The Book of Mayhem Page 5

  Deep within the bookcases, I flung Hallstrom’s hand away. “Are you out of your mind? There’s a non-Warden in the store!”

  Hallstrom paled. “I didn’t notice. Did he hear me?”

  “Mr. Hallstrom, people on the moon heard you. Give me your augury request, then go back to the front of the store and don’t say anything else. I’ll handle it.”

  The instant the slip of paper was in my hand, Hallstrom vanished, and the silence of the oracle surrounded me. Despite my anxiety, I felt myself begin to relax. I’d just have to think of a way to spin it. Something Cynthia would find believable.

  I found Hallstrom’s book and emerged from the oracle to find Cynthia