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

I spent the rest of the afternoon sending a second round of press releases about the art auction in between ringing up the customers who came in. Cate got Ms. Stevensmith’s permission to take a photo of a corner of the piece she was donating so that I could put it on the impromptu webpage I’d created for the fair on our store website. I also added a contact form with the hopes that most of the requests for more information would come through email since I much preferred email to the phone. Finally, I altered the store voicemail to give a bit of background about the street fair and the silent auction and pointed callers to the website.

Then I braced myself for the onslaught of calls . . . that never came. All through Wednesday evening and into Thursday morning, the phone rang only a couple of times with people looking to order particular books. Normally, I would have been thrilled to have orders coming in, but in this situation, I was just disappointed. I had thought Divina Stevensmith’s donation would cause a buzz.

In an effort to distract myself and lift my mood, I texted Cate late Thursday morning and asked if she wanted to get lunch. Mart was in town and had offered to come cover the shop for me so that I could get a break. She knew I was sad that the news of the auction hadn’t caused more of a stir. While we had eaten frozen pizza and drunk boxed wine the night before, she’d said, “Tomorrow, I’m coming in and working the register so you can get things prepped for the weekend and – and this is non-negotiable – take a few hours away from the store. You’ve been there all day almost every day since opening. It’s time you relaxed for a bit.”

Part of me felt guilty – felt like I should be the one giving Mart some time off. She worked so hard, and she was supporting me financially at the moment. But then, she reminded me that her job usually enjoyed a wine tasting a day in some of the most beautiful places in the mid-Atlantic, and I acquiesced.

Cate texted back immediately and suggested we meet at noon at Dale’s Seafood Shack. “Then, I’ll get Lucas to give you the deluxe tour of the Museum.”

“That would be great. See you there at noon.”

I had to admit that Mart was right. I really did need a little time away. Between the work to get the shop opening, the first few days of business, and then the two murders, I was pretty worn down. It was too early in my business career for me to be feeling that way, and an afternoon in the warm sun of a spring afternoon seemed like just what I needed.

Dale’s Seafood Shack was the quintessential Eastern Shore seafood place. Very casual, but with views of the water that you’d pay a fortune for in the city. I’d long ago learned that just because I didn’t eat seafood didn’t mean that I wouldn’t love these places. Cate and I got a table on the covered deck overlooking the river that opened up onto the Chesapeake Bay. I ordered a burger and fries covered in Old Bay, and Cate got a crab cake covered in melted cheese. She also took the liberty of ordering each of us a bottle of Maryland’s own Natty Bo beer. The air was still cool, so we had the entire deck to ourselves. It was the perfect way to unwind.

As we sipped our beers, I caught her up on the history I’d learned about the store building. “I never knew any of that.”

“Yeah, it feels weird that such an important piece of St. Marin’s history isn’t noted with a marker or something. I’m definitely going to put something up on the shop and maybe talk to the historical society.”

“Good plan. Maybe we can have something temporary printed for Saturday, even a one-page hand-out. Our printer down in Salisbury could do something, I bet. Send me some text, and I’ll call him when I get back to the co-op later.”

“Oh, thanks. That would be perfect. It’s the least we can do to honor Divina’s husband.”

“Exactly. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt as publicity for the shop either.”

“True.” I felt my concerns about the weekend climb my ribs. “Speaking of which, I haven’t had a single query about the silent auction. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Cate gave me a mischievous grin. “The ways of Divina have finally reached you. I take it you now know she’s kind of a big deal.”

“Kind of? She’s the biggest kind of deal.”

“Exactly. I saw what you put up on your website – well done – but I’m sure her agent has made it clear to the press that all queries are to go through her. Information management. Divina has been especially wily about not letting most of the world know she lives here in St. Marin’s.”

“But she has a booth at the co-op.”

“She does. But she’s not on our website, and she doesn’t let us advertise her stuff. It’s kind of brilliant actually. When people who know her work stumble upon her studio, they are elated, but then, she’s quick to draw them in and remind them that her work thrives when she has her privacy. So far, no one has wanted to risk her art for a bit of fame for themselves.”

I gave Cate a skeptical glance. “No one? Come on. Not a single person has Instagrammed her shop door and tagged it as St. Marin’s.”

“Not yet. She’s a persuasive woman, and I think people like feeling as if they’re part of her inner circle somehow.”

I shook my head. “The ways of celebrity will never make sense to me.” I looked out over the water and then back at Cate. “But her gift is so generous. I can’t believe she’d give something that valuable.”

“Why not?” Cate said as she shoved a fry into her mouth. “After all, she can always create more of her work. Plus, she is really devoted to the town. She’s funded the park over at the other end of Main Street from you. Paid for an empty lot to be cleaned up and then for the safest, but most fun, playground equipment to be put in. She is a big supporter of the Museum, too.”

I was impressed. I liked a story of generosity that didn’t come with a lot of accolades. Those gifts seemed more genuine somehow than those that came with the insistence of a name on a building. I really hated the way even all the sports stadiums had become corporate marketing tools. Ravens Stadium was just fine with that name . . . but now some bank paid to have its logo on the building. Ick.

Cate leaned forward a bit as we finished up our beers. “Any more word on Elle?”

It took me a minute to figure out what Cate meant, but then I shook my head. “Nothing. I haven’t seen her since we talked to her a couple of days ago.”

“I still think she’s good for it.” Cate sounded like a detective from one of the NCIS franchises, maybe that woman in LA with the long dark hair.

“Maybe.” I didn’t really feel like hypothesizing that my new neighbor was a murderer. “I guess you never know.”

We paid our bill, and Cate texted Lucas to let him know we were headed over to the museum. I’d been wanting to go there since I’d moved into town five months earlier, but I had just been too busy.

Lucas met us at the door and gave us the tour through all the exhibits. I had no idea there was such a rich history of watermen. I loved looking at the photos of the old timers out on boats that looked barely watertight but that brought in thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of some of the world’s best seafood. Plus, I loved the special exhibit of maritime art. The paintings of water scenes weren’t quite as good as the real thing, but if you couldn’t live on the water, the best ones made it feel like you could taste the air.

Next, Lucas walked us out to the shipyard, where local artisans were crafting – with old-fashioned tools – a traditional tall-ship, complete with masts carved from single pine trunks. Just now, the workers were hand-hewing the planks to cover the exterior of the ship’s hull. It was a laborious and grueling task to build each ship, I could see that, and it made me want to watch even more of those treasure-hunting shows, not just for the treasure now, though, but to recover some of the labor these people had put into these beautiful vessels.

“This is amazing, Lucas. Thank you for the tour,” I said as we headed back toward the main building.

“My pleasure. Come back anytime. I’ve gotten you a membership, so just wander over when you need a break.” He handed me a little card with my name on it, and I smiled.

“Oh my word. Thank you so much. I’ll be back for sure. I need to go see that oyster shack.” I gave Lucas a hug. “Oh, and if I send over a list of maritime titles for the new section I’m adding to the store, would that be okay? I don’t want