Double Booked For Death

Most of the fans outside had dispersed, save for a handful of those who’d been closest to the spot where Valerie had met her dramatic end. Reese was still taking notes, and Darla wondered how many pages he’d gone through so far. The reports doubtless would make for some substantial reading for someone who professed never to crack open a book, Darla thought with a momentary lapse into snark. Then, chiding herself for being petty at such a time, she concentrated on escorting out the fans, particularly Callie and the other three girls.

Traffic outside had slowed to near glacial upon reaching the flashing police lights. Those seeking a quick thrill would be disappointed, for the police vehicles and a hastily erected barrier assembled from sawhorses covered with tarps blocked their view. To Darla’s relief, Valerie’s body had been removed. Unfortunately, the area where she’d landed was now marked with Day-Glo spots of spray paint, and the accident investigators were still measuring and photographing the scene.

At least they didn’t draw one of those cliché body silhouettes , Darla thought in relief as she deliberately kept Callie to her far side in order to spare her the sight of the death scene. Unfortunately, Susanna and her friends had shrieked with sufficient vigor upon glimpsing the lonely pair of red pumps still lying in the street that Callie had looked, too. She’d said nothing, however, but merely clutched Darla’s hand more tightly.

Somewhat to Darla’s surprise, Susanna politely protested Darla’s plan to call a taxi for them. “It’s, like, not necessary,” the teen said with a shrug, managing a blasé tone despite the twin trails of tear-spilled black eyeliner that now bisected either pale cheek. “We can totally walk home.”

Before they walked off, Callie lingered behind her sister for a moment. “I never even got my book signed,” she said, her soft tone filled with resigned sorrow.

Darla gave her an encouraging smile. “Tell you what. Give it a few days for things to settle down, and then have your mom bring you by the store. I’ll see if I can make it up to you.”

Satisfied the girls were safely on their way, Darla had returned inside to wait with the others. By then, the worst of the grief storm had passed, replaced by a general air of defeat. Someone had brought the food down from upstairs and arranged it neatly on the counter near the register, but it didn’t appear anyone was hungry. Not feeling much of an appetite herself, Darla spent the next half hour straightening stock, until, tiring of the busywork, she’d settled herself at the far side of the signing table. No one, it seemed, wanted to sit in the black-draped chair that had been Valerie’s.

What would Great-Aunt Dee have done had this happened on her watch? Darla frowned, considering. Knowing Dee, she probably would’ve sponsored some big memorial event at the store for her customers: a splashy-yet-tasteful party that would make all the papers. It was a good idea, Darla thought. Maybe she should consider something similar.

She sighed. For the moment, her only plan was to snag a signed copy of Valerie’s book for Callie, assuming that the girl ever returned to the store. The memory of the girl’s pinched features and silent tears haunted Darla almost as much as the image of Valerie’s slack, waxen face thrown into harsh relief under the headlights’ glare. Perhaps an autographed copy would ease a bit of her young pain.

The ching of the cash register roused her from her state of mental exhaustion.

“James, what in the heck are you doing?”

Darla stared in dismay at the sight of her employee, casually ringing up an armful of books. Valerie Baylor’s books, to be exact. And they’d not come from the remaining stacks that now waited forlornly for autographs that would never be penned. Instead, they were from the under-counter stash of books that Valerie had signed at the beginning of the night, which had been tagged as store copies.

“Employee discount purchase,” he replied, his crisp tone unapologetic as he ran his American Express card through the reader, then, per policy, handed the receipt to her, along with a pen. “I do have my retirement to consider, if you would be so kind as to oblige?”

Darla stared at the slip of paper for a moment before sighing. “Sure,” she replied, aware she probably should put her foot down about such a ghoulishly opportunistic buy, but not caring. She had more to worry about than James making a few bucks selling books that more properly ought to remain store stock. Her bigger concern was how this was going to affect the shop’s business from here on out. She still had several hundred copies of Valerie’s new book in boxes and on display. Would people want to buy their books from the place that, for all intents and purposes, had been the site of the country’s most popular author’s death?

Then again, James was probably right. Darla could remember quite clearly how, the day after the Princess of Wales’s tragic death in Paris, she’d impulsively headed to her local bookseller to pick up one of those Diana coffee-table books as a memento. Everyone else in town apparently had had the same idea. By the time she got there, every Diana tell-all bio and picture book had been wiped from the shelves, along with every gossip magazine that might have contained a scandalous photo or two of the princess. Darla had counted herself fortunate to score a week-old copy of a news magazine with an article on Diana that she’d found stashed behind the napkins in the coffee bar area of the store. In fact, she’d been so stoked that she had not even bothered to ask for a discount to account for the coffee rings on the front cover.