t see any way to answer those questions for now.
Diesel warbled at me, bringing me out of my wool-gathering. “Time to move on. I know.”
I put the book in the car, and Diesel and I walked down the block to the bakery.
Helen Louise Brady, another of my Athena High School classmates, had opened a patisserie and café a few years before I moved back. It quickly thrived, patronized by many of the college faculty and students, and plenty of townspeople as well. Helen Louise’s pastries and cakes were sinfully delicious, and I never could resist popping in for something to take home.
Another point in the bakery’s favor was that Helen Louise didn’t mind having Diesel come in with me. The first few times I took him in some of her regulars raised their eyebrows, but Helen Louise had been known to ban customers who annoyed her. If she said it was okay for Diesel to be there, no one was going to argue with her.
Rake-thin and nearly six feet tall, her hair jet black, Helen Louise beamed with joy when she spotted Diesel. “Ah, mon chat très beau.” Helen Louise often lapsed into French. She had lived in Paris for nearly ten years before coming back to Athena and to open the patisserie. “Let me find something for you.”
I sometimes marveled that Diesel didn’t weigh fifty pounds, so many people wanted to feed him. I kept an eye, though, on his little treats, and at home we had play sessions designed to help him burn off the extra calories.
Helen Louise came around the counter with some creamy frosting on her fingers and bent to let Diesel lick it off. He purred, and Helen Louise smiled again.
“Thank you.” I smiled back. “I know Diesel thanks you, too. He’s going to have to run an extra lap or two on the stairs at home, but I’m sure it’s worth it.”
“I should hope so.” Helen Louise laughed. She went behind the counter to a sink and washed her hands. As she dried them, she asked, “And what can I get for you today, Charlie?”
She made a wicked chocolate gateau, and I pointed to one in the glass case. “That will do quite nicely. And I’ll have to run up and down the stairs a few times myself.” I grinned.