A Novel Way to Die (5 page)

Bill broke off abruptly, eyes widening as a sleek black shadow spilled across the
line of twenties.
Hamlet, coming to the defense of his new “bro,”
Darla thought in surprise as the feline abruptly sat atop the money.

“Get that cat outta the way,” the man demanded and made as if to shove Hamlet aside.
Hamlet, with a deep-throated growl that sounded more Doberman pinscher than domestic
shorthair, raised a large paw to display a set of formidable, needle-sharp claws.

“I think he, you know, wants you to sign first,” Robert replied, a hint of a grin
on his lips as he held out the pen and receipt pad. The cat seemingly confirmed the
teen’s words with another Baskerville-ian rumble.

With a cold look that encompassed all three of them, the man scrawled his name on
the pad and ripped off the top copy, then slapped the pad back on the counter. Hamlet
obligingly rose and padded to the far end of the counter, where he sat and surveyed
the man with cold disapproval.

“You two think you’re smart,” he snarled, reaching for the bills, “but I won’t forget
this. Mess with me, and I’ll—”

Whatever his threat might be, Darla wasn’t to learn. The shop door jingled, and a
jovial voice boomed, “Hiya. Anyone home?”

FIVE

���COME ON IN, CURT,” DARLA GRATEFULLY REPLIED,
recognizing the irony that, for the first time since she’d met him, she was thrilled
to see one of her most annoying customers walk in the door.

In his late forties, with slicked-back black hair and a handsome if florid face, Curt
Benedetto was a new regular customer at Pettistone’s . . . nice, since he had no compunction
about whipping out his credit card and buying a book or two each visit. And he’d also
placed a couple of expensive special orders, stopping by promptly to pick them up
as soon as they arrived. All in all, he should have been on Hamlet’s official approved
list.

Unfortunately, Curt tended to be both boisterous and flashy—
Hey, I’m a born salesman
, was the line he often used on her to excuse himself—which rated a
fail
in Hamlet’s cynical green eyes. Darla, for once, was in total agreement with Hamlet’s
assessment. Part of that dislike, she realized, was that he reminded her a bit too
much of her slimeball ex, Curt’s New York accent notwithstanding. Not that she ever
was anything but friendly, in keeping with her previous philosophizing to Robert about
the first law of retail.

Besides, there was also Curt’s business partner, Barry Eisen, to consider. A pleasant-looking
balding guy with brown eyes and an affable smile, Barry had given all signs that he
was interested in Darla as more than simply his neighborhood bookseller. And, if she
were to be totally honest, Darla had found herself looking at Barry as more than just
another customer. Unfortunately, it had been a week since she’d last seen Barry.

Any other time, she would have thought it too bad that she couldn’t say the same for
his partner. For the moment, however, she welcomed Curt’s beefy, obnoxious presence
as a secondary backup in case pervy Bill had more than just a verbal threat in mind.

Curt strutted on in, toothpaste-commercial grin at full brilliance. He’d apparently
come from the brownstone that he and Barry were remodeling, for his khaki pants and
red polo under a bright blue Windbreaker had a faint coating of white plaster dust.
The project, Darla knew from past discussion with the pair, was an extensive one,
but the two men expected to make a sizeable profit once they finished work and put
the refurbished building back on the market. They’d already recouped their investments
on a couple of similar properties, Barry had previously told her, and despite the
down economy their construction partnership was inching into the black.

“Hello, fine people,” Curt called, waving at her and Robert as he headed toward the
register. Then, catching a glimpse of Porn Shop Bill, he stopped short and added in
a dumbfounded tone, “What the—?”

“Benedetto,” the man snarled in return. “Hell, this is the last place I expected to
see you. I had no idea you even knew how to read.”

“Real funny, pal,” Curt retorted, his florid face growing even redder. “I’ll have
you know I’m a regular customer here.”

“What, my selections aren’t good enough for you anymore?”

Bill leered as he said it, and Darla saw Curt’s fists clench in response.
Where the heck is Jake?
she frantically wondered. Apparently, the two men knew each other, and the relationship
wasn’t a cordial one. The last thing she needed was a bookstore brawl, and it looked
like the pair was headed that way, fast. She exchanged a glance with Robert, giving
a nod in the direction of the reference section where the pregnant customer still
browsed. Eyes wide, he gave a return nod of comprehension and trotted off in that
direction. If Darla couldn’t defuse the situation, at least no innocent bystanders
would walk into the melee.

