You Better Knot Die

face, I realized we looked like no-sleep sisters.

I told her about the intruder and told her it was nothing for her to worry about. “I’m pretty sure it was all about somebody trying to find out about the author of the Anthony books.” The flat look in her eyes came into focus and she surprised me by asking if I knew the author’s real identity. Apparently Anthony was so hot, even a woman with a missing husband was interested. She mentioned that she’d read the first two books and couldn’t wait for the third. We talked a few moments about vampires and I glanced at her car.

“I don’t want to keep you. What time does your boat leave?”

Emily’s demeanor changed to annoyance. “I changed my mind,” she said. “I was so worried that something happened to him, but now that I know where he is, I’m not going to go running after him.” She stopped and we stood for a moment looking at each other. Were we both thinking the same thing? He might not be alone.

“I’ve got errands to run and a life to lead,” she said with a huff and she pulled open the SUV door.

As I headed back across my lawn, I saw Ryder standing across the street. He lowered his camera and headed back down the street toward his house. With no cop cars, I guess we weren’t YouTube fodder. I wonder if he knew he’d missed the second round of action at my house.

The scent of real pine was the first thing I noticed when I walked in Shedd & Royal. A six-foot-tall fresh tree was standing adjacent to the cashier counter. I was instantly glad Mrs. Shedd had been talked into getting a real tree. More than a real tree, it was a live tree. It was sitting in a large pot of dirt. I stood next to the tree and inhaled deeply.

More of the wonderful fragrance was coming from the box of pine boughs on the ground next to the tree. Mrs. Shedd was going all out this year. I thought the credit really belonged to Mr. Royal. He had a zest for living and it seemed to be contagious. Joshua Royal walked out of the storage room, carrying a box of tiny clear lights. He brought it over to the tree and began stringing the lights on the graceful branches.

“Where should I put this?” a male voice said behind me. Nicholas Hartman, owner of the store next to the bookstore, caught up with me and held out a menorah. A table sat adjacent to the tree and I pointed to it. “Mind if I put a small sign next to it, saying it came from my store?” Nicholas asked.

Mr. Royal and I both said it was fine. As he stepped back to get a better view of the position of the menorah on the table, Nicholas knocked over the cardboard cutout for Caught Under the Mistletoe. He viewed it with distaste as he picked it up. “The vampires are taking over.”

Nicholas’s store was called Luxe. It was best described as a lifestyle store and featured an eclectic array of items. I thought every item in the store had charisma, whether it was a scented candle in a silver cup or the brick red shirt with the crinkly texture that I’d gotten there. Nicholas was like the things he carried in his store—different. I didn’t know all the details, but I’d heard he had a whole different life before the store. Now it appeared the store was his life. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket. But the store seemed to be doing okay. All he needed was to get some young hip celeb to shop there and tell the paparazzi.

To me, Nicholas was all about the expression in his earthy brown eyes. They carried his smile and a little touch of uncertainty. His face was long and his brown hair had the ruffled and gelled look that seemed so popular. Once upon a time, it would have been considered messy.

No, I wasn’t falling for Nicholas. But I liked him and I liked his store.

Once he’d gotten the okay for the menorah placement, he turned toward me. He viewed me with concern. “Hard night, huh? I have some tea that might help.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with a red-eye, though my neighbor said some tea you sold her really helped,” I said.

“Who’s that?” he said.

When I mentioned Emily, he nodded. “She was pretty upset. Has her husband showed up?”

I was surprised he knew. Hadn’t Emily told me she’d only told the truth to me and the cops? He listened attentively as I went through the whole chain of events, along with the latest update. It was hard to read how he was taking the information. He seemed to be absorbing it, but not reacting.

One of the new Hookers, Rhoda Klein, came in and saw Nicholas. She was a gruff, opinionated person with dark short hair and a sharp jaw. But all her edges melted when Nicholas greeted her by name.

Sheila Altman rushed in the door and then screeched to a stop when she saw him. She pulled out a blanket from her tote bag. “Is this what you had in mind?” she asked.

Nicholas laid it on the table and looked it over. I was almost drooling. Sheila had outdone herself this time. She was known for making shawls and scarves that were mixtures of yarn textures and colors. She tended to stay with blues and greens and her pieces had an impressionist feeling about them. This one was a soft teal blue that mixed with lavender and then green. The yarn had a halo and looked like it would be cuddly to the touch.

Nicholas pronounced it as being just what he had in mind. They made arrangements for her to bring in a few more and negotiated the price. Sheila looked like she was waiting for a problem to show up. It was no wonder. She’d sold some of her work before through a local consignment store and been stiffed for some of the money owed her.

“Stop by if you change your mind about the tea,” Nicholas said to me as he took the blanket and walked toward the door.

Sheila and I continued on to the yarn area. With the table always set up, our regular start-up time had gotten kind of soft around the edges. Translated—no matter how early I got there, there were always people already at the table.

As we got closer, I heard the conversation already in progress. Rhoda had only stopped in the front for a moment and then gone back to the crochet area. Her voice stood out above the others.

“You call that a vampire,” she said in a voice that still carried a tinge of New York even after twenty or so years in L.A. “He’s too foofie for me. Next they’ll have him joining a group like us.”

“Do you think he might actually join us?” Elise Belmont asked. She had a soft birdlike voice and was another new member.

“Who might join us, dear?” CeeCee Collins said, taking her seat at the head of the table. CeeCee was the unofficial leader of the group. Along with being a well-known actress and host of a reality show, she was a fabulous crocheter.

“That vampire, Anthony,” Elise said in total sincerity. “Wouldn’t we be the hottest group around if we had him as a member?”

Across the table Eduardo Linnares stifled a laugh. The cover model was amused but mannerly enough to hide it. Despite his large build and hands, he was an expert at delicate crochet. His grandmother had taught him well. The group was working on the gifts to be sent over to the women’s shelter. Everyone was making something different, from baby blankets to scarves and shawls. I took out the gray yarn and began to add on to the rounds I’d already done, moving a stitch marker each time I reached the end of one round.

Of course, Adele jumped in to the conversation. “Elise, Anthony is only a fictional character. Vampires aren’t real. Understand?” Without waiting for an answer, Adele continued. “I’m going to tell my boyfriend, William, he ought to do a vampire book. Maybe like Koo Koo Interviews a Vampire.”

“But you just said vampires aren’t real. I thought all of Koo Koo’s books were nonfiction, like Koo Koo Goes to the Dentist,” Sheila said.

Adele glared at Sheila. “I was thinking William should branch out.” I was surprised that she didn’t get the words my boyfriend in the sentence. Adele rarely said his name without adding my boyfriend. I think she hoped William’s next book would be Koo Koo Gets Engaged.

Elise gave a knowing nod. “That’s what they want you to believe—that they’re not real. Personally I think this A. J. Kowalski really is a vampire and the books are autobiographical.”

Elise focused on me. “You know the author’s real identity, don’t you?” All eyes were glued to me. I noticed Adele had a look of horror, no doubt thinking it might be true and once again she’d been left out.

“No,” I said. “Nobody but the publisher knows who A. J. is. And please spread the word that I am just as much in the dark as everyone else about who the author really is.” I gave them a recap of what it was like waking to find an intruder in my house. Adele interrupted to talk about how my house had been a crime scene when we returned from San Diego.

“So, who’s this neighbor of yours who took off?”