Page 38 of Murder on the Page

“Why are you standing here?” I asked. “Didn’t you remember to bring your keys today?”

“I did, but . . .” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I didn’t want to go in alone.”

“Tegan and Chloe aren’t here yet?”

She shook her head, removed a key chain from her purse, and unlocked the front door.

I went in first. There was definitely an emotional gloom in the shop. I placed the box of pastries on the sales counter, flipped on the lights, and kicked on the heater. I went to the audio system, as Marigold had been inclined to do, and queued up some classical music. The lyrical strains of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major, “Prélude,” started playing through speakers mounted above the desk. It was a beautiful rendition. Yo-Yo Ma’s notes were pure, his dynamics exquisite.

Tegan, clad in a thigh-length black sweater over black jeans and boots, rushed in a few minutes later. “Mom, you’re early!”

“You know me,” Noeline said. “I hate to be late.”

“Like Allie.” Tegan gave her mother a hug. The two stood that way for a long time before releasing one another.

“Nice getup, pal,” I said. Give her a cowboy hat and a gun in a holster, and she could have been the villain in a shoot-out.

“You should talk. You look like you work for a mortician.” The instant the words flew out of her mouth, she gagged. “Oh, oh, oh. I’m so sorry. I’m a horrible human being.”

“Gallows humor,” I said. “It’s to be expected.”

“Where’s Chloe?” Noeline asked as Tegan tossed her purse under the sales counter.

Tegan checked her watch. “She usually arrives closer to ten.” Store hours were ten to six. “Are those treats, Allie?” She motioned to the box of pastries.

“Maids of Honor.”

“Yum.” She helped herself to one and cooed her approval. “Best ever. Auntie would be as pleased as punch.” She offered one to Noeline, but her mother declined.

Vanna swept into the shop next. “What are you doing here,Allie?” she demanded, her imperious attitude intact. She adjusted the fake zebra tote, which was wedged beneath her arm. It clashed with her leopard-skin dress and rhinoceros-studded belt, unless, of course, she was going for the full-on, tasteless-tourist, African-safari look. The way she was glowering at me made me flash on the snake, Kaa, inThe Jungle Book.That character had scared the bejesus out of me when I’d read the story, and I would never forget its sibilant, silky voice in the Disney movie version. I’d had nightmares for days.

“I’m moral support,” I said.

“You’re not welcome.”

“I invited her, Vanna. Cool your jets,” Tegan said, displaying more backbone than usual.

You go, girl.

“Please, everyone.” Noeline sighed. “Let’s be civil.”

Chloe bustled into the shop at five to ten and said she’d make coffee. Tegan winced but didn’t argue. Beneath her overcoat, Chloe was wearing another black dress as formfitting as the one she’d worn on Sunday. At least, she’d donned her signature red boots and a red-themed silk scarf to add a pop of color.

At exactly ten, Mr. Tannenbaum, a thin sixty-something man in a pin-striped, three-piece suit, strode through the front door. He introduced himself. Tegan informed him that I would be sitting in. He didn’t quibble.

“Where shall we meet?” he asked.

“In the conference room,” Tegan said.

It was hardly a conference room. No bigger than eight feet by eight feet, it was the space where Marigold would bring buyers interested in viewing rare books and first editions. Those books were kept in the office in a polyurethane-painted wood case lined with acid-free paper. The temperature in the office was a steady sixty-five degrees, and a dehumidifier kept the room free of moisture.

“This way,” Tegan said, leading everyone through the archway into the stockroom.

The space had the delicious aroma of hardcover and paperback books and held the promise of adventure. Unopened boxes were stacked on top of one another and lined one wall. New books, as well as remainders—books that would revert to publishers because they didn’t sell—filled two floor-to-ceiling shelves. A beverage station, small table with two chairs, refrigerator, and microwave abutted the remaining wall. Marigold’s office was to the right. The conference room lay to the left.

Tegan pushed the door open and let everyone file in first. In the center of the room was a blond oak table surrounded by six chairs.

“Please sit,” Tannenbaum instructed, taking a chair. He set his briefcase on the table, popped it open, and pulled a folder from it. Then he leaned forward on his elbows, fingers interlaced. “Now, then, I’m sorry about the loss of your sister,” he addressed Noeline, “and your aunt,” he said to Tegan and Vanna. “She was a lovely woman and will be greatly missed. I remember many times coming to this bookshop and discussing what I should read next. She certainly had her opinions.” His smile was genuinely warm, and I could see why he was good at his profession. It couldn’t be easy drawing up wills, finalizing trusts for people, and conveying the news to those who’d lost loved ones.

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