Fatal Fiction by Karen MacInerney

Author:Karen MacInerney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gray Whale Press

“Mr. Whiskers is cute!” Caroline said from the top of the stairs. I’d hung up with Bethany a few minutes earlier and was organizing the mystery section. “And friendly, once he got used to me.”

“How’s it going with Winston?” I asked.

“He growled outside the door the whole time; I didn’t try to introduce them.”

“Probably smart,” I said.

“Can I leave the door to the apartment open and let Winston downstairs?” she asked. “Just to give them a little bit of space?”

“As long as you keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t dash out the front door,” I said. My little dog had a thing for squirrels, unfortunately, and when he spotted one, all reason and loyalty flew out the window.

“I will,” she said.

“Come on, boy!” Winston didn’t need to be asked twice; I could hear his toenails on the wooden treads, and a moment later, he was nosing at my ankles and trying to pull a book off the shelf.

“What’s the cookie situation?” Caroline asked, coming down the stairs as I put the book back and stood up.

“I need to make some more this evening,” I said. “I think I have time.”

“Can you do pecan pie bars?” she asked.

“I think I have pecans,” I said. “If so, then sure!”

“Great,” she said. “By the way… I was hoping to go to that historical society to see what I can find out about the front yard,” she said, nodding in the general direction of where the rhododendrons were. “Mind if I skip out for a bit?”

“I’ll be here for a few hours,” I said, glad to see Caroline focusing on something other than her father’s impending wedding, and surprised she’d found out about the historical society when I’d only just heard about it myself.

“Great. It’s right down the street… I shouldn’t be too long. Oh—we got another delivery, by the way. The boxes are in the storage room.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll get started shelving them.”

I spent the next few hours opening boxes and arranging a display of new releases at the front of the store. Their bright covers always reminded me of candy wrappers, and I stepped back and surveyed my work with satisfaction. Next, I opened a box of bird roosting pockets; we were setting up a nature corner, filled with bird books, local field guides, and things shoppers could take home to encourage wildlife in their own back yards. I got the stepstool out and had just hung the first little woven nesting pocket in front of the window when the bell at the door jingled.

I stepped down from the ladder and turned to greet whoever had walked in, then had to catch my jaw as it began heading toward the floor.

It was Marika, Edgar’s married paramour. Well, former paramour, now.

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