Yvonne’s shoulders slumped, her pale face a shade whiter. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she whispered. “Ever. I mean . . . I couldn’t.”
Mrs. Tolliver made a
Yvonne’s fingers trembled. She slid the book she held onto a shelf. Into, I noted, the correct place. “Yes, but—”
“Then no more need be said.” Mrs. Tolliver swept out of the store.
Of the three remaining customers, one scuttled out, her gaze skittering over and through Yvonne. Another edged to the back of the store. The third, a regular customer from Madison whose name I could never remember, looked at Yvonne, then looked at me. She shrugged and went back to perusing the early chapter books.
“I’m so sorry,” Yvonne whispered. “I’ll leave now. Maybe you can catch up with Mrs. Tolliver and—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, loud enough for everyone in the store to hear, including an openmouthed Lois and a very still Paoze. “You’re not quitting. You didn’t kill anyone. You’re completely innocent. You received a complete acquittal.”
She’d also, I’d found out during our walk back from eating cookies, been awarded a hefty compensation check and didn’t need to depend on a paycheck from the Children’s Bookshelf to make the mortgage payments. This was an excellent financial situation for a bookstore clerk.
Yvonne kept her head down. “It doesn’t matter if I’m innocent or not. People will know I was in jail. I don’t want to hurt your business, Beth, so I’ll just—”
“Don’t you dare walk out on me.”
“I . . . what?” Her head popped up.
“You saw what happened yesterday. Lois and I can’t do all the work that needs doing. We need a third fulltime person and you’re the person we need.”
“There must be someone else.”
“Everyone with the qualifications wants benefits, and the only benefit I can provide is the smell of new books.”
She was starting to edge away and I didn’t know what to do. If I’d been Erica, I could have pummeled her with sound logic and have her begging to sign a contract for indentured servitude. If I’d been Marina, I’d have thrown my arms around her and wept until she agreed to stay. But I was only Beth, and my powers of persuasion were limited.
“Please stay,” I said softly. “We need you.”
Five simple words, each one a single syllable. No way was that going to be argument enough. I heaved a heavy internal sigh. Yvonne would leave and never come back. The newspaper ad for a new employee would go answered. Lois and I would run ourselves ragged trying to operate the store ourselves. Lois would get sick from stress and have to be hospitalized. I’d rush from store to hospital to PTA meetings to home and would inevitably forget one of Jenna’s hockey games. She’d never forgive me, and as we descended into her teenage years, our relationship would deteriorate to silence. All for the want of a bookstore clerk. I looked at Yvonne and couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You really want me to work here?” she asked.
My heart started beating again.
“Yes!” Lois shouted. Her head was peeking up over the row of middle-grade bookshelves. “Absolutely yes.”
“Are you sure?” Yvonne asked. “What if Mrs. Tolliver tells three people not to come here again, and those three people tell three other people, and—”
“Don’t be such a worrywart,” Lois said, coming around the endcap. “It’ll be fine. The three of us will make a great team.” She draped her long arms over our shoulders. “Paoze, get over here. Add in Sara, and Beth will be franchising the place before you know it.” She beamed.
Like I wanted the headache of franchising. Ick.
“Well, if you’re sure . . .”
“Very,” I said firmly.
“Hooray!” Lois cried, and slapped us both on the back.
We stood there, a perfect photo opportunity for anyone who wanted to take a picture of a young man and three women of varying ages. One tall and familiar man did walk in the door, but he didn’t have a camera in hand. What he had was a concerned expression on his face.
“Beth, can I talk to you?”
I shut the door, wondering what was so important that Evan would leave his store in the middle of the afternoon. He’d spent the first year of his ownership of the hardware rearranging displays and adding items that would attract customers other than laconic contractors, and was starting to reap the rewards of his savvy instincts and immensely long hours.
I hoped there wasn’t a problem with one of his girls. Evan was divorced and had two children, but his daughters were grown. One was in the army, and the other was a sophomore at the University of Wisconsin.
But the look on his face wasn’t that kind of look. I looked up into his blue eyes. Blue as the eyes of the Siamese cat I’d had as a child. Blue as a winter’s dawn.
“Beth, are you listening to me?”
“Um, sorry. I was just . . . thinking.” Daydreaming, whatever. For some reason, Evan’s presence had that effect on me. One look into those light blue eyes and the real world fell away. In my imagination we were often on a desert island, or in Europe, or in the English book town of Hay-on-Wye with Evan cheerfully carrying all my purchases.
“Thinking is a good thing.” He pulled out my desk chair and kissed me as I sat down. The spare chair was covered with catalogs and books and magazines, but Evan knew the drill. He picked up the pile, dropped it onto the floor, and sat.
“So I hear you’ve hired a convicted murderer.” He draped one ankle over the opposite knee.
I’d been in the act of leaning back comfortably, but at his words I sat bolt upright. “Where did you hear that?”
He waved his hands. “You know this town.”
This town, that town, every town, probably, when it came to news like this. “It’s not true.” Well, technically it was. I sighed and gave him the thirty-second summary.
“Interesting situation.” He put his hands around his knee. “How do you feel about some unsolicited advice from a current business owner and former attorney?”
I put my hands over my abdomen. “My stomach hurts already.”
“Your stomach hurts all the time.”
“Only when I worry.”
“You worry all the time.” He gave me that lopsided grin.
I smiled back. “Not
We sat there making goopy-eyes at each other until my face got tired. “Okay, I’m ready for the advice. Hit me.”
He dropped his foot to the floor and looked at me straight on and serious. “Hiring Yvonne is a mistake.”
I felt as if he had hit me. “No,” I said. “You’re wrong.” I started listing all the reasons Yvonne was perfect for the job, perfect for the store, and perfect for Rynwood, but Evan rode over my tally.
“Hear me out, okay?” He sat forward, elbows on thighs, letting his hands dangle together. “None of that matters. The only thing that counts in a business is that it makes money. Every decision has to have that as its focus.”
I stiffened. He was using the patient voice. I hated that. “Are you saying I don’t know how to run my own business?” Stupid Beth, floundering in her own ignorance. It was amazing the store had carried on this long.
Evan stood and walked over to my chair. He took my hands, pulled me to my feet, and enfolded me in his arms. “You’re doing a wonderful job,” he said into my hair. “You’ve created an almost magical atmosphere here. You think it’s the books, but the crucial ingredient is completely different.”
