Murder of a Bookstore Babe by Denise Swanson Read Free Book Online Page B

handed Skye a plateful. “They’re my husband’s specialty.”
    “Did he make all of these?” Skye gestured to row after row of desserts.
    “Yes. He was a cook in the army and loves baking.”
    “Was he career military?” Skye took a bite of cookie, closing her eyes to savor the melt-in-your-mouth buttery goodness.
    “No.” Risé’s expression was hard to read. “Once he left the army he became a book scout.” Risé must have seen the question in Skye’s eyes because she explained, “Someone who goes to yard sales, thrift stores, estate auctions, etcetera, looking for rare and valuable books and special collections.”
    “Ah.” Skye wiped her mouth with a napkin. “And I bet that humongous bookcase near the entrance is full of his best finds, right?”
    “Yes, those are his babies.” Risé wrinkled her brow, then said almost under her breath, “I just wish he’d waited to display them until the cabinet was more secure.”
    “I’m sure no one will steal them.” Skye figured most Scumble River citizens wouldn’t have any idea the books were valuable.
    “That’s not what I’m worried about.” Risé shook her head, then seemed to put on her professional persona. “Now, what would you like to drink? We have our usual menu, plus wine and beer.”
    “I don’t mind helping myself.” Skye nodded toward the jam-packed room. “I can see how hectic things are, so don’t worry about me.”
    “Thanks.” Risé hurried away.
    At the coffee bar, a short, wiry man in his late fifties was busy steaming milk and grinding beans. His pale yellow polo shirt had ORLANDO’S TREATS embroidered on the pocket. Skye got in line and waited her turn, then introduced herself and asked for a mocha latte.
    “Nice to meet you.” He wiped his hand on his apron, then held it out. “I’m Orlando Erwin. My wife mentioned she met you yesterday.”
    They shook hands, and Skye said, “I hope she doesn’t judge me by my relations.” She felt warmth creep up her neck. “My cousin Hugo and I rarely agree on anything.”
    “Sounds like my own family.” Orlando’s laugh was contagious, and Skye found herself giggling for no reason.
    “Where are you from?” Skye asked as he turned toward the machines to prepare her drink.
    “Long Island,” he said over his shoulder.
    Ah, that was the accent she’d been trying to place. “How did you end up here?”
    “Via the Ho Chi Minh trail.” His tone was casual, but Skye noticed his shoulders tighten. “An army buddy of mine lives here. So when Risé decided to exit the rat race and wanted to open a bookstore in a small town, I remembered his stories about Scumble River and suggested we look here.”
    “So you’re running the café.” Skye noticed he said Risé had decided, not they had decided. “And Risé is in charge of the bookstore?”
    “Risé’s in charge of everything.” He winked. “But since she doesn’t bake . . .”
    “I see.” Skye grinned. “But you’re the expert on old books, right?”
    “I guess so.” He raised a brow. “You got some you want me to look at?”
    “If you have time. I inherited an old house several years ago, and I’ve been sifting through the contents ever since.”
    Skye had helped an old woman when an unscrupulous antiques dealer tried to take advantage of her, and since the woman had no relatives and had decided Skye was her reincarnated daughter, she’d left her estate to Skye. The only condition was that she fix up the house and live there. “I have several boxes.” Skye’s tone was apologetic.
    “No problem.” Orlando smiled. “Bring ’em by tomorrow around nine forty-five. Since I’m here early to do the baking, I can take a look before the store opens and we’re interrupted.”
    “Thanks.” Skye appreciated the chance to get rid of some clutter. And if the books were valuable, all the better. She could always use some extra cash. “So what do you think of Scumble River so far?”
    “It’s not exactly what