The Violet Hour by Richard Montanari Read Free Book Online Page B

his full, smooth stride.
    Not much at all.

8
     
    The idea of a used bookstore had not flourished in Collier Falls at any time in the previous fifty years, nor had an enterprise of any sort managed to prosper for more than three or four years in a row at 3223 Marble Lane, just off Falls Road, the village’s main commercial thoroughfare.
    But still, Paige Wellington had had her sights set on owning a bookstore since she was a little girl, and nothing – not a rotten marriage, nor lousy credit, nor a less-than-supportive family – would deter her from her dream. She’d raised the sixty thousand dollars she’d needed by putting together a consortium of literary types in the area, as well as other contacts she had from her previous employment as a fund-raiser for the Cleveland Orchestra.
    And while it was true that she had unofficially gone back to her maiden name, Paige Wellington, she had married Pete Turner for better or worse. So, as she threw open the doors on that warm autumn day, her stomach could feel no worse than it did, nor could she think of any better name than the corny neon masterpiece that graced the window of 3223 Marble Lane in Collier Falls, Ohio.
    PAIGE TURNER BOOKS was open for business.
    The handful of patrons who had lined up at the door at nine o’clock proved in short order that they were there mostly for the free refreshments. By the time Amelia showed up at a little after ten, the register had registered the grand total of $56.52. The doughnuts, a good measure of Paige’s confidence in this enterprise, were gone by ten-thirty.
    The coffee held out until two.
    Business picked up before dinnertime; mostly magazine sales, mostly college kids. For a while, Amelia and Paige were hard-pressed to keep up. The small, tri-level space was abuzz with lively chatter and the dulcet sounds of a clicking cash register. For that half hour or so, Paige Turner Books had all the trappings of a bona fide enterprise.
    By six o’clock, closing time – at least until the market-place dictated otherwise – the day’s take was out of the register and laid across the counter. Paige counted it and, after a few clicks of her calculator, she had the good news.
    She’d made $360. On her very first day in business. Ever.
    She turned to Amelia with a look that Amelia knew very well. A look that screamed two words.
    Party time.
    Before going out that night, Amelia called the Swissotel Chicago. She was told that yes Mr St John had checked in, but no, he was not in his room. Would she like his voice mail? the desk man had asked. ‘No, thanks,’ Amelia said, not really knowing why she was calling him. Habit, she supposed. Making sure he got to where he was going. ‘I’ll try later.’
    She hung up the phone and sat down at the computer. She had decided to keep the computer switched on twenty-four hours a day (one of the manuals said it was okay), and whenever she had a book idea, she would just run in and type it up on her Word program.
    She took the mouse in hand but before she could click on Word, she noticed an icon she had not seen before. A small graphic of a computer with a picture of the earth on the screen.
    Beneath the icon: W ORLD O NLINE
    She seemed to recall that World Online was one of those internet services like America Online, something you sent and received e-mail over. Even though this was technically her new computer – Roger had a company laptop — she knew her husband sometimes used it. Maybe Roger had loaded World Online, or maybe it had come with the computer itself. She decided to check into it later, then realized, as she returned to Word, that she’d forgotten her book idea.
    New rule, she decided. Sit down at the desk and immediately write down that brilliant, Pulitzer-worthy, industry-shaking idea that brought you over to the computer in the first place.
    She walked into the kitchen just as the soup she was heating for Maddie’s dinner boiled over.
    ‘Can I go to Aunt Paige’s?’ Maddie