Page 92 of Murder By the Millions
“You are,” Reika said meekly. “You’re more than enough. You’re wonderful.”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“An hour later, I sought comfort in a bottle of vodka,” Reika said to me.
Roy made a dismissive sound. “Starting around eleven, she drunk texted me every three or four minutes for nearly an hour. I finally phoned to make her stop. She answered and was slurring her words.”
After a long silence, Reika said, “Thank you, Roy. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Sure.”
“I am,” she stressed. “And I’m already back at AA and working on the issue.”
“Glad to hear it. I wish you well.” He ended the call.
Reika pressed her cell phone to her chest, clearly heartbroken. “Do you believe me, Allie? Do you believe him?”
“Yes.” I squeezed her arm and offered a supportive smile. “Give him time. He’ll come around. At the end of the call, I heard longing in his voice.”
She sucked back a sob. “Let me cut you a check for the goodies you brought.” She hurried from the kitchen and came back in a matter of minutes.
I left the museum, still pondering who had killed Jason. If both Iggie and Reika were absolved, only Patrick was left with a strong enough motive.
For the next two hours, I visited the places where I purchased all the ingredients I’d be needing over the next few days. Eggs from Garden Greene Farm. Butter from Butting Heads Farm. Fruits and veggies from the farmers’ market, which convened on Thursday mornings.
By the time I breezed into Feast for the Eyes, I was ready for a snack. I set the pineapple upside-down cake on the desk behind the sales counter, ate one of the deviled eggs before placing a platter of them beside the cake, and then waved to Chloe, who was assisting a pair of women I didn’t recognize.
“Where’s Tegan?” I asked.
“In here,” she cried from the stockroom.
I followed her voice and found her bent over a huge box, unpacking even more copies ofThe Great Gatsby.
“Mom texted and said ten more people responded.” Tegan paused to catch her breath. “This event is going to be huge! I hope Lillian has enough costumes on hand.”
“I’m sure she’ll figure out how to accommodate everyone. She knows theater people all over North Carolina.”
If I was honest, the stockroom was one of my favorite places in the shop. The delicious aroma of hardcover and paperback books held the promise of adventure for all our customers. New books, as well as remainders—books that would be returned to publishers because they didn’t sell—filled the additional freestanding metal shelving we’d added a couple of weeks ago. A beverage station, a refrigerator, and a microwave abutted another wall. The employee washroom stood to the left. The exit door to the alley was straight ahead. The door to the office was on the right.
“Hey, I was thinking …”About murder and mayhem,I mused but didn’t utter the words out loud. “I was thinking about doing the blind-date-with-a-book promotion right away. Like today. We need to drive sales. I’ll arrange some wrapped books in the display window as a lure. What do you think?”
“Superb idea. We have plenty of packing paper in the closet in the conference room.” She jutted an elbow. “I’ll join you in a few seconds to help.”
“By the way, I did a bit of cooking for theGatsbytaste testing. Pineapple upside-down cake and deviled eggs are on the desk out front.”
“Yum.”
“Also, we can rule out Reika Moore as a suspect in the murder. I corroborated her alibi.” I didn’t elaborate. Reika didn’t need me revealing her weakness now that she was on the mend. If I had to corroborate her conversation with Roy for Zach, I would do so privately.
I headed to the modest conference room, an important place because it was where we brought buyers who were interested in viewing rare books and first editions. I fetched the packing paper, tape, and two sets of scissors from the cupboard and went to the front of the bookshop. More customers had entered and were browsing the aisles and endcaps.
Making a tour of the shop, I pulled ten mysteries from the shelves and carried them to the sales counter, after which I fetched a number of romance, thriller, historical, young adult, and women’s fiction novels. I began wrapping each, adding cryptic Sharpie notes to the paper.
For the women’s fiction novel,Beautiful Disaster,I wrote:Blind date with a masterpiece you probably haven’t read yet. Good girl drawn to bad boy.For Agatha Christie’sThe Murder of Roger Ackroyd,I wrote,Blind date with one of the most important crime and mystery works of all time.ForThe Eyre Affair,I wrote:Blind date with time travel, cloning, and an outlandishly resourceful literary detective.Bibliophiles would love that story. ForThe Princess Bride,which was popular with YA readers, I wrote:Beautiful girl, handsome prince. What could go wrong?
“Whatcha doing?” Chloe asked after ringing up her contented customers. She looked flirty in a red dress with puffsleeves and a flare skirt, which complemented her flawless, fawn-colored skin.
“Feeling clever.” I showed her the most recent book I’d wrapped. “You look lovely. Wasn’t your callback last night?”