Darla reached into her pocket again for her phone; then, with an air of authority
that she didn’t quite feel, she held up the cell so both men could see. “If you gentlemen
have an issue with each other, take it outside, now. Otherwise, I’m calling the police.”

A few seconds ticked by, both men’s angry gazes still locked. Then Curt took a deep
breath and with seeming effort managed a halfhearted smile for her. “No worries, Darla.
I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to pick up my special order.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m outta here. I got a store to run,” the other man retorted, stuffing
the cash into his back pocket. “But in case you forgot, Benedetto, you and me, we
got some unfinished business. I’ll be seeing you later.”

Long arms swinging, he shuffled to the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving
behind an unpleasant atmosphere that was equal parts anger and poor hygiene. Darla
reached under the counter for the organic gardenia air freshener she’d purchased from
Hilda’s shop the previous week. She gave a few defiant spritzes in the direction that
the porn shop owner had gone; then, aware that she was shaking in reaction, she settled
on the stool behind the register and heaved a deep breath of her own.

“Hey, Darla, I’m really sorry about all that,” Curt ventured, his expression contrite.
“That Bill, he’s a class-A jerk. I never figured I’d run into him in a nice place
like yours. Uh, not that I hang out at his store or anything.”

“Of course not,” Darla agreed, politely accepting that bit of fiction. “Unfortunately,
he came looking for one of his ex-employees who happens to work for me now. He was
trying to threaten me and Robert, and doing a pretty good job of it. At least you
distracted him.”

“Yeah, well, the guy holds a grudge.”

Darla knew from Curt’s dour tone he was referring not so much to Robert’s situation
as to whatever “unfinished business” the porn shop owner had alluded to before leaving.
Not that she planned to pursue the subject. The less she knew about Curt’s dealings,
the better!

Nodding, she said, “I think that situation is all settled, but if he ever sets foot
in my store again, I’ll have him arrested for trespassing.”

“Good plan.” Then, literally brushing off the earlier unpleasantness—and sprinkling
a bit of plaster dust on her clean floor, in the process—Curt resummoned his flashy
grin. “So, is my book in yet?”

Darla took a look under the counter where special orders were staged, and then shook
her head. “Sorry, it doesn’t look like your book on vintage trims and moldings has
arrived yet.”

“No problemo. We still have the last bit of wiring to finish before the new plaster
goes up.” Curt glanced about the shop. “Where’s that big cat of yours hiding?”

“Hamlet? Oh, he’s somewhere around.”

“Are you sure?”

Darla smothered a smile. The feline in question had slipped away during the confrontation
between Bill and Curt. Now he reappeared, silently padding his way out of the children’s
section and beyond Curt’s line of sight. Spying the man, Hamlet halted and shot him
the same look of green-eyed contempt he gave Curt every time the man entered the store.
Darla did a silent countdown—
three, two, one—
and nearly laughed aloud when, right on cue, Hamlet flopped on the floor to give Curt
his patented kiss-off treatment.

Unfortunately for insults, Curt chose the same moment to pause in front of one of
the barrister-style bookshelves that housed their first editions. While Hamlet was
busy flinging hind leg over shoulder, Curt was using the glass front as a makeshift
mirror while he dislodged a bit of leftover breakfast from between two back teeth;
thus, he missed the demonstration. Hamlet paused in midlick as he realized his dissing
was going unnoticed. Scrambling upright again, he hissed in Curt’s direction before
stalking off.

“Oops, you just missed him,” Darla said with a smile, pointing at the cat’s retreating
form. “Maybe next time.”

The man shrugged. “Well, I seen a big black cat that looked just like him running
out of my brownstone this morning when I got there.”

“Really?” Recalling her suspicion that the crafty beast was making nighttime forays,
she cautiously replied, “He runs back and forth between the store and my apartment,
but he’s an indoor cat. Or, at least, he’s supposed to be.”

“I dunno. It sure looked like your guy. Had to be around six, six thirty in the a.m.
Scared the crap out of me. I thought it was a giant rat or something at first.”

Then he gave a wise nod. “Cat’s gotta be careful around a construction site. I seen
a stray end up in a bucket of plaster someone left open one time. Wasn’t a pretty
sight the next day when the tape-bed man showed up. Know what I mean?”

“I can imagine,” Darla replied with a reflexive shudder. “I’ll be sure to keep a good
eye on him.” Then, eager to change the subject, she pointed to the nearby display
table marked “Just Arrived.” “Since your special order isn’t in, what about some new
true crime instead?”

