Double Booked For Death

The newscast switched back to the live feed, and the camera panned right, sliding past the iron railing of Jake’s basement apartment and in the direction of Mary Ann’s brother’s antique shop. Just beyond that point, at the approximate spot where Valerie and the van had had their fatal encounter, Darla could see that a shrine of sorts had been erected.

She gasped. Heedless of the news crew below, she shoved up her window and craned her neck for a better look. From above, the shrine was even more impressive than it appeared on the small screen. A veritable florist shop’s worth of flowers—a few carnations and daisies, but mostly red roses—interspersed with candles and stuffed animals, lay against the building and covered a large section of sidewalk. The display rivaled the spontaneous tributes to Lennon and Jackson and other pop culture icons that Darla recalled seeing on TV.

Quickly, lest the reporter catch sight of her and turn the camera in her direction, she slammed her window shut again. She returned her attention to the television in time to see two more teens walk into the shot and lay another fistful of red roses atop the mound of blossoms.

“Last night, five hundred adoring fans—mostly teenage girls—were lined up on this sidewalk waiting for the chance to see Ms. Baylor in person,” came the reporter’s words while the camera zoomed in on a single red rose tied with a black ribbon. “Now, those same fans have been visiting the site of her untimely death over the last few hours to leave flowers, candles, and notes of condolence.”

The camera pulled back, and the reporter maneuvered herself into the shot once again. “It’s obvious that this tragedy has struck a large segment of the reading public to the heart,” she went on. “Valerie Baylor’s previous Haunted High books have sold more than ten million copies to date. For now, her fans are contenting themselves with buying up Valerie’s final novel while the authorities continue to investigate.”

The reporter allowed herself a final dramatic pause and stared straight into the camera. “Reporting live from the scene of Valerie Baylor’s untimely death, this is Juanita Hillburn, Channel Twelve News. Back to you, David.”

Barely had Darla let the curtain drop than her phone began to ring. Her first frantic thought was that the media had tracked her down and that someone wanted a statement from her. A glance at the caller ID, however, showed it was Jake on the other end.

“Any chance you were watching television just now, or looking out the window?” the other woman asked before Darla could manage a hello.

“Both.”

Darla muted the television and sank onto the couch, clutching the phone in one hand and holding her head with the other. “My God, they even showed the front door of the store. And that mountain of flowers is unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I heard people tromping past my place all night long.” Jake’s raspy voice held more than a note of weariness. “I’m waiting for the swarm of honeybees next.”

“It’s not the flowers that worry me, it’s the media,” Darla replied. Summoning a hopeful tone, she added, “Do you think this was it as far as news reports?”

“Not a chance, kid. You just missed the folks from the Spanish-language station. The other major networks have already come and gone, and the smaller cable channels are circling the block now like vultures. Famous author plus grisly death equals news. If I were you, I’d stay inside until tomorrow.”

“Great,” Darla answered forlornly.

“Listen, I’m going back to bed, kid. Didn’t get much sleep last night, you know? But I’ll yell if Reese calls with any updates.”

Darla hung up and shut off the television, and then peered out the window again. By now, two more news trucks had stopped in the curbside lane and were blocking traffic as they scrambled for some quick shots of the scene. The passing drivers either responded with a blare of a horn and rude gestures, or else slowed to gawk at the floral tribute, further snarling traffic. A few more fans had gathered now, joining hands in what appeared to be a gothic ring-around-the-rosy.

Jake has the right idea, she thought with a groan, abandoning the window as she contemplated heading right back to bed, too. Since the store was closed today anyhow, she had nowhere to be for the rest of the day. Camping out under the covers seemed the best plan.

Darla contemplated that bit of self-indulgence for a few more minutes and then shook her head. The apartment needed a good vacuuming, laundry needed washing, and a stack of store paperwork awaited her. Mundane tasks to be sure, but unless the good fairies paid her an unexpected visit, none of it would get done unless she did it.

Giving the bed a final longing look, she dragged herself to the shower. Thirty minutes later, her auburn hair was freshly braided and she was wearing her official lounge-around-the-house uniform of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Since the apartment held a bit of a chill, she also pulled on an oversized black sweater to complete her less-than-stunning ensemble and then headed back to the kitchen for more coffee and a yogurt.