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

I spent the next couple of hours ordering books and checking the alphabetization on the shelves, so by the time Mart and Rocky arrived a little before ten, I felt totally calm. One of the reasons I had wanted to open this store was that it was tangible in ways that my previous job as a fundraiser for nonprofits hadn’t been. For one, I could see what I was selling. I loved e-books, too, but there was nothing like a physical book to soothe my soul. I was looking into selling e-books through our shop website, too, but I knew I wanted to focus most of my time – and money – on the print copies that filled these shelves.

Plus shelving – it was like meditation to me. Give me a big library cart full of picture books and leave me to it . . . I’ll be calm and rested by day’s end. Today, though, I didn’t have a cart of books to shelve, and my frazzled nerves sure could have used them.

Mart wasted no time calling the insurance and alarm companies about getting the alarm system and door repaired. She gave me a wink as I turned on the final banks of lights and flipped on the cute neon sign that featured Mayhem with her head resting on a few books below the word Open. Stephen and Walter had commissioned that for me, and it was still my favorite moment of the morning – to pull the little chain and light up that sign.

Woody came by just as I was heading to the café for my morning latte, so I got him one, too, and assured him that everything was fine and that we hadn’t been robbed. The grapevine was already going strong.

“Okay, Harvey,” he said. “I’m not going to ask any more questions then. I get the sense that it’s best to leave things where they lie. But you call me if you need anything.” He looked at me seriously. “I mean that.”

Spontaneously, I gave him a hug, and he squeezed me tight before heading to the front door with his to-go cup.

I was heading back to the register with a fresh latte for me and one for Mart when I heard the bell ring and saw two older women, one white and one Asian, come in the store and head right for the fiction section. In my shop, I didn’t divide out genre fiction – horror, mystery, fantasy – from literary fiction like some stores did. Books were books, and I wanted everybody to get equal billing. No second-class books here. I couldn’t wait to see what they picked up – at least I hoped they picked something up.

“Walter and Stephen still asleep?” I asked as I handed Mart her mug.

She nodded while she took a long, smooth sip. “Jet lag.”

“Jet lag and wine,” I said with a smile.

“The best combo.” Mart and I clinked our white, ceramic mugs. “Alarm company will be over later this morning, and the insurance process is started. I’ll keep an eye out for the tech when they arrive.”

I thanked my best friend and caught her up on my conversation with the sheriff until the two customers arrived at the counter with a few books each. I complimented their choices – the new Rene Denfeld, an Alice Hoffman title, Jesmyn Ward’s latest, my favorite novel ever, Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor, and a fun YA fantasy novel called Supernatural Reform School. I liked their eclectic taste and told them so, then glowed when they said they’d definitely be back and would tell their friends over in Annapolis about the shop.

Before the bell could even stop ringing over the front door, Mart was jumping up and down and holding my hands. “You know who that was, right?”

I looked at the door and the back at my friend. “Who? One of those women?”

“Not just one of those women. Michiko Kakutani – the book reviewer for the New York Times.”

“Oh,” I knew I was supposed to be impressed, but I didn’t know why. “She’s a big deal, I guess?”

Mart slapped a palm to her forehead. “You are impossible. She’s the biggest deal. If she mentions your bookstore anywhere, it’ll be huge.”

“Well, then I hope she tells all her friends.”

Mart shook her head and headed to the café for a latte refill. A few moments later, I heard Rocky shout, “Michiko Kakutani was here?” Guess she was a big deal.

While I was still googling Kakutani and considering what residual boon her visit to the shop might be, I caught a glimpse of Marcus riding down the sidewalk and rushed out to catch him. “Marcus!” I called his name down the street, but he didn’t slow. So I jogged – something I try to avoid doing unless being chased – and shouted more loudly. This time he stopped and pulled an ear bud out of his ear before turning back toward me.

“Oh, hi Ms. Beckett. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. You okay?”

I was out of breath, and I imagined my face was flushed since even climbing a flight of stairs could bring the color to my cheeks. I made a commitment to do a little more than stroll the neighborhood with Mayhem over the next couple of months. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. Just wanted to catch you and see if you might have time to do a bit more work for me.”

He smiled. “Oh yeah, I’d be happy to. What do you need?”

“Well, someone broke into my shop, and I need a little help fixing the door and doing some painting. Is that something you’d be comfortable doing?”

“Absolutely.” He sounded eager, almost excited, and I wondered, again, about his story. “When do you need me?”

“When are you free?”

He paused and a sad look passed over his face, but then he met my gaze again and said, “Anytime, really. I’m, uh, between projects right now.”

“Alrighty then. This afternoon? Come by about noon, and I’ll hook you up with a sandwich, too. It’s the least I could do for bringing you on so suddenly.”

His smile grew. “Sounds like a plan. See you soon.”

I turned back to the shop and wondered how I might get Marcus to tell me about himself. There was something I didn’t know about that young man, and it felt like it might be important for me to know it.

Stephen and Walter came in about eleven looking well-rested and ready to work, and since Mart was handling alarm repairs and the insurance and Marcus was going to do the clean-up and painting on the door, I asked if they could help me by sorting the stock room. It had been creeping me out that everything was still in the same place as when Stevensmith had been killed, and the sheriff said I could go ahead and move things.

The guys were oddly enthused by the idea. Walter asked, “So do you want everything organized by color or alphabet?”

I cringed. “By alphabet. I’ve never understood bookshelves organized by color. I mean they look pretty, but I would never be able to find anything.”

Stephen nodded, but Walter said, “You verbal people will never get us visual folks. I never remember who wrote a book, but I can tell you what the cover looked like in perfect detail.”

“He can,” Stephen agreed, “but since most of the folks will not know these books and, thus, can’t know the covers, I think it’s best to follow the expert’s lead here.” He gave me a wink, and they headed to the back.

I spent the next hour paying bills and trying to wrangle my budget. I was doing okay, but not as well as I’d dreamed we might. Maybe that Kakutani person’s visit would be a little burst of press? Fingers crossed.

I was just about to head over to the café and see what Rocky might be able to make Marcus for lunch when the bell rang, and I looked over to see Taco making a beeline for a table of customers that included a toddler who was gladly sharing his scone with Mayhem. Taco was not about to be left out of that action.

I followed his trail back toward the door and saw Daniel. He waved and headed over. “Mart said you had help today, so I wondered if I could steal you for the afternoon?”

I looked toward the back of the store where Mart, Stephen, and Walter were huddled together watching. I took a quick peek to be sure they didn’t have a tub of popcorn for their feature film.

“Um, sure,” I said turning back to Daniel. “Looks like things here are under