She knew from previous purchases that both Curt and Barry were suckers for real-life
blood and gore. But this time, Curt shook his head, his megawatt grin dimming.

“Actually, that whole crime thing is kind of why I’m here. Barry sent me over to warn
you.”

“Warn me?” Darla echoed, a frisson of worry sweeping her at his dour tone. “About
what?”

“Eh, those damn scrap thieves are back. We got hit last night. They made off with
a roll of copper pipe we had chained to a joist. Hell, they used our own saw to cut
the damn two-by-ten so they could steal it.”

“Curt, I’m so sorry.”

Her momentary panic was replaced by relief that his news was nothing disastrous, and
then supplanted by a flash of anger on their behalf. “I can guess how maddening that
has to be. I swear, I can’t believe they haven’t been caught yet.”

The “they” in question had been a scourge in the surrounding blocks for several weeks
now. Working in the wee hours, the thieves’ usual targets were construction sites
or vacant buildings, but they’d been bold enough to hit a few occupied places as well.
Searching for copper or aluminum, or any other metal they could conceivably sell for
scrap, they’d left an equal amount of damage in their wake. So far, the police had
been unable to catch them in the act, even with stepped-up patrols. And, despite the
reward offered by the neighborhood association, no one had come forward to identify
any of the parties responsible.

“Rumor I hear, the cops think it’s a couple of kids looking for quick cash so they
can party. They found candy bar and cupcake wrappers at a couple of the crime scenes,
all that junk them kids like to eat. I’m considering staying overnight in the building
for the next few days in case those punks come back again. I catch them trying to
make off with anything, and I’ll introduce them to Mr. Crowbar,” Curt threatened,
waving a phantom bludgeon for emphasis.

Darla gave a sympathetic nod, even as she hoped that he and Barry would leave the
derring-do to the police. While chances were that the thieves weren’t armed with anything
more dangerous than brass Spaldings, as Jake would put it, one never knew.

“And you’re not home free,” he added, shaking a thick finger in Darla’s direction.
“You got some nice fixtures outside—them brass numbers, and that fancy new knob on
your door. Them punks, they wouldn’t think twice about pryin’ them off even with you
right here in the store.”

Before Darla could reply to that, she heard a sudden blast of cha-cha rhythm, and
the lyrics of a late-1990s megahit emanated from the vicinity of Curt’s chest.
“Gimme your heart, make it real. Or else forget about it . . .”

Darla suppressed a grin as she mentally sang along to the familiar lyrics—though,
in Curt’s case, those last few words should probably be “fuhgeddaboudit.” “Smooth,”
with Rob Thomas’s soulful vocals and Carlos Santana’s signature guitar wails and trills,
had been one of her favorite songs during the tag-end of her misspent youth before
her marriage. She suspected, however, that Curt had chosen that ring tone less in
tribute to a special lady and more as a paean to himself.

He plucked the phone from his shirt pocket, frowned a little as he checked the caller
ID, and then hit the “Ignore” button. “Now, back to what I was tellin’ you—”

“Don’t worry, Curt, I’ve got security cameras at the front and back doors. And I’ve
got Jake downstairs, just for good measure.”

“Oh, yeah, the lady cop.” Curt’s grin returned as, seemingly forgetting his outrage,
he wagged his eyebrows meaningfully. “She looks pretty good for a broad her age. You
think she might be interested in a date with yours truly?”

“Ex-cop,” Darla hurriedly clarified. “And I think she’s, er, already seeing someone.”

A small falsehood Jake would owe her for, Darla thought with an inner grin. Jake had
met Curt once in the store and had been distinctly underwhelmed by the man—though,
of course, the “older” woman (Jake barely had a couple of years on Curt) had been
a bit earthier in her recap of the encounter. Then came a more sobering thought, and
Darla added with a frown, “Besides, Curt, I thought you were already dating someone.
Haven’t you been going out with Tera Aguilar?”

The daughter of Great Scentsations owner Hilda Aguilar, Tera was barely twenty-one.
In face and figure, she closely resembled her petite, elegant mother, but unlike Hilda,
Tera favored revealing clothing and exaggerated makeup, which, in Darla’s opinion,
masked the girl’s genuine beauty. What she saw in Curt, who was twice her age and
pretty far down the scale from Prince Charming, Darla couldn’t guess. But even if
Darla didn’t think much of the matchup, she still didn’t like seeing the girl played
for a fool.