She picked up the phone and eyed me warily while keeping her finger over the send button.
I quickly offered a complimentary cup of our coffee of the day and some of our cookies. That seemed to help. “I guess a stalker wouldn’t offer snacks,” she said, pushing the clear button on her cell phone before she slipped it back in her purse.
As we went into the cafe, I introduced myself and she did the same, saying her name was Pixie. It had to be a nickname. Who would really name someone that? She didn’t have a pixie sort of look, but she wasn’t the opposite, either. You know, like someone called Tiny who is really a giant. She was short and on the round side with a certain earthy quality. Maybe it was the raspy voice. But what I noticed most was her hair—not the color, which was kind of an ash blond, but the style. She had a short wedge cut. It reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place who.
Once she had her drink and cookies, we sat down at a table by the counter. She took a sip of her coffee, held up her cup and smiled at Bob. “My compliments to the barista.” She fluttered her eyelids just enough for me to figure out she was a flirt; Bob fell for it big time.
“Maybe we overreacted last night,” Pixie said, finishing off a cookie. “But Arnold’s an orthodontist, and we’ve had a few problems. Occasionally there’s been a disgruntled patient whose smile doesn’t turn out quite as they envisioned. It certainly isn’t his fault. The man’s a perfectionist. Nobody works harder or cares more about their patients. Even more so now that our kids are away at college. He’s started keeping evening hours several nights a week to make it easier for his patients who work. Of course, it makes it harder for me. He doesn’t want me going out places alone. He’s the jealous type, you know.”
I was a little surprised by his profession. It was certainly not what I’d have chosen if I were guessing his occupation. Bob came over and offered her a sample of a new frozen drink he was trying out. She accepted, took a sip, then raved it was delicious and said he must be some kind of drink genius. Bob seemed to grow visibly taller with the compliments. I had to admire her style. She wasn’t particularly attractive, but she had a way with men. I’d never seen Bob so animated, and he only reluctantly returned to his station.
Before I could get to my information gathering, she brought up the reason she’d come to the bookstore. “I just have to get a copy of that new book on Princess Di. What section would it be in?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer but went off on what a fan of the late princess she was. Suddenly, I got the hair. It was the style Diana had when she married Prince Charles. “I should have been there for her funeral,” she said, explaining she wanted to go to London then so she could pay her respects. “I just know we would have been friends if we’d met. I would have been simpatico with her.”
I wasn’t sure if that was the correct way to use the word, but I got her meaning. Apparently, Pixie had finally gotten to London. She spent a long time describing her visit to Kensington Palace, where Princess Di had lived, and she raved over the display of her dresses. Pixie and Princess Di would have made an odd couple, with Diana’s tall boyish figure and Pixie’s shorter roundness. She moved on to the tribute at Harrods. The mention of the famous department store reminded me of Arnold and his shopping bag.
“Did your husband sell some things at the Cottage Shoppe?” I blurted it out before I realized how out of context it was and that it might give her pause to rethink the stalking thing.
“What?” she asked, looking at me oddly. I said her mention of the store had triggered my memory and I recalled seeing Arnold at the Cottage Shoppe with a Harrods shopping bag and wondered if perhaps he’d sold off some items.
She blinked a few times. “You must be mistaken. Arnold’s never been in that store.”
Okay, either she was totally lying or she didn’t know about something Arnold had going on. I was going to go with lying. Maybe it was because she answered too quickly and seemed too sure he’d never been in the store.
She stood, ending our conversation, and asked where the book she wanted was. I walked her into the bookstore and pointed toward our new releases section before heading back to the event area.
When I rejoined the crochet group, they were all working in silence. It was like the break in traffic on the freeway, only temporary. A moment later everyone started talking.
I’d barely settled in when Adele appeared from her meeting—and she wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER 18
AFTER ALL THE TALK ABOUT CAITLIN’S CUPCAKES, I was anxious to try the place. Dinah finally pulled her head out of her papers when the crochet group ended, and I talked her into coming along.
It was on Ventura just across a side street from the Cottage Shoppe and had taken over the spot that used to be a Persian restaurant. Just as Patricia had said, there was a display in the window of red, white and blue frosted cupcakes arranged to represent an American flag. “Vote for Victor Ditner” was written across them in gold frosting. The cupcakes were obviously a hot item. We had to practically get in line just to take a number. When it was finally our turn, Dinah picked a banana cupcake and I chose a carrot one.
“Fruit and vegetable,” I joked as I gathered up the small plates and Dinah took the coffees. All the tables were taken, but we found a couple of empty stools at the bar that ran along the side window.
“Give Adele a mile and she turns it into a road trip,” I said to Dinah. “Mrs. Shedd says she can help with one book signing and suddenly she thinks she’s running things.”
Dinah appeared confused. “Did I miss something during the group?”
“I think so. I think you might have missed a whole lot of stuff. What was with the paper grading?”
Dinah sighed. “I forgot how much time two little kids take, three if you count their father.” She looked frustrated. “I was going to do the papers this morning, but there was just one disaster after the other. Jeremy keeps saying just another day or so and he’ll have everything straightened out and they’ll be on their way. I should never have taken them in, but he knows how to get to me. He reminded me that E. Conner and Ashley-Angela are my kids’ half siblings. I don’t know why, but somehow that makes me feel connected to them.” She shook her head as if trying to clear it. “So, tell me what I missed.”
“Where to begin?” I said. “Did you notice that Adele showed up with someone?”
Dinah shook her head, and I told her the someone was none other than Eduardo Linnares, the cover model from Romance Night. All crocheting had abruptly stopped with his arrival; Dinah had been the only one not to stare with her mouth open. He was almost too good-looking, like some kind of statue come to life. He’d lost the theatrical outfit and wore well-fitting designer jeans with a navy blue polo shirt, and had his flowing black hair tied in a loose ponytail. He carried a cup of coffee and had a smile so magnetic it practically gleamed. While he made conversation with CeeCee, and Patricia, Adele pulled me aside.
I swallowed back a smile when I caught her outfit. This was Adele’s idea of business wear. She’d paired what looked like men’s dark gray trousers with a white shirt and a black crocheted vest. The white shirt was unbuttoned enough to give a hint of cleavage, and she’d finished off the outfit with a purple-and-yellow-striped men’s tie with the knot just below the first closed button. Her just past chin-length hair was usually a wavy light brown, but she’d given it a mahogany rinse and forced it into a severe straight style. Her eye makeup was so heavy she looked like a raccoon.
“Pink, you have to go with me on this. I told him he could have his own evening at the bookstore. We’ll have a display of all the books with him on the cover. Then he can talk about being a cover model and read some of his poetry.” Adele avoided looking directly at me so she wouldn’t have to see my expression.
I was speechless for a moment. “You should have talked to me first. Mrs. Shedd said you could help me with Milton Mindell’s thing because he’s a children’s author. Nowhere did she say you could start setting up events on your own.” I kept my voice low to keep it just between the two of us. “I told him he could read his poetry on Poetry Night.”
“Poetry Night?” Adele said.
“I just started it,” I answered. “I can do that. It’s my job to arrange programs and set up author events. And my job only—except if Mrs. Shedd wants to do something like invite the crochet group here.”
Adele knew what she’d done was wrong, but that didn’t mean she would back down. The worst part was it wasn’t a bad idea. I had no doubt advertising an evening with Eduardo would bring in a lot of people and sell a lot of books. We could even arrange for customers who bought something to have their photos taken with him. I wasn’t quite clear what was in it for him, but from our standpoint, it would be a money maker.
