Page 16 of Road Queens
And she’d comply. Because she’d know they were right.
She grinned every time she saw the place. The bright-blue exterior, the dark wood interior. The location—between one of the town’s six liquor stores and a tattoo parlor—made it look like a giant had swept up the building from a country lane in 1862 and plunked it down as soon as they saw an empty spot, and who cared if the fit was perfect?
Amanda parked her bike in the alley and stared at the wall, unseeing.
Remember when you had “No parking except for the Bobber, the Hardtail, and the Tuck” back here, and people actually obeyed the signage?
No, I don’t, that was years ago, ancient history. You know you don’t get overtime, right, irritating inner voice?
She looped around and got through the door first.Ha, losers, too slow! I win again!Though it was possible the others had no idea they were in a race.
Dave Conner looked up as the bronze frog croaked her entrance. She could’ve come in through the back, but there was no frog in the back.Is a door even a door unless a frog ribbits when it opens?
“Hey, Amanda.” Dave flipped the magazine closed, and they both pretended he hadn’t been skimmingCatster. “How’d it go with your friend?”
“Ask her, she’s eight feet behind me. Also the cops.Acop ... Did Edward Gorey call?”
Dave squinted at her through his reading glasses. He maintained he was too young for them (she pegged his age at early thirties), so by unspoken agreement, she never mentioned them. “Gorey’s been dead for decades, so ... no.”
“Dammit.”
Sidney stiff-armed the door open and marched in and, as she often did, pretended they were in the middle of a conversation. “We weren’t racing, you lunatic.”
“Loser talk.” Amanda sucked in a greedy breath through her nose: books, coffee, and that smoky-woody smell of old buildings. She loved her Kindle—who wouldn’t love six hundred books on a tablet that could fit inside a purse?—but some things they were no good for. The Hobbit Hole had been her singular goal since she was old enough to lust after books, and she needed the store if for no other reason than to feed her bibliosmia. “That’s all I’m hearing.”
The detective was on Sidney’s heels; Cass was on his.Oof, he’s even cuter here than he was in the park. Is it the lighting? Or does his proximity to my lair make him somehow hotter? Do I just need to get laid? It’s been a few months.
Well. Sixteen. No. Twenty-six. Wait, thirty? There was snow on the ground but was that last winter or the winter before last winter?
To distract herself from Cop Cutie and her sadass sex life, Amanda pointed at Cass. “Buckle up, Dave, she comes bearing the calamities of the Greeks.”
From Cass: “I’m sorry?”
“What? Don’t pretend you didn’t know what the pope said about his niece.” In the short silence, she added, “Catherine de’ Medici? Madame Serpent? No? Read more. And not justCosmoandRoadRUNNER.”
“Or you could give us a little more context instead of blarping out something about a pope and his niece,” Dave replied, because he was a fiend. “Which pope? Which niece?”
“Read. More. All of you.”
“To what end, you ridiculous bim?” Sidney was pouring herself a cup of coffee from the old-fashioned pot (Amanda’s Hole was a Keurig-free zone) keeping warm in the corner behind the register. “You’re the best-read person I ever met, and you’re so ...”
“Carefree? Stuffed to the brim with joie de vivre? Freethinking? Wise ever so beyond my years? Don’t hesitate, Sid; give me all the compliments.”
Sidney heavily creamed and sugared the brew so that it was closer to a dessert than a breakfast beverage. “... immature.”
Amanda laughed. “You’re just saying that because I order anything with the word ‘muff’ in it.”
“You might even be the smartest person I know,” Sidney went on in a tone that was hilariously void of praise. When Sid listed people’s virtues, she tended to sound irritated. “But yeah. The ‘muff’ thing is weird. I didn’t even know what a muffuletta was until you ordered one.” To Cass: “It’s just a sandwich! And d’you know there are mints called Muff Divers? Guess how many packs Amanda has?”
Beane chuckled. “So you’re a foodie?”
Sid jumped in before she could answer. “No. Foodies are irritating as shit, but they at least have taste. A discerning, um, whatever the fuck you call it ... palate. Amanda will eatanything.”
Amanda let out an affronted gasp. “That’s a lie!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A PARTIAL LIST OF THINGS AMANDA MILLER HAS PUT IN HER MOUTH
