Famous Last Words by Jennifer Salvato Doktorski Read Free Book Online

me, so I take his book from him. “Here. It’s on me,” I say, and then walk toward the checkout. I place all three books on the counter— Slash , Godot , and Jane , what a combination.
    We stand there for a few minutes in silence. AJ stares out the window. “This is a nice downtown you got here. Quaint.”
    Quaint. The word sounds funny coming from AJ. “After we pay, we can walk around. I’ll give you the tour.” And then I quickly add, “Only if you want. We don’t have to.” I don’t want to pressure AJ into spending more lame time with me.
    “A walking tour of Chestnutville? Let’s do it.”
    “I can show you where Annie Oakley lived.”
    “Seriously? Well, now I can hardly wait to get started. If we ever get out of here, that is. Did the barista just up and leave for the night?” AJ asks.
    “I was beginning to wonder the same thing.” I look around to see if there’s a bell or buzzer to ring for service. That’s when I spot, behind the counter and next to a framed five-dollar bill, the health department certificate. My father’s cousin, Dana, is an inspector for the town. She has told us one too many stories involving animal droppings and substandard refrigeration. So now I have this compulsion to check the health ratings of every restaurant I go into. I lean over the counter and strain my eyes to see what kind of rating this place received, but I still can’t see. There’s no sign of the barista, so I step behind the counter for a better look.
    “What are you doing?” AJ asks.
    “Shhh,” I say as I lean close to the certificate.
    The rating is “good”—that’s a relief—and then I notice the names of the proprietors.
    “No way!” I say, louder than I expected. Giovanni Amato —that’s Michael’s ne’er-do-well mayor— and Sy Goldberg!

chapter five
    Death Notices
    Monday morning. My dad drops me off early, before my scheduled shift, so I can do some research. I’m also anxious to see Michael and talk more about Bargain Books & Beans and Sy Goldberg. AJ and I phoned Michael on Saturday to tell him what we found out, but he’s waiting until today to confront the mayor about his interesting choice for a business partner.
    When I arrived at eight thirty this morning, only Harry, Alice (Harry’s secretary), and Bernadette were here. No one gets in before the triumvirate. Since then, I’ve been perusing the Herald Tribune ’s electronic archives for back stories about Michael’s mayor. If I’m understanding it correctly, the city got a million-dollar federal grant to help low-income families reduce their energy bills by making their homes more energy efficient. The mayor hired Sy for $75,000 a year to oversee both the program and two additional employees. Interesting.
    Is Sy short for something? Is that an actual first name? I wonder. First I Google “Sy Goldberg” and get some hits, then I simply type in “What is Sy short for?” Sylvan, Sylvester, Syahid? I check a few baby-name websites. Turns out, it could be any of those or just Sy or a bunch of other choices. I’m about to check the online white pages for Sy Goldberg when the phone rings— again .
    If only my research didn’t keep getting interrupted with obits and other death-related inquiries. I find I’m always explaining to some caller that death notices and in memoriams are paid services, that they’re handled by the classified department and people can write whatever they want in those but there is a per word charge. At the Herald Tribune , the obits called in by funeral homes are free. (It’s probably why our paper gets so many.) If only I were free of obit writing. It’s not without its perks, however. For starters, it really helps put things like a stupid high school party in perspective. It’s not even ten o’clock, and already there are three people I’m happy not to be: Helen Scavone, seventy-seven, retired teacher; Ernest Jacobs, ninety-one, optometrist; and Ina Mukin, ninety-two, housewife. All