Page 62 of Murder By the Millions
“Let’s load me up.” She’d dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. Nothing frou-frou. She’d even thrown on tennis shoes. She caught me eyeing her shoes and grinned. “Yes, you’re having an effect on my style. Comfort is in.”
As we carried boxes to her Nissan NV Cargo van, which was gleaming white in the morning sun, she said, “By the way, don’t expect me to do all the deliveries every day.”
“I would never—”
“A girl like me needs her beauty sleep.”
“Of course.”
“You, on the other hand …” She hesitated, as if doing her best to tamp down a snarky comment. “You, on the other hand, look good at any time of the day. You rock the no-makeup look.”
It wasn’t entirely a compliment, but it was better than “You look like garbage,” which, in truth, I knew I did. I might have been able to slip on clothes before her arrival, but I hadn’t had time to run a comb through my hair.
“Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to do all the deliveries. In fact, I like making the rounds and seeing the customers. But I appreciate you doing them today. We have a lot to arrange for the upcomingGatsbyparty. Stop into the shop later, and we’ll bring you up to speed on what we’ve got planned. Oh, and get excited! We’re going to have a blind-date-with-a-book event soon.”
“A what?”
I explained how it worked. “Will you come?”
“Sure, why not?”
“You might get hooked on a new genre.”
“Don’t count on it. I’m pretty particular.”
Close-minded,I mused but kept mute.
After she drove off, I polished off my coffee, downed a protein drink, and fed Darcy. Then I showered and changed into black jeans, a short-sleeved silk blouse, and ballet slippers—I liked to dress up a tad for the bookstore crowd—and headed to Feast for the Eyes with Darcy.
Tegan and Chloe had arrived ahead of me.
“Morning,” I chimed, breezing through the shop and situating the cat in the office. When I returned, I told them about the blind-date-with-a-book plan.
Tegan applauded. “Love it! Auntie used to do those all the time.”
“It’s precisely why I came up with the idea. I’m going to make sure Vanna gets a Poirot mystery.”
Tegan chuckled. “She won’t read it.”
“She will if I make her promise. She’s a woman in transition.”
“Dream on.”
Noeline entered the shop, a bag from Ragamuffin in one hand. In linen slacks and a floral camp shirt, she appeared blissful. Summery clothing suited her. “Tegan, I want to talk.”
“Can’t, Mom. How about lunch?”
“Please, darling.”
“Sorry. We’re busy.”
Frowning, Noeline pivoted to leave, but the door opened, and Iggie plowed in, forcing Noeline to dodge into an aisle so she wouldn’t be run over.
“I’m here to buy the new Patterson book.” The flaps of Iggie’s suit jacket flew open as he strode to the sales counter.
Tegan whispered to me, “He reads three bestsellers a year. Nothing else.”
“Aha.He’s one of those,” I remarked. Lots of people did what Iggie did. They weren’t real readers. They were the ones who liked to chat about bestsellers at work, around the water-cooler, so they could appear well read and hip.
