“All right.” Nolan dragged out the two-syllable consent as though hesitant to make the commitment.
“Great!” Another customer. Another step toward a bigger budget.
An older woman and two younger men entered To Be Read. The woman marched with purpose, leading her contingent toward the signing area. If this had been New York, I would’ve suspected the trio was out to start something.
The woman’s face flushed as she brought her posse to a stop in front of Jo. “Where’s Fiona?”
I didn’t like her tone. Not one bit. All of my protective instincts toward my friend went on high alert. I glanced at Spence. “Who is she?”
Spence lowered his voice. “That’s Betty Rodgers-Hayes and her son, Bobby Hayes. Bobby is Fiona’s stepson. I don’t know who the other man is. I don’t think he’s a local.”
Nolan solved the mystery. “That’s Willy Pelt, Fiona’s friend from Beaufort, South Carolina. I met him when he was introducing himself to Ms. Betty and Bobby out in the parking lot.”
Now I was even more confused. “It’s nice of them to attend her event, but why are they so angry?”
Concern for Jo made me want to get a closer look at the wannabe mob. And I couldn’t deny myself the clusters any longer. I wandered over to stand behind Jo and reached for one of the individually wrapped candies.
“Wow!” Jo’s shout distracted me from my goal. She’d gestured toward Bobby’s right arm. Her voice was reverent. “Who did your ink?”
My attention shifted from the candy dish to the bold rendering of a large, well-fed, and vicious-looking snake drawn onto Bobby’s tanned arm. The orange, black, and brown serpentine illustration extended from his thick wrist, past his elbow to disappear beneath the sleeve of his faded red T-shirt. I suppressed a shudder. Snakes. I disliked them. A lot.
Bobby smiled shyly. As he turned his arm, I noticed several scratches on the back of his hand. “I got it done at a place out in Vegas.”
But…a snake? I had to ask. “Why did you choose a snake?”
He shrugged. “I like ’em.”
Why? But I let it go.
Betty’s sniff was unfiltered maternal censure. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what got into his head to do such a crazy thing. It makes him look like a ruffian! And a snake? It’s evil.”
“Snakes aren’t any more evil than humans, Mama.” Bobby’s voice was quiet and respectful.
But Betty was on a roll. She continued as though her son hadn’t spoken. “Of course, he works in a hardware and repair shop full of ruffians. Well, I told him it’s a good thing he does. Otherwise he wouldn’t have any kind of job with filth like that covering his body.”
Bobby gave a long-suffering sigh. “They’re good guys, Mama.”
“Your body is a temple, Bobby. A temple.” Betty was breathless. Her brown hair fluttered above her sturdy shoulders with indignation. “Well, he can’t ever get a decent job working in a decent place, now can he, looking like that?”
Bobby shook his head, never once raising his voice. “Just let it alone, Mama.”
Jo pushed up the left sleeve of her sweater to reveal the silver, black, and gold sketch of a decorative cross inked onto her forearm from wrist to elbow. “If he ever wanted to try a new career, I’d hire him here at the bookstore.”
Betty’s brown eyes stretched wide. “Well, yes…” As Betty appeared to struggle to contain her true reaction, her son studied Jo’s cross with avarice.
If the older woman had asked me first, I would’ve warned her that Jo was the absolute wrong person to turn to for a sympathetic ear on the topic of tattoos. But she hadn’t asked me. And for the record, yes, I was amused by Betty’s predicament.
Personally, I wouldn’t get a tattoo. I couldn’t fathom withstanding that much pain. But if I were to—and the odds were slim to none—it would be an image of Batgirl. I’d always admired the superhero. And—bonus!—Batgirl’s alter ego, Barbara Gordon, was a librarian.
“It’s nice that you’ve all come to support Fiona.” I turned to Fiona’s friend. “Especially you, Mr. Pelt, coming from South Carolina.”
Willy glanced up from his wristwatch. He seemed surprised that I knew his name, then he noticed Nolan. Willy inclined his head in a silent greeting to Fiona’s business partner, the expression on his pale, square face pleasant but vague. He drove his fingers through his shock of thick auburn hair. “I’ve known Fiona’s family for years.”
“I wonder what Fiona will do now?” Nolan’s attention bounced from Jo to the rest of the group. “Will she give up her share of the business to write full-time?”
It was a good question, although I knew most authors continued to work full-time. Popular media’s depiction of fiction writing as a lucrative career was greatly exaggerated.
Betty snorted. “Well, she doesn’t need a job, now does she? Not like the rest of us. When Buddy died, he left her well provided for. The rest of us have to work for a living.”
The bitterness in her voice seemed to come from far more than envy of another person’s good fortune—literally and figuratively. Then I made the connection: Fiona Lyle-Hayes. Betty Rodgers-Hayes. There was a story there, one that could explain Betty’s hostile disposition.
“I was wondering the same thing.” Willy crossed his arms over his chest. His brown jersey and tan slacks were slightly wrinkled, as though he’d recently pulled both from a suitcase. Had he just driven into town from Beaufort? How long that had taken? “Her late uncle left her his vacation property. The house’s in good shape, and the land is pretty. It’s in a quiet area on the outskirts of town where she could write without being disturbed.”
Bobby shoved his broad hands into the front pockets of his navy blue cargo pants. “She’ll probably go on a lot of tours.” He sounded disappointed, as though he was going to miss Fiona’s company.
“This is ridiculous.” Jo’s words ended the discussion. Her eyes
