He ended up parking in a municipal lot three blocks away and strolling back. He entered through the bustling cafe, which was connected to the gift shop, where high-end stationery, soaps, and scented candles were sold. The herbal scents filled the entire bookstore. Mitch had always thought a bookstore should smell like, well, books. Not like lavender. Still, he admired C.C. Willoughby. He admired anyone who could turn a profit selling books. Most of the vast downstairs was reserved for current hardcover fiction and nonfiction. Abby was signing copies of her new novel upstairs, where the children’s books were. The line of kids and their parents waiting to meet her snaked all the way down the stairs and out the front door.
Mitch squeezed past them and tried to get to her by way of an adjoining room. But the doorway was intentionally blocked. All he could manage was a peek of her seated there at a table, greeting her fans one by one and signing copies of The Codfather of Sole. Abby was a chubby little blond in a cream-colored linen suit. Flanking her were Chrissie Huberman and Abby’s escort, a six-foot-four inch slab of granite who favored the goatee and shaved head look. Mitch supposed it was intended to make him look menacing, and as far as he was concerned it worked.
There was no way Mitch could approach her now. None.
So he waited outside on a bench across the street, nursing an iced cappuccino from the cafe while he tried to keep his mind off of the horrifying image of Dodge and his own teenaged daughter in bed together. He could not do it. The image would not fade away.
A half hour later, Abby finally emerged out front with Chrissie. The two women chatted for a minute as Abby signed books for a few more grateful young readers. Meanwhile, her escort made his way over to a black town car parked two doors down, unlocked it, and waited there for her, holding a rear door open. Mitch was on his feet now, inching his way steadily closer. Abby and Chrissie exchanged a hug, then Chrissie went back inside and Abby started toward the car. As soon as she’d climbed in the escort slammed her door shut and got in behind the wheel.
This was when Mitch yanked open her door, jumped in beside her and said, “Abby, we need to talk.”
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing!” she objected angrily.
“I’m sorry, but this was the only-”
“Back off, Mr. Stalker Nut!”
“I’m not a stalker, I’m-”
“Yo, who is this guy, Abby?” her escort demanded, twisting around in the front seat and seizing Mitch by the collar of his rumpled button-down.
“Wait, I know him…” Abby shook a manicured finger at Mitch now. “I’ve seen your picture in the paper. You’re-”
“Mitch Berger,” he gasped.
“Right,” she exclaimed. “And you’re all mixed up in this Tito Molina mess with Chrissie… Let him go, Frankie.” Frankie complied. “I know who this man is, although I don’t have the slightest idea what he wants. What do you want, Mitch?”
“It’s about Jeff,” Mitch said, straightening his collar. “I’m a friend of his.”
Abby’s face fell. “Oh, I see.”
Abby Kaminsky was a little bitty thing, barely five feet tall. And there were two things Mitch knew about her right away. One was that she was someone who had been told that she was adorable for as long as she could remember. The other was that she was someone who had always fought her weight. For some reason, Abby reminded Mitch of Muriel Bloom, the teacher who he’d been madly in love with when he was in the fifth grade. Something about her heart-shaped face, milky complexion, and startled blue eyes. Abby wore her frosted blond hair in a smartly styled bob. Her makeup, lipstick, and nail polish all came together in a way that indicated a professional had supervised her entire look-right down to the linen suit she wore, which accentuated her generous curves rather than fighting with them.
On the seat next to her were a box of Cocoa Pebbles kids’ cereal and a water bottle. She reached for the water bottle, her eyes studying Mitch carefully. “Look, I have to be in Boston. I don’t have time for this-whatever this is.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Mitch promised. “Have you eaten lunch? I happen to know they make a superior BLT at The Beanery.”
“God, cookie, you know the way right to my heart.”
The Beanery was narrow and dark. The floors were of well-worn wood, as were the high-backed booths, which had several generations of initials carved into them. Since it was after two o’clock, no one else was in there eating lunch. They took the booth next to the front window. Frankie stayed outside, leaning against the town car with his big arms crossed, glowering at Mitch.
“Don’t mind him, Mitch,” Abby said, hanging her linen jacket on a coat hook by the door. She wore a sleeveless white silk camisoleunderneath. Her bare arms were round but well toned, as if she’d been going to the gym regularly. “He’s just very protective. And we had a brief, a-a thing, so he gets all hormonal.”
“You’re not with him any longer?” Mitch asked, recalling how enraged Jeff had been over their affair.
“I don’t stay with anyone for very long. Listen, I have to go wash my patties. I’ve just spent the past hour shaking hands with my you-know-whos. Do you have any idea where those fingers of theirs have been? In their mouths, in their noses, in their… God, it’s too horrible to even think about.” She paused, looking Mitch up and down. “I’m going to take you on faith. Order me a BLT and a chocolate shake.”
He ordered the same for both of them from the elderly waitress as Frankie continued to glare at him through the window.
“That was so terrible about Tito,” Abby said when she returned to their booth, sliding in across from him. “It must feel weird knowing you were the last person on earth to speak to him before he jumped.”
“Actually, that may not be what happened. He may have been murdered.”
“You didn’t kill him, did you?” she demanded breathlessly, her big blue eyes widening. “Please tell me it wasn’t you, Mitch. You’ve just jumped into my town car. You’re notorious. You’re desperate. You’ve got the wounded teddy bear thing going on. Already I have a mad crush on you.”
“It wasn’t me,” Mitch said.
“Oh, thank God.”
The waitress returned now with their shakes, fussing over Abby, who she obviously recognized.
Mitch tasted his. It was frosty and good. “But until they do know how Tito died, I won’t get over this. I need to know if I could have saved him.”
“Mitch, I wouldn’t blame myself, I were you. Tito Molina didn’t know up from down. That was one hurtin’ puppy.”
Mitch gazed at her curiously. “You sound as if you knew him.”
“I did.” She took a gulp of her shake, the tip of her pink tongue flicking at the residue on her upper lip. “We had a brief, a-a thing.”
“Really, when was this?”
“Before I left on my tour. Would you believe I’ve been on the road for over six weeks? I’ve hit twenty-three cities in forty-nine days, not that I’m counting or anything. My face is breaking out for the first time since the Reagan years. I have no life and no one to talk to except for Frankie, who is not exactly Mr. David Halberstam, in case you didn’t notice. These past few nights have been the first nights I’ve slept in my own actual bed since, like, Memorial Day. When I woke up my first morning home, I didn’t recognize my own room. I couldn’t even remember what city I was in. That’s when you know you’ve been on tour too long. And already I’m back on the road again, two nights in Boston and…” She trailed off, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t answered Mitch’s question. “Chrissie brought me by Tito’s hotel for breakfast one morning. He was in New York to meet with some British playwright, and the studio was hoping he’d agree to be the voice of Carleton for the film version of The Codfather. He ended up passing, but he wanted to hear my thoughts about the character before he committed.”
Mitch nodded. The first Carleton movie was a state-of-the-art animated production that had been two years in the making. It was going to be its studio’s big Christmas release. Freddie Prinze Jr. was providing the voice of Carleton.
“I thought he was very sweet,” Abby went on. “And after Crissie took off, I found myself upstairs in his hotel room, naked. Scout’s honor, I boinked Tito Molina-little Abigail Kaminsky from Margate, New Jersey, thunder thighs and all. Honestly, I was so nervous I felt just like I do when I’m at the gynecologist’s office. My little hands and feet
