The Case of the Missing Mascot (A Sherlock Shakespeare Mystery Book 1) (11 page)

Probably shouldn't surprise me. Last year, everyone wore 'Victimize the Vikings!’ shirts all during Homecoming week. Still, it seemed in poor taste.

"I should get going. Do you want me to bring you a slushie or hot dog or anything?"

The thought of eating or drinking anything just made my stomach turn. "If you happen to find Champers on the way, I wouldn't mind that."

He grimaced and let out a sigh. "Stop fixating on the mascot. It's not like anyone was counting on you to bring it back anyway."

No one except me.

His expression turned thoughtful. "You know, all this talk about pigs is making me think of the episode where Rose inherited a pig from a dead relative. Blanche and Dorothy only let her keep it once they realized there was a ton of cash that came along with the pig so long as they cared for him for the rest of his life."

I'm not sure why I asked—really, I wasn't sure why I ever asked—but I said, "What happened with the pig?"

"The usual. They sent it back to Saint Olaf and another one of Rose's relatives got something like a hundred grand when the pig died a week later. But it was funny while they were trying to take care of a pig in Miami. You should watch that one some time. Nana has it on tape."

Of course she did. Nana had every episode on tape, though I wasn't sure whether she had them for herself or because Watson loved to pop them into the ancient VCR whenever he went over to her house.

"Sure. Maybe next time."

He nodded. "Good deal. I'm outta here."

After Watson left, I tried to force my attention onto the textbook I needed to be reading and away from the wall of books I'd rather be reading for fun. It was no use. While I was used to Watson droning on about the adventures of four old women pretty much all the time, something about what he said made a lot of sense. Rather, what he said sent my thoughts racing down a new track.

What if I'd been looking at this all wrong? Rivalry and altruism were good motives, sure, but they weren't the two motivators that seemed to drive all crimes throughout the whole of literary history. Love was out of the question. Even in Devils Reach, no one was scandalous enough to fall in love with a teacup pig.

But what about money? Was it even possible that someone had stolen Champers because they saw him as the way to make a few quick bucks? I didn't see how. Even if people were willing to pay to have a teacup pig as a pet, it couldn't be enough money to justify the risk.

Still, this theory was just crazy enough to have something to it.

Maybe.

As I'd predicted when I started my shift for the afternoon, it was nearly closing time and Watson was the only person who'd even walked by and so much as peeked inside. By now, I'd all but given up on the idea that someone hoped to make any money off Champers. Unless they were planning to ransom the pig back to the school late on Friday afternoon, I couldn't see how anyone could hope to make any real money off the deal.

I was just about to close up for the night when Francois LePort swaggered in, completely unaware of the closed sign I'd just flipped over. My stomach grumbled, but I silently promised it food as soon as I could get rid of him. As usual, that was easier said than done.

After fifteen minutes of letting him browse without interruption, I moved from behind the counter to see if there was something I could help him find. He was so engrossed in a cookbook he was reading that he didn't seem to hear me the first two times I said his name. When he finally did realize I was standing there, he shot me a look that would melt bricks.

"What do you want, girl?"

I forced a smile onto my lips and tried to pretend that the man didn't have the stench of stale liquor coming through his pores. "I just wanted to see if there was anything I could help you find today, Mr. LePort."

He made a guttural sound in his meaty throat and waved a hand to dismiss me. I went back to the counter and tried not to let him get to me. He was rude to everyone in town. Besides, I could grab a snack from the cafe to tide me over during the walk home.

Except I couldn't go in the cafe. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

After another ten minutes of aimless browsing, I was just about to see how I could hurry up my sole customer when the store's phone rang. I answered, half expecting it to be one of my parents wondering why I wasn't home yet. It wasn't.

"I figured I could get you to answer the phone if I called the store."

Tom.

"I haven't been answering my cell because I wasn't ready to talk to you yet."

"Come on. Stop being that way so we can fix this."

"Fix this? It's not like you broke my dollhouse, Tom. You broke my heart."

Wait. Did I mean that? Had he actually broken my heart or did I just feel like I was supposed to be brokenhearted because of how long we'd been together?

"Stop being so dramatic. I broke your heart because I had a friend in my room? Come on."

"No, you broke my heart because you had a girl in your bed when I got there."

"I wish you'd stop saying that. She was fully clothed on my bed, not in it. You act like you walked in on me banging another chick or something."

"Well, I might've if I'd walked across the campus any slower."

"Sherlock, that's not fair and you know it. You're punishing me for something I didn't even do."

Before I could respond, LePort walked up to the counter and shot an annoyed look at me. "This store is dreadful. I can't find anything I need."

"Tom, I've got to go." I hung up the phone and turned my full attention to my customer, even though the phone started ringing again almost as soon as I did. "What can I help you find?"

"I'm looking for The New Oxford Companion to Literature in French."

"And it wasn't in the foreign language section?"

"No. That section was appalling."

"And it's not with literature?"

"I wouldn't be having this inane conversation if it were."

"Looks like we don't have it then."

"I called last week and was told that you did have a copy. I highly doubt anyone in this town rushed in to buy it before I could make time to come in for it."

He may be a condescending jerk, but he was probably right on that point. "Let me check the back to see if it was set aside for you."

"Do that. Quickly."

I hurried into the storeroom, more to get away from him than out of any desire to provide exceptional customer service. He'd made me stay a half hour past closing time and made it impossible for me to dodge Tom's call. He could wait a few minutes.

