Halos (4 page)

Alessi nodded. She could certainly understand that. Her daddy’s death had been sudden too. She chewed her lower lip.

“And that’s not all.” Dave crushed the plastic wrapper and threw it into the trash. “His fiancée came with him, spent one month in Charity, then left him for some other fellow she’d been stringing along. Steve hadn’t even known the guy existed.”

No wonder he had a poor opinion of women. Some certainly ruined it for the rest of them. “Was she pretty?”

“A knockout.” Dave took a minty pick and poked it between his front teeth.

“That figures. Beauty stunts character.”

Ben leaned on his elbows. “Well, I hate to tell you this, Alessi, but you’re real pretty yourself.”

“I’m lanky and freckled. I was taller than everyone in my class until eighth grade.”

Dave grinned. “Diana always says she’d kill for five more inches.”

“Who’s Diana?” She reached over and brushed a Danish crumb from his shirt.

“My girlfriend, sort of.”

“How tall is she?”

“Five foot three.” He tossed the toothpick into the trash. “Says she’d distribute her pounds better over five more inches.”

“That’s one good thing about being tall. Plenty of distribution.” Alessi scooted off the stool. “Well, I suppose I’ll go see who wants me.” She tucked the bag inside her coat and went back out. Spoken kindly, the next rejections at the community center and Maple Tree Bakery were as regretful as the rest. Though no one wanted to refuse her, she was learning the downside of a small town. People pretty much ran their own businesses, and business was minimal. There was certainly no tourist traffic, not even much Christmas shopping, though that might be due to the snow falling again. A silent desperation started inside.

Unless Sheriff Roehr came up with her car right away, she needed a job.
“Don’t depend on others, Alessi. No matter how bad it gets; God helps those who help themselves.”
Mom’s way had not worked out well in her illness, but the general philosophy was one to live by.

She crossed the street, but the hair salon wasn’t open. It listed hours for Saturday, but Alessi guessed maybe there hadn’t been any appointments. Or the person was on vacation. Or any number of scenarios. She couldn’t cut hair, but she could learn to polish nails. The fact that no one was there on a Saturday didn’t look good, though, not for needing extra help.

Hawkeye Gifts was open, and settled in among the maple syrup displays and handcrafted wooden bowls, trivets, and serving trays were the owner and his cat. He stood up and extended his hand to her. “Doyle Upton.” He smiled. “This is Dolly.” The fur on the cat’s neck and back flattened under his hand, then rose up with static connection as his palm stroked her. “What can I show you? It’s all handmade, except for the syrup—that’s God-made.” He started toward a glass case. “Got some maple fudge the wife stirred up this morning.”

Alessi’s mouth watered as she accepted the sample he offered. It was good fudge. “Mmm. That is some of the best I’ve tasted.” She thought of the money in her pocket. Did fudge constitute an emergency? The thought sobered her quickly. “Mr. Upton, do you need help here? I’m looking for work.”

He looked instantly disappointed she wasn’t a customer and shook his head. “As you see, there’s not much traffic. Keeping the store moves me out of the wife’s way, and the wood gives my hands a thing to do. But no, I’m sorry; I don’t need to take someone on.”

“Well, thank you anyway. Tell your wife I enjoyed the fudge.”

“Oh, I will. Wives like to hear that.”

Alessi went outside. Granny’s Trunk and Bennet’s Books remained. She crossed over to Granny’s and inquired of the woman inside, expecting exactly the answer she got. Back outside, she looked across the street to Bennet’s. That must be Steve’s father’s store. As her steps drew her closer, she studied the brick façade and neatly painted window frames adorned with a simple evergreen garland and white lights. She stood there long enough to memorize the window displays, then pushed open the door and went inside.

It didn’t smell like Sherlock’s, where she’d worked before, with its spanking new paperbacks and a hint of her boss, Ed Miller’s, Old Spice. This store smelled of old cloth and leather-bound tomes. Who on earth did he sell to in Charity? She took another step in and caught a whiff of cinnamon and pine from the potpourri bowl in the window. You did not smell cinnamon and pine on the Florida coast, and for a moment she felt completely misplaced.

