Thai restaurant, and a visit to his dream house.”
Helen winced. He’d used all three on her.
The earth mother turned to Helen. “Bet he told you he owned some lot and was building his dream house.” Helen managed a nod. “Go look again. It’s not his lot. You’ll see a ‘For Sale’ sign out front. He takes it down before he has a date.”
“Don’t feel too bad,” the pregnant woman said, giving her absolution. “He pulled the same tricks on me. That’s how I know. At least you’re not pregnant. Come, Gabrielle and Justin. Let go of Daddy.” Justin began whimpering, and Helen felt sorry for the little boy. He deserved a real father, not a deadbeat dad.
Gabe kept looking at his paint-spattered boots. He seemed frozen to the floor. When the children had left with their mother, Gayle turned to him. “And you, scum. Get out and don’t come back. If I catch you in this store again, I’ll personally throw you out.”
Gabriel slouched out the door. Helen was suddenly aware that he had a full-blown pot and a silver-dollar- sized bald spot on his crown.
She also noticed that she didn’t feel anything. She was completely numb. Gayle took her upstairs to the office of the dead adulterer, Page Turner, and tried to make her sit down on the slashed couch. “You’ll feel better if you cry,” she said.
Helen paced like a caged leopard and stayed dry-eyed.
“I’m not wasting any tears on him.” Then she burst out, “Aren’t there any good men in South Florida?”
“How would I know?” Gayle said.
“Well, at least he fixed my air conditioner,” Helen said.
“Hell, I’d almost sleep with a guy for that,” Gayle said.
“If you think a good man is impossible to find in South Florida, try looking for reliable repair people.”
Did Gayle really say that? Helen giggled. Then she started laughing and couldn’t stop until Gayle pounded her on the back.
“If you’re not going to cry, you might as well work,” Gayle said. “I know you hate nights, but I need you to stay and put the store back together after the riot. Albert had a case of the vapors and went home. Brad can’t work past six.”
“Might as well,” Helen said. She didn’t want to go home to the bed she’d shared with Gabriel. She wouldn’t sleep in it again until she changed the sheets. No, she wouldn’t change those sheets. She’d burn them.
Sarah had warned her about Gabriel, but Helen didn’t listen.
At eleven-thirty Denny was mopping the cafe floor.
There wasn’t a customer in sight. Denny flipped over his mop so the head was a microphone and sang oldies from the 1980s. His imitation of Sting crooning “Every Breath You Take” was hilarious. The kid danced over the tabletops and ended his act with a soft-shoe on the cafe counter. All he needed was some dry-ice fog, and he could be on MTV.
God, he was gorgeous, with his auburn hair flying. He was born to be a star. Helen applauded wildly.
Gayle did not. “Denny, get your feet off the counter,” she said. “Now you’ll have to clean it again. Helen, I found this stack of romances in the bathroom. Put them away.”
As Helen headed toward the rear of the store, she remembered Mr. Davies. He was going to tell her more about the golden blonde in the silver car. She hadn’t gotten back to him, and he hadn’t come up front to see what caused the commotion. How could he sleep through that riot?
Well, she knew where to find him. He never left until the store closed at midnight. She put away the books, then found Mr. Davies in his secluded book nook. He was dead to the world.
Poor old fellow is really tired, she thought. His water glass had fallen over. The spilled water was dangerously close to his latest book,
A ruined book would upset the old bibliophile. She bent down to pick it up and brushed his hand. It was ice- cold.
“Mr. Davies?” she said. “Are you all right?” She started to gently shake him, when he fell stiffly forward. His eyes were open.
“Please, Mr. Davies, wake up,” she pleaded.
But even as she said it, Helen knew that would never happen.
Chapter 22
Helen did not shed a tear for Gabriel, but she couldn’t quit crying for dear, gentle Mr. Davies. “He’ll never know how
Gayle handed her a fresh tissue and said, “Helen, the man was eighty-something. It’s not a tragedy when an old man dies.”
Helen thought that was harsh. She sniffed and blew her nose. Young Denny patted her on the back.
“I’m just glad there weren’t any customers in the store,” Gayle said. “We’ve already had the police here once today.”
Gayle had called 911 for the second time that day. Once again, they heard the sirens. “That’s an ambulance pulling up,” Denny said.
“I told them the man was dead,” Gayle said. “What’s this, the Lazarus brigade?”
The fire department paramedics came running in as if they really could save Mr. Davies. For one moment, Helen felt hope. Maybe Mr. Davies could be revived. But she remembered his skin, so cold and oddly blue, and his stiff body.
“I’ll go back with the paramedics,” Gayle said. “You two stay up here and lock the doors. We’re closed. All we’re going to get now are freaks.”
The crowd gathering outside the store had hot, hungry eyes eager for a look at the body. One held up a child to see inside. The ghouls knocked on the glass, and Denny and Helen pointed to the CLOSED sign.
Helen wasn’t sure how long it was before the paramedics gave up and called the police, but eventually uniformed officers pushed through the crowd. Helen and Denny let them in, then locked the door again.
The blood freaks had grown restless. Helen was glad the police were there. She and Denny stayed at their post.
Sound traveled in the empty bookstore. The two booksellers could hear people talking, but they couldn’t tell whether it was the police or paramedics. A woman was asking Gayle if she knew Mr. Davies’ next of kin or the name of his medical doctor. A man kept saying, “I can’t find any prescription bottles or Medic Alert bracelet on him. There’s no doctor’s appointment card in his wallet.”
“I said, there’s something wrong with this guy,” said one man.
“Of course there is. He’s dead,” said a second man.
“No, look at his eyes.”
“I’ll be damned. Are those petechiae? Any pillows around here?”
“Over there on that couch.” That was Gayle.
“I wouldn’t touch those pillows with tongs,” Denny whispered. “You won’t believe how often I find them next to a pile of skin magazines. Have you seen the stains on those things?”
“Quiet,” Helen said.
“What are petechiae?” Denny said in a small voice.
“Broken blood vessels in the eyes. You get them if you’ve been strangled or smothered,” Helen said.
“How do you know that?”
