She called back, “Not today, Pops. But thanks.” She was dying for another coffee, but having to interact with his annoying grandson was too high a price to pay.
Chapter 9
Nailed to the four-foot wall at the entrance to Books & Browsery by the Sea was a worn, rustic sign that read Beware—Pickpockets & Loose Women. Kitschy, but no doubt original. Kate’s shop was set up a bit differently than the rest of the emporium. It had the same short perimeter walls, but inside, Kate had created a mazelike obstacle course from a slew of seven-foot-tall barrister bookcases she’d bought at a retired judge’s estate sale. The backs of the bookcases were used to hang vintage shelves, pictures, and mirrors. Scattered randomly around the shop were chairs, a couple of overstuffed sofas, tables, dressers, and crates, along with some items that Liz had no clue as to what they were.
“Yo, Kate. You in there?”
From somewhere in the back, she heard, “Right with you. I’m up here. See?”
Liz craned her neck and looked at the top of a bookcase near the middle of the shop. Kate was sitting on top, her legs dangling over the side.
“What are doing up there? Barnacle Bob is right about you.”
Kate called out, “Pshaw, I’ll eat that bird for dinner.”
Liz knew Kate loved the crusty old parrot as much as she did. Kate placed a lamp on top of a teetering stack of books.
“Aren’t you scared that the lamp might fall on a customer?” Liz asked. “Unless you’re planning on busing in an NBA basketball team, how the hell can anyone read the book titles if they’re up in the nosebleed section?”
“It’s not about selling books,” Kate replied. “It’s about thinking outside the box and giving customers ideas on how to display their own vintage items.” Kate leaned into the stack of books and mumbled something into their pages. Then she said, “Do you mind spotting me on the ladder? I’ll be right down.”
Liz made her way toward Kate, stubbing her big toe on a wooden pineapple crate filled with broken violins. She glanced at the price tag—you couldn’t buy just one, you had to buy the whole kit and caboodle. When she reached Kate, she said, “What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up to spot you on the ladder?”
“Oh, I’d be fine. I’m doing it for your peace of mind, not mine.” Then she climbed down with the agility of Spider-Man. Kate wiped her hands on the back of her jeans, then gave Liz an air-kiss. “Did you check out Pop’s grandson on your way in?”
“No, I met him in my dad’s office earlier. Rude. Insolent. Need I go on?”
“Whoa Nelly. I think thou doth protest too much, my dear. He helped me bring in some of my recent finds this morning. It’s time to dip your pinkie toe in the man pool again.”
Liz’s hand went to the right side of her face.
“I’m so sorry, darlin’. That was insensitive. But really, he seems to be such a nice guy.”
“To you, maybe. You wouldn’t happen to know what his business with my father might be, would you?”
“Not a clue,” Kate said. “Come. Follow me, or you might get lost.”
Kate wasn’t kidding. Liz side-winded past piles of crates overflowing with stacks of books. Every shelf within the towering barrister bookcases they passed was packed with books and vintage/antique knickknacks that coordinated with the subject matter on each shelf. Nineteen-sixties tin globe banks were bookending nonfiction geography books. Victorian Gothic romances were next to Queen Victoria memorabilia, Staffordshire figurines, and floral-chintz English tea sets. Kate didn’t “buy” used books from estate and garage sales; she adopted them. She also wouldn’t let anyone buy a book unless she knew it was going to a good home.
When they reached the back of the shop, they both sank into an overstuffed, down-cushioned sofa. The sofa had huge magnolia blossoms printed on soft fabric. It wasn’t for sale, because if it was, Liz would have already put it in her beach house.
Liz reached over and swiped a paper cup with a lid that sat next to the antique cash register. She almost swooned when she felt the cup was still warm. Please be coffee, please be coffee, she chanted in her head. She put the cup to her lips and took a long swallow. “Blech! Kate Fields! What is this stuff?” She gagged, wanting to spew the grainy, bitter liquid onto the floor or into the nearest brass spittoon, but she forced herself to swallow.
Kate said, “Chicory. Better than coffee. Who needs caffeine when you have a beach to walk each morning and sea air to clear your lungs? Haven’t you ever heard of drinking chicory? They still mix it with coffee in New Orleans.”
“I’ve heard of it. But the key words are ‘mixed with coffee.’”
“Chicory is made from the roots of a rather beautiful flower. In France, during Napoleon’s time, there was an embargo on coffee. The French mixed what little coffee they had with chicory to make the coffee last longer. The same was true in New Orleans during the Civil War when the Union Navy blocked coffee shipments from coming into the ports. Skylar got me into it.”
Liz hadn’t seen Kate’s brother, Skylar, since returning to Melbourne Beach. The three of them had practically grown up together. Skylar was a big-time environmentalist and was currently in Washington, DC, trying to raise funding for