The front did hold some new hardbacks and also a section of trade paper and mass markets. One woman searched that rack lackadaisically. He had a customer? Doyle Upton would have been courting her eagerly. But Steve was nowhere in sight. Alessi passed into the rows of used books, each section neatly labeled by type, some locked behind glass.

She knew nothing at all about rare books except that it was hard to find one when a customer asked for something out of print. Ed had sometimes done an Internet search, but he hadn’t applied himself too diligently and rarely found what they wanted. He sold new quick reads to fast-food readers. Thinking about it now, she would have reversed roles for Ed and Steve. It seemed the old man would have valued the old books, and the young … well, she didn’t know what Steve valued. He was just running his father’s store.

Six

A
LESSI STOPPED AT THE BACK CORNER, where Steve worked on his computer. His hair was more disheveled than the night before, and she suspected he did it on purpose. A peppermint aroma came from the lump in his cheek. He looked up, brows raised in that skeptical annoyance reserved for her.

She smiled. “Dave said I should come by and see if you’d changed your mind about needing me.”

“You haven’t found anything?”

She shook her head. “Most everyone said the same as you. They can handle it themselves.”

He took his hands from the keyboard, laid them in his lap. “So?”

She swallowed. “There’s a customer up front.”

“I know.”

“I could see if she needs assistance.”

He studied her face as if she’d grown another nose, then looked down. “All right.” He turned back to the monitor and replaced his hands on the keys.

She stood rooted. All right—she should help the customer? All right—she had a job? The latter, she decided, and therefore the former as well. She walked to the front. “Hi. Are you finding what you need?”

The woman turned. “I’m … Where’s Steve?”

“He’s working on a new collection.”

“And you’re …”

“Alessi Moore.” She held out her hand.

The woman took it stiffly. “You work here?”

“Just started.”

The woman looked her over.

Alessi said, “I came in yesterday. I would have left today but someone took my car.”

Her brows came together. “You mean your car was stolen? Here?”

“Yes, but Sheriff Roehr’s working on it.”

The woman’s face changed. “Oh.” She turned back to the bookshelf. “I’ll just browse, if you don’t mind.”

Alessi wandered back through the store. The only customer in town wanted to browse. Steve was right. He didn’t need her. But then another woman came in. Charity must be a readerish place if the bookstore, of all things, was doing the best business. Alessi greeted the new entrant, receiving a nod in return. This woman had an overbite that kept her lips from completely meeting, but her other features were nice: creamy skin and bright green eyes and a smell of almond extract.

The woman joined the first customer. “How are you, Sue?”

“I’d be better if I could decide on something for Noreen. She’s always the hardest one on my list.”

“Give her a fruitcake.”

Sue rolled her eyes. “Who are you shopping for?” Her question sounded innocent until she sent a pointed glance toward the back. “As if I didn’t know.”

Alessi felt like a snoop. She’d make her offer, then leave them to their schemes. “Can I help you find something?”

They both turned to her. Sue frowned. “Does he have you running interference?”

Alessi stared at her. “If you mean Steve, he’s back at his desk.”

Sue elbowed her companion. “Go ahead, Deirdre.”

Deirdre elbowed back. “Maybe I’ll look around a little first.”

Alessi left them perusing opposite racks, though it was obvious neither had a serious need for reading material, and returned to the back corner.

Steve glanced up. “Are they still here?”

She nodded.

“Think you can watch the store for a bit?”

“What if they want to buy something?”

“Not likely.” But he took the register keys from his wrist. “Here.”

“You trust me with your money?”

“I’d rather be robbed than acquired.”

She heard movement from the front. He was already heading for the back room with a finger to his lips. This was certainly not what she’d expected. But she took matters in hand and rejoined the women in front. “Does this difficult friend of yours have a sense of humor?” At least she could distract them while he made his escape.

Sue raised her eyes from the back cover she pretended to read. “Not an ounce.”

