Publishable By Death by Andi Cumbo-Floyd (reading like a writer TXT) 📖

The rest of the afternoon went by uneventfully. A steady stream of customers, including a mom of a young boy who wanted books that taught him to be compassionate. I could have spent all afternoon recommending titles to her, but when she settled on The Quiltmaker’s Gift, one of my favorites, I was delighted. The illustrations alone made that book worth owning. But the story was sweet and generous, too. I thought her son would love it.

At exactly seven, Rocky and I turned off the lights and headed out the door. In the past few days, I’d developed the habit of double-checking the alarmed bar I’d had installed on the back door after Stevensmith’s murder, and tonight, I triple-checked it. I didn’t want anything – especially a break-in – to interrupt our dinner tonight. I tried to tell myself that it was because my friends were in town, but mostly, it was a certain dark-haired man and his Basset Hound I could see waiting on the sidewalk.

Daniel and I strolled in silence for a couple of blocks, and I noted how comfortable I felt. Again. This felt too easy, but maybe that was the way of things that were actually mutual. I hadn’t had much luck with that in my marriage, so I wouldn’t know.

As we turned off Main Street, Daniel said, “So, Walter and Stephen, I like them.”

I grinned. “I like them, too. They’re good people, and they’ve been amazing friends to me.” While we walked the last few blocks to my house, I told him about the time Walter had come to pick me up when my tire had blown in an Oakland parking lot at about two a.m. My ex-husband hadn’t answered his phone, and I was at a loss. The other people who had attended the concert with me were leaving steadily, and I was getting more and more nervous waiting in the lot for a taxi. But then, Walter, after getting a text from Stephen who was in Seattle but who I’d texted just for company while I waited for my cab, rolled up and got me. He drove me home, making jokes all the way. I felt embarrassed, but I also felt so grateful. “They really are amazing.”

“I can tell,” Daniel said as we walked up to my house. All the lights were on, and I could see Mart dancing by the kitchen island. It was going to be a good night.

Sure enough, when we opened the door, a puff of warm, garlic-scented air engulfed us, and the sounds of Little Big Town spilled out. Neither Mart nor I were country music fans, but there was just something about that group’s harmonies that made us happy. Apparently, Walter and Stephen felt the same way because when I turned the corner from the foyer into the kitchen, they were both singing into wooden spoons . . . and they weren’t bad either.

“Nice harmony, guys,” I said as I draped the scarf Mart had crocheted me during her “yarn phase” of 2016. That year, she had made everyone we knew scarves and had gotten strangely invested in Maggie Sefton’s knitting mysteries. She even made me take a road trip to Fort Collins so we could visit the town that the books were set in. When she saw the yarn shop that inspired the theme for the books, she had teared up. It was a tender year for both of us. I was happy that 2017 was the year of baked goods and thrillers. It made for a little less wool and a few more scary movies accompanied by macaroons.

“Daniel, glad you’re here,” Walter said as he headed toward my fridge. “Beer or wine?”

“Beer, please.”

“You got it. Light or dark?”

“Light.” Walter popped the cap off a Corona and handed it to Daniel.

I made my way to the fridge and opened it up. When I’d left that morning, we’d had half a loaf of bread, some really good gouda, leftover boxed mac and cheese, and eighteen jars of pickles. Now, the fridge was jammed with fresh herbs in glasses of water, a whole shelf of fresh produce, and more wine and beer than I could count. The guys had been shopping.

I poured a glass of Chateau St. Jean Chardonnay and turned to Stephen. “You remembered.”

“How could I forget? You gush about that place all the time. Plus, it has that quirky name that seems French but is really just super-American. Chateau St. Jean,” he looked at Daniel, “like denim or genetics, not the French man’s name. Weird, right?”

“Definitely weird.” Daniel winked at me as he took a sip of his beer, and I felt my knees give a little.

Mart gave me the signal – meaning, she grabbed my hand and dragged me into my bedroom – and said, “Daniel is here!”

I tried to play it cool. “Yes, I know. I brought him.” But then, I broke down and giggled. “I know.”

“Okay, okay. We’re so cool.” She let out a long breath. “And he winked at you.” She giggled this time. “Okay, cool, cool.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me back. We were anything but subtle in our silliness, but none of the guys seemed to mind.

Mayhem and Taco had passed out on the rug by the fireplace, and Aslan was tentatively getting comfy on the chair near the heat but not too near the dogs. It was clear that she resented the dogs taking her space, but her sense of self-preservation kept her near her escape route, the bookshelf.

Soon, Walter and Stephen served us the most glorious-smelling seafood and a burger so big that I needed two hands to hold it, and we all tucked in. The food was amazing, and I kept looking around the table with sheer delight. These were my people, and they were here for me. Even Daniel . . . or at least I hoped Daniel was going to be one of my people. I tried not to think my person.

As we all finished up our meals and I considered undoing the button on my jeans, Mart smacked a hand on the table and said, “I totally forgot to tell you,” she looked at me, “but I stopped at the farmer’s market today to see Eleanor about some centerpieces for our big gala in a couple of weeks. And as I walked in, the sheriff was leaving. Eleanor looked like death warmed over. Her hands were shaking.”

“Oh my goodness. Did she say what happened?” I leaned forward, my hands gripping the table edge. My mind had immediately gone to that little corner of paper and the origami flowers Eleanor had in the window.

“She didn’t give me all the details – I think she was embarrassed