The storeroom was full of boxes and shelves that housed new and used books in all varieties. We always said that we were going to organize it, but we never did. Instead, we pretended the backroom didn't exist until it was time to take inventory once each year and then we suffered through a weekend of organizing and counting books while complaining about how we were going to do better about it next year.

Probably why most people didn't try to turn a hobby into a business.

The phone rang again while I was digging through a box of leather-bound books. Since it could legitimately be my parents, I answered. It still wasn't them.

"Look, we need to talk about this."

"I told you we could talk before the game on Friday."

"That's not good enough. I want to talk about it now."

"Tom, I'm helping a customer."

"No, you aren't. The store's closed."

"I know that and you know that, but he didn't know that when he wandered in at closing time." I rolled my eyes, but they stopped in mid-roll when I noticed what must've been a thousand-page book sitting on top of the filing cabinet. Sure enough, it was the book I was searching for. "I have to go."

"Wait!"

I sighed. "What? What can't possibly wait until you see me in two days?"

"I need to know if we're still going to the Homecoming dance after the game."

The part of me that was used to blindly giving in to whatever Tom wanted started to agree, but the sound of LePort drumming his fingers on the counter while he huffed and sighed tore open the cage inside me where I hid the part that was sick of being the doormat of Devils Reach High. "You know, Tom, I'm not really sure that I'm going to feel like draping myself over your arm and pretending to like any of your friends this Friday when I'm pretty sure I can't stand you right now."

"I already had a buddy buy the tickets for us," he bit out.

"Excellent. I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding some bimbo at the game to go with you."

I slammed down the phone before he could yell at me and plastered a smile on my face again before I went back to the counter with the book. I could get away with being snarky to Tom, but I couldn't do the same to a customer, no matter how much he deserved it.

"Sorry about that. This is a new copy of the book, but you're welcome to look it over for imperfections before buying it."

And of course, he did.

While he was checking over the book, the phone rang again. In my sweetest, most angelic voice, I answered, "Shakespeare's Books. What literary adventure can I assist you with today?"

"Who
the fuck
do you think you are to talk to me that way?"

He was still rambling off obscenities at me, but I talked over him in a deliberate tone. "As I've been trying to tell you, the Shakespeare you're looking for isn't working tonight. Have a good night, sir."

When I returned my attention to LePort, he was just staring at me with a look of shocked respect. Apparently, Tom's yelling had been loud enough to reach LePort in addition to nearly shattering my eardrum. "Is the book to your satisfaction?"

He slid it across the counter. "Yes." While I rang it up, he added, "People in this town really are something, aren't they?"

"They can be." Honestly, it was hard to pay attention to anything he said once I realized the book cost nearly two hundred bucks. Who wanted to read about French literature that much?

"You know, I've been interviewing waitresses all week for this Saturday's dinner for the governor and I haven't been able to find a single soul I'd trust to carry a butter knife."

"That's too bad."

"Too bad? If I don't have better luck with the batch coming to interview tomorrow at three, I may find myself serving my own guests. Can you even imagine the travesty of it? What could be worse than that?"

"Not even death itself," I deadpanned. "That'll be $214.77."

He sneered at me and tossed his credit card down onto the counter, clearly letting me know that placing it in my outstretched hand was beneath him. He must not've been paying attention because a piece of paper flew out of his wallet with it. If he'd been nicer, I might've handed it to him. As it was, I barely glanced at the small recipe card for suckling pig when I grabbed his credit card and slid it through the reader.

He snatched up the paper with just as much distaste as he'd used to throw down his credit card while he waited on me to process his transaction. I handed back his credit card with the receipt and walked him to the door. Finally, this doomed day was over.

Except the phone started ringing again while I was shutting off the lights and locking up the cash.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling here," I shouted into the phone.

"I certainly hope that's not how you always answer the phone when you work, sweetie, or we might have to rethink hiring someone else."

"Sorry, Mom. It's just that—"

"My cell's about to die. Which do you prefer: green or blue?"

"It depends on what it is, I guess."

My mind wandered back to LePort carrying around a recipe for suckling pig in his wallet. That was weird.

"I'm just picking up a dress for you to wear to the dance this Friday."

"Oh. I don't need a dress anymore."

There was so much silence at the end of the line that I wondered if her phone had already died. "Sweetheart, you say that every year, but then you always rush out on Thursday night or Friday afternoon to buy one anyway. Green or blue?"

"Mom," I whined. When she didn't seem to relent, I finally answered, "Green."

"Good choice. See you soon."

Apparently, my parents were the only two people in Devils Reach who didn't know about my quasi-breakup with Tom. Maybe she'd be able to return it. Not that she would. Even though I was completely capable of picking out and buying my own clothes, my mother loved picking up outfits she thought I should wear even though I never would.

Someone must've taken away her dolls before she was ready when she was a kid.

I finished locking up and started home as quickly as I could. Something about the interaction with LePort was tickling at the edges of my mind and wouldn't go away. I didn't have a clue what suckling pig was, but I did know that I needed to find out more about it. If anyone in town was awful enough to eat the school's mascot, it was certainly Francois LePort.

I was so inside my own head during the walk home that I didn't realize Drew and Watson were walking home on the other side of street until I approached the intersection. When I realized Drew was looking at me, I raised my hand to wave, but he just glared at me, stuffed his hands into his pockets and took the sidewalk to the left that would lead him home. I crossed the street to join Watson and we took the sidewalk leading to the right.