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 is, although I’m not sure most folks would call her nice.”
I gave him a look.
“Oh, I don’t mean that she’s not kind. Just that she’s a force. You know she runs her farm and this farm stand by herself? Sometimes for harvest, she hires local teenagers, but mostly, she does it all – the planting, the weeding, the marketing. I don’t think she sleeps.”
She had looked tired when she’d stopped by the shop today to check on our order of daffodils for the café tables. “That must be exhausting. Just the shop tires me out, and I don’t have to grow the books myself.”
We reached the end of Main Street, and I felt a little sad that our walk hadn’t lasted longer. But I was tired and wanted to get home before the fatigue turned my legs and my brain to mush. “This is my turn,” I said, pointing east.
“Ah, you’re on the water side.”
“I am. That was one of the requirements for wherever I lived – a water view. I got spoiled in San Francisco with water on three sides of the city and the Pacific Ocean and Golden Gate within walking distance of my apartment. Plus, I love this water. I grew up on the Bay. It’ll always be home.”
“I didn’t know you were from around here.”
“Well not here exactly. Just up the road in Cecil County, Chesapeake City.”
“I love that town. Did they build the canal through it, or did the town just grow up around the canal?”
“The canal brought the town, definitely.” I thought about the charming town that I’d hated in high school. No teenager likes for everyone to know everything about you.
I looked up into his face. He was smiling, and his face was so kind. “Thanks for this, Daniel. It was really nice.”
“Agreed. Maybe another evening we can do it again . . . or even take a walk by the water.”
I grinned. “I’d like that. Have a good night.” I gave Mayhem a tug and headed down the street to our house, eager to tell Mart, well, everything. Suddenly, I didn’t feel quite as tired.
Monday morning came early, but I woke with gusto. A new shipment of books was coming in, and I couldn’t wait to open the boxes, smell the ink and paper, and get shelving. There’s just something so satisfying about putting things away, and when those things are bound collections of stories and information, it’s even more fun, at least to me.
Rocky came in not long after I arrived at the store, this time with a tray full of cookies. “Your mom was baking again?”
“Oh, I made these. I was so keyed up from the weekend that I couldn’t sleep. So I baked. Spring-themed sugar cookies.”
I walked over to take a look and saw an assortment of flowers and rabbits. “These are beautiful. You decorated these by hand?”
A blush spread over Rocky’s cheeks. “I did. I’m just learning, but I think they came out okay.”
“Okay? These are amazing! And I bet they taste as good as they look.”
She turned toward the counter with a smile. “Let me get the coffee brewed, and we’ll find out.”
“I like how you think.”
Today was going to be the first day Rocky and I were on our own. Mart had to spend some time at the winery and then she was off to the mainland to consult with a winery up in Westminster. Over breakfast, she’d offered to stay home. “Or I can drive back tonight. I’ll do that. It’ll be fine. I’ll just caffeinate—”
“Mart, you will do no such thing. We will be fine. I will be fine. I have my trusty sidekick here,” I gave Mayhem a nudge with my foot, “And I have friends in town if I need them.”
“Friends like Daniel.”
I rolled my eyes. “What are we, twelve?”
“When it comes to boys, yes, we are twelve.” She grabbed her briefcase and headed toward the door. “You’ll call if you need me?”
“I won’t need you, but yes, and you’ll text when you get to your hotel?”
“Sure, Mom.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek and headed out the door.
Now, I was missing her presence in the shop. Having her there made me sure of myself, confident that she’d have my back. But I took a deep breath, glanced over at Rocky, and steadied my shoulders. We had this.
We opened at ten a.m., and within moments, a few folks had come in to grab coffee from the café. No real book shopping happened on Monday mornings, I knew. Most of us had too much ahead of us in the week to think about reading, but I enjoyed the chance to catch up on the industry news, check out upcoming releases, and brainstorm a few ideas for author events.
I had a quirky notion for a “Welcome to Spring” celebration for late March, and I wanted to see if I might be able to get David Healey, a local author, down for a reading from his Delmarva Renovators mystery series. His books were set in my hometown, and I thought I could probably get a good crowd from there and here in for the event, especially if the restaurants in town might do a special something for folks coming to the reading. I got to giggling as I thought about how Max Davies might try to redeem his chewy snails.
I was so focused on how we could do a murder mystery party after dinner that I was surprised when someone cleared their throat just on the other side of the counter.
I looked up to see Sheriff Mason grinning at me. “You are enjoying yourself, huh?”
I blushed. “I am. Planning some events for the store. It’s really fun. Do you like mysteries?”
“Live them every day, so I’d say so.”
“Ah yes.” I closed my laptop and came out from behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to update you on the investigation.”
“Oh, right. Okay. Do you want to sit in the café?” I scanned the shop. Just one woman browsing in the poetry section, so I was pretty sure I had a few minutes. Poetry readers are devoted, but the books weren’t our hottest ticket.
We took a seat by the garage door that I’d had converted to mostly glass, and Rocky brought us two cappuccinos – she knew the sheriff’s preference – with little flowers in the foam. “Very cute,” Mason said with a chuckle.
“Thanks. I figured you needed something adorable in your day.”
“Always,” he said as he took a long swig from the mug. “Delicious. This from that roaster down in Easton? – because it’s amazing.”
“Yep.” I had been thrilled to see that a local company was roasting coffee right on the Eastern Shore and had arranged to get all our beans from them. I liked to keep things as local as I could.
I watched Rocky walk back to the counter to wait on her next customer before I leaned over and asked, “Okay, so what’s the story?”
“Not much story, I’m afraid. You already knew Stevensmith had been hit and had probably come in here to hide. That’s still our best theory. We do know that she was clobbered with something that left a curved mark in her skull, but we still don’t know what that something was.”
I leaned back in my chair and sipped my drink. “Man, that’s not much to go on.”
“No. No, it’s not,” the sheriff scooted in, “but this helps.” He slid a little plastic bag toward me.
I picked it up and pulled it close to my face. “A piece of bright orange paper? Okay, fill me in.”
“I brought it by because I thought it might be a piece from a book cover, something that might give us a bit more of the story about Stevensmith’s steps that night.”
I scrutinized the triangular sliver again. “I can’t say as I recognize that color or that paper texture from any of our books or even from the little bit of stationery we stock.” I pointed to a spinning rack near the register. “I don’t think this came from here.”
He smiled.
“I thought you’d be disappointed,” I said.
“Oh no. If it’s not from here, then it’s from somewhere else, and that somewhere else might just be the murder scene.”
He scraped his chair back from the table and stood. “Thanks, Harvey. I’ll keep you updated as I’m able. But of course, you know I can’t really talk about too many
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