“An inquiring mind?”

“Not unless it’s someone else’s business.”

“Does she cook?” Alessi had noted Martha Stewart’s holiday cookbook in the window.

Sue tipped her head. “Yes, she does….”

“What about this?” Alessi scooped the book from the window and displayed it. “Martha Stewart has such good ideas. Except, of course, on investing. But this is all cooking and entertaining.”

Deirdre leaned over. “Wouldn’t hurt Noreen to realize there’s someone better in the kitchen than herself.”

She and Sue locked glances. “Not that we all can’t grow in humility.”

“And discretion.”

“And generosity.”

Alessi waited while they reminded each other of those valuable virtues. Generosity was her cue. “It’s a good deal. Twenty percent off hardbacks until Christmas.” Again the sign posted in the window. She was glad she’d stood outside debating whether to go in.

Sue nodded slowly. “Maybe I will.” She gave Deirdre a sultry look. “I’ll pay for it now. You had your chance.” She started toward the back.

Steve was gone, she was sure, but Alessi turned to Deirdre. “Maybe I can help you with something?”

Deirdre was definitely peeved. “Well, maybe a mystery for my father.”

Now, that was something Alessi knew. “Rare or new?”

“What? Oh, new, I suppose. Just something in paperback.”

Ah. A fast-food reader—at least the buyer was. “Time period?”

“Excuse me.” Sue came forward with Martha Stewart plowing the air. “I thought you said Steve was back there.”

“Did he step out?” Alessi glanced past her. “Well, I can help you.” She took the book and headed for the register on the elbow of Steve’s desk. She hoped it was similar to the ones she’d used before. She inserted the key and turned it. Simple enough. She rang up the sale and took Sue’s money.

“When is he coming back?” One of Sue’s eyebrows had developed a distinct arch.

“I don’t know. Sorry.”

Sue took her bag and swung away from the counter. She murmured something as she passed Deirdre, still lingering in the front, then went out.

Whew
. Alessi went back up. “Okay. A paperback mystery … did you tell me what time period?” Ed had specialized in British turn of the century, but he’d carried everything.

“I don’t know.” Deirdre wrung her hands.

“American, British, or something exotic?”

Deirdre opened her mouth but nothing came out. She shook her head.

“Does he prefer a male author?”

“Why don’t … you just pick something.” The second half of her phrase escaped with a rush of breath.

“Good plan. If he doesn’t like it, you can blame it on me.” Alessi turned to the mystery shelf. Steve’s selection was a fraction of Ed’s, but these books weren’t his focus. She doubted he had much traffic in his focus, though. She selected the latest P. D. James title and handed it to Deirdre. “How about this one?”

“Well … maybe I should think about it and come back later.”

“Is your father a serious mystery reader? Does he write down the clues?”

Deirdre’s features sharpened. “I have no idea.”

“He’ll like this one.”

“Fine.” Deirdre thrust it at her. “Ring it up.”

Alessi took Dierdre’s payment and bagged the book. “Thanks. Let me know how he likes it.” Why did she say that? He wouldn’t get it until Christmas, and she’d be long gone by then.

“Do you know …” Deirdre gripped the bag. “… what Steve’s doing for Christmas?”

She didn’t know what he was doing at the moment. “No. Sorry.”

Deirdre sighed. “I suppose I should have gone right back. But he can be … peevish.”

Alessi nodded, secretly agreeing. “I’ll tell him you were looking for him.”

“No … well, all right.” Deirdre took her bag and left.

Alessi turned off the register and started around the desk, but Steve came toward her from the back room. She glanced quickly toward the front, but Deirdre had already cleared the windows. “That was close. They only just left.”

“I know.” He held out his hand for the keys.

Alessi handed them over. “Where were you?”

“In the storeroom.”

She pictured him huddled among the boxes. “I thought you’d actually gone somewhere.”

“Good.”

She pushed her hair behind her ear. “I sold the Martha Stewart cookbook. And a paperback mystery.”

“I heard.” He tipped his head with a speculative expression that seemed to have puzzled him. Was it so unusual to make a sale? Then how did he stay in business?

“While I was in the storeroom I had a thought,” he said.

“Shelves and boxes can be stimulating.”

He leaned on the desk with the nearest thing to a smile she’d seen yet. “If you need a place to stay tonight, you could use the cot and bathroom back there. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s better than nothing.”

She drew herself up. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run off with one of those seventeen-hundred-dollar books?”

“You won’t get far on foot.”

“No, I guess not,” she said. “If the sheriff hasn’t found my car by tonight …”

“Alessi.” Steve fiddled with his keys. “Cooper Roehr is not going to get your car back.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I think it’s here somewhere. There was hardly anyone on the highway; no one got off the exit with me. And someone ‘passing through’ would have left their car to take mine. No, it has to be here in Charity.” She faced him directly. “How hard can it be to search a little place like this?”

“It’s not that little. The village maybe, but the township is thirtysix square miles.”

“And how many live in those square miles?”

He frowned. “Why don’t you call your uncle?”

“I can’t. My mother died of cancer before she’d ask them for help.”

“But they took you in.”

“The social worker guilted them into it.”

“But they did it.” He closed the keys in his hand.

“That wasn’t my fault.” Her voice rose in pitch. “I
can’t
tell them I lost the car.”

He crossed one ankle over the other in a casual pose, then threw out another stinker. “What about grandparents?”

“They refused to attend any family function if I was present.”

He whistled. “What did your mother do that was so bad?”

“Fell in love with the pool boy.”

He eyed her. “You’re either the best liar …”

“I know.” She raised a hand. “You’ve made up your mind.”

“I thought I had.”

She rounded the edge of the desk. “It doesn’t matter. The fact is, I can’t call my uncle and there’s no one else. My best friend had a stroke—”

“More fantastic by the moment. You expect me to believe some girl—”

“He was seventy-four. Owned the mystery bookstore where I worked.”

“And that was your best friend.”

“Yep. You shouldn’t go making assumptions.”

He jutted his chin. “I think it was reasonable to assume your best friend was a girl. Not many twenty-one-year-old women call a seventy-four-year-old man their best friend.”

“They didn’t know Ed.” She looked at the floor-to-ceiling case beside the desk. Each book in it had a detailed account typed up beside it. Steve obviously got his meticulous sense of order from his father. The pieces of her story must sound like so much gibberish. She could put it all together for him, but why do that for a man who wouldn’t believe her anyway?

A draft raised gooseflesh on her arms. It was the same at the front. The cold that had seemed magical and refreshing in the snow was just chilly inside. She could wear the jacket he’d lent her, but she would look like she was going out the door, and that might give him ideas.

“Could I run over to Granny’s Trunk real fast?” She didn’t want to tell him his place had the atmosphere of an igloo, but a warmer shirt was required.

“Granny’s Trunk?”

She caught her elbows. “Get something to work in tomorrow?”

“I’m not open Sunday.” He slipped the keys back onto his wrist, then noticed her shiver. “I guess you’ll need something for Monday, though.”

“If I don’t have my car back. I have plenty of clothes in my car.”

He opened his mouth and closed it, then glanced toward the front. “Well, the piranhas have gone for the moment.”

Alessi fingered a Venetian-glass paperweight and studied its swirling pattern. “They’re worried about you for Christmas.”

“They’re on the hunt.” He was growling again. “The whole pack of them.”

“School, you mean.”

“What?”

“It’s a school of piranhas, not a pack.”

He tucked his tongue into his cheek. “School, then. Either way they’ll eat the flesh off my bones.”

“Why?”

“A bereaved bachelor in Charity is fair game to every divorcée, widow, and single woman within a decade of my age. The holidays just rev them up.”

It might have sounded vain, but she’d seen it for herself. “How long do you figure I’ve got before they circle back?”

Now his mouth did jerk sideways. “Make it quick.”

She pulled the two tens from her pocket. “You sure about this?”

“Get going.”