However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Publishable By Death by Andi Cumbo-Floyd (reading like a writer TXT) đź“–
- Author: Andi Cumbo-Floyd
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She gave my arm a squeeze. “Maybe in part because of everything.” She winced. “Is that an awful thing to say?”
I laughed softly. “No, it’s not awful. It’s the truth. The “no press is bad press” rule certainly applies here.”
The counter was filled with buckets of daylilies, and I ran my fingers lightly over the petals. “What’s got me puzzled,” I said, “is why Stevensmith? I mean she wasn’t very likable, but what had she done to make someone mad enough to murder her?”
Elle’s face went blank, and she looked down at the floor before quickly collecting herself and giving an exaggerated shrug. “That’s a good question. I expect whoever did it felt like they had a good reason – either that or it was a crime of passion. I mean, she made a lot of people angry, including our neighbor Max. Either way,” she said as she stepped back behind the counter, “I’m sure the sheriff will sort it all out. I’m just sad the murderer wasn’t caught before Skye was killed. That was such a tragedy.”
She let out a hard sigh and went into the back room.
“The deputy’s murder was a tragedy, but not Stevensmith’s?” Cate asked as she slid back over beside me.
“She didn’t say that.” I felt like I needed to defend Elle for some reason, but even I had to admit that she wasn’t exactly giving off the “completely innocent” vibe.
“She didn’t have to say it.” Cate gave me a look that said, if it quacks like a duck.
Eleanor came back from the storeroom with an armload of small-petaled daisies. They were beautiful and seemed like the perfect emblem of spring. They would definitely lower the intensity of Cate’s roses.
Cate paid, and we thanked Elle and made plans for her to come by on Saturday afternoon to drop off the flowers. Except for that whole suspicion of murder thing, it would have been a lovely visit with a neighbor.
Back at the shop, things had gotten much busier in the twenty-five minutes we’d been gone, and I could see the look of relief on Rocky’s face when we came in. She had a line at the café counter and was just ringing up a big sale at the book register. “I’ve got this,” I said as I slid in beside her.
“Thank you. The need for caffeine was getting palpable,” she whispered as she jogged out from behind the counter toward the café.
I laughed and continued ringing up the man in front of me. His selections were fascinating. Most men stick to the supposedly “male” genres like thrillers and spy fiction, military history, maybe a bit of literary fiction as long as the main characters are men. But this guy was buying a stack of cozy mysteries by some of my favorites: Mollie Cox Bryan, Maggie Sefton, and Millie Jordan. “Lots of murder here,” I said with an ironic wink.
Well, just when I needed to restock my supply for the week, I thought. “What better place to come than the bookstore that was the scene of the crime?” He gave me a tentative smile. “I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
“Not at all.” I was surprised I meant that when I said it. “We’re just glad people are finding us. I love a lot of these books, but I hope you don’t mind me saying that I don’t find many men who read cozy mysteries.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I’m an anomaly, but since my wife died, I just want to read books that capture my attention, let me feel like I’m among friends, and give me a chuckle at the sleuth’s complete inability to walk away.”
I felt color run up my neck. He’d pegged me pretty well. I managed to choke back my embarrassment and say, “Well, if you ever need recommendations—”
“Oh, I’ll be back. I went with some favorite authors here, but I saw a couple of writers I don’t know yet. Maybe you can point me toward some great books when I come next time.”
“I’d love that. I’m Harvey, by the way. I own the shop.”
“Galen Gilbert. Nice to meet you. I have decided that I’ll make St. Marin’s my Tuesday outing – I have one for each day of the week just so that I don’t get to be too much of a homebody – so I’ll see you in a week.”
I watched the small, gray-haired, white man as he made his way out the front door. A customer like that was why I was in business. I knew books could save people’s lives – keep them from deep heartbreak like the loss of a partner – and I immediately started musing on what cozy mysteries to recommend next. Maybe something British?
That night, I went home exhausted. Daniel and Taco walked Mayhem and me home as usual, but when we got to the door, I put my hand on his chest when he leaned down to give me his single kiss. “Let’s hold that thought,” I smiled at the shock and then the sadness in his eyes. “Want to come in, eat a huge bowl of peanut butter popcorn, and then complain about our aching bellies while we binge watch Game of Thrones? I’ve never seen it, and I hear it’s best if I not go in alone.” The events of the past ten days had finally caught up with me, and Mart was away. I didn’t feel like doing anything strenuous like cooking a meal, but I did feel like spending more time with Daniel.
He took my keys and unlocked the door. “After you, Madame.”
Peanut butter popcorn is one of those foods that the world needs to know about. It’s a really simple thing to make – just honey (or corn syrup if you must), sugar, peanut butter, and vanilla all mixed together and poured over popcorn. The only problem with is that it is possible – but not advisable – to eat an entire bowl by oneself. This was my other motivation for inviting Daniel in. I’d been thinking about this popcorn all day, and if he shared, at least I wouldn’t make myself too sick.
I mixed the peanut butter sauce while he used the air popper to make the popcorn and fed Taco and Mayhem. They would have been content with popcorn for dinner, too, but we opted for kibble instead. Then, he watched as I dumped the popcorn into a super-big metal bowl and then poured the peanut butter sauce over top, stirring carefully enough to get sauce on most of the kernels but not so carefully that we’d miss out on the goodness of extra sauce at the bottom of the bowl. “That’s the best part,” I told him as I explained my strategy.
We sat cross-legged on the sofa, our knees touching and the bowl of popcorn wedged between us, and I felt myself completely relax for the first time in weeks. Daniel loved the popcorn, and the twenty minutes of Game of Thrones that I saw before I fell asleep looked pretty intriguing.
When I woke up the next morning, I was under my favorite quilt – the one that usually graced my bed, Mayhem and Taco were on the floor beside me, and Daniel had left a note on the coffee table. “Dear Harvey, I didn’t want to wake you. You needed the rest, but I did take the popcorn. I will return the bowl when I bring your keys to the shop at 9:30. I left Taco behind because he and Mayhem make a good guard duty pair, and also, I didn’t want to carry him home. See you soon. xo”
I sat up and stretched and smiled. This guy, this one was a keeper.
Daniel hadn’t stayed long when he’d dropped off the completely empty and washed popcorn bowl and my keys, but it was still nice to start the day seeing him. I wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that he watched three episodes of Game of Thrones without me and now had to – by my demand – wait for me to catch up with him, but I figured I’d forgive him, by oh, say, noon.
I spent the first part of my morning swapping the display of Westerns I had made with a new display of True Crime books, featuring my favorite title, Shot in the Heart by Mikal Gilmore. I knew we had a number of loyal readers for Westerns, but I needed to be wise and go with what All Booked Up was known for, and right now, that was crime. So True Crime got the coveted face-out shelves just behind the new release tables. I knew where my
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