Page 33 of Secrets in the Stacks

“Not that I know about. I guess she could have a great American novel tucked away in the study somewhere. My luck, she probably wrote it by hand.” Darby held her hand over the other bag. “I’m taking this in the back, and I’ll run it over to Sam before I leave. Do you want me to take that one too?”

“You probably better.” Rarity tucked the journal back into the sack. “I know me. I’m going to get lost in the journals and forget that I’m supposed to be running a business. I’ll keep a few here for when it’s slow and take the rest home. I’m not sure I’ll be done before next Tuesday though.”

“Me neither. I’ve got to get ready for the funeral, and then we’re doing an open house at Grandma’s. I guess, at my house. I already talked to Detective Anderson, and he said it was okay. So tomorrow after the funeral, come by the house. People are already dropping off food, so I’m going to put as much of it out as possible.” Darby grabbed the other bag. “Grandma would hate it if food went to waste.”

When she came out of the back room with a box of books to stock, Rarity held up a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to work today. If this is too much, you can just take a few days.”

Darby shook her head. “Believe me, I need the distraction. I’ve done everything I can think of to try to reach my folks. But nothing. I can’t believe they’re going to miss her funeral just because they didn’t leave a phone number where they could be reached. Or even just keep the same cell phone. Who does something like that?”

“Did Archer have any luck?” Rarity had meant to call him last night, but the book club had run late, and she’d been beat by the time she got home.

“Not that I’ve heard. I know he was good friends with my dad, so maybe he’s talked to them and they’re on their way.” She ripped open the box with a box cutter. “Either way, I’m not going to let it upset me. I guess this is just another chapter of my life where I’m going to have to be the adult. I thought once I’d beaten cancer that I’d get a little karma credit and could be a kid for a while. But whatever.”

Rarity knew how she felt. She’d gone on a “fun year” after she’d finished treatments. Anything she’d wanted to do, to eat, anywhere she’d wanted to travel, she’d indulged herself. So much that she’d quit her job, moved several states away, and opened a business. She wouldn’t say on a lark, but on the other hand, she’d spent years figuring out what she wanted to do with her career before cancer. The bookstore hadn’t even been on her radar.

Until she was faced with the fact that tomorrow wasn’t promised. Priorities became really clear then.

“Do you want lunch?” Rarity knew eating was one way she coped with being overwhelmed. Possibly it was Darby’s coping mechanism too.

“I ate before I came in. Someone brought a couple of quarts of potato soup. With the egg dumplings. It was heaven. I’m going to have to find out who made it and have them bring me some on a weekly basis.” She held up a book and turned it over to read the back.

“I bet Shirley might know. She seems to know everyone.” Rarity picked up her tote. “I’m going over to the Garnet and getting me something to eat. Maybe they’ll have potato soup, too.”

Darby nodded. “I’ll be here. Shirley’s amazing. I can’t believe she’s dealing with so much and not falling apart. Of course, she is in total denial about George, so I guess that’s one way to cope.”

“Maybe not the healthiest, but we just have to be there when she’s ready to actually talk about it,” Rarity said as she left the store. As she walked to the restaurant, she wondered if Shirley would ever break down that fictional story she had built around her husband. And if she did, would it break her? Rarity whispered to whatever gods were listening, “We just don’t need to find out, now, do we?”

Chapter 14

Rarity closed the shop at five on Wednesday. She’d sent Darby home at three. They hadn’t gotten a single customer after two, so they caught up on stocking and record keeping, and finally, she didn’t have anything to give Darby to do. So she sent her home. Rarity had spent the last two hours reading the first of Catherine’s journals. She’d tucked a few under the counter and put the rest into the tote she carried back and forth every day. It would be a little heavy getting home, but she’d manage.

She was locking up when she heard steps behind her. Without turning around, she called out, “Sorry, we’re closed. We’ll be open tomorrow morning only. But then back to regular hours on Friday.”

“Well, then I got here right on time,” Archer said, his tone humorous. He took the tote from her and almost dropped it. “What on earth do you have in here? Are you taking home all the books in your shop?”

She took his arm. “No, I’ve got Catherine’s journals. Or at least my share. The woman was prolific with her output.”

“So you’re reading them and looking for clues?” He hefted the bag on his other side, and they started down the sidewalk.

“That’s what the fortune-teller said to do.” Rarity pulled on Killer’s leash as he stopped to smell something again. “I’m not a believer in the mystical part of this, but I have to say, I’m loving reading her journals. She talks a lot about Darby and how proud she is of her. I’m putting stickies on those pages. Darby might not want to read all of the journals, but she should know how much her grandmother cared about her.”

“That’s sweet. Catherine was an amazing woman. She helped me with a report on the women’s movement when I was in high school. I thought the subject matter might win me extra points with my teacher. And it did, but I learned so much from Catherine. It gave me a new perspective on the struggle women have gone through.” He paused and pulled her closer as a bike whizzed by. “And I got an A.”

“Which is the important part of this story.”

He chuckled. “It was at the time. I was hovering around a B-plus, and I needed that point if I was going to get a chance at a scholarship.”

“Do you know if she ever wrote? I’d read a novel from her. Or a nonfiction book. It doesn’t matter. She’s so good at making you feel like you’re in the story with her. Darby said she liked to write stories in her journals.”

“I don’t know that she ever tried. Although with as many community service organizations she was in or ran, I’m not sure she would have had the time.” He nodded to a man walking the other way on the sidewalk.

“I guess I’m a true bookseller. I’m always seeing novelists or authors in people’s everyday lives. But seriously, she could have been a successful writer.” She decided to change the subject. “So how was your day? And are you coming home with me for dinner? Or did you just want to walk us home?”

“Three questions. Which one should I answer first?” He pursed his lips and made a face.

“What on earth are you doing?” Rarity laughed at the face he was making.

He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you can’t see a ‘thinking’ face.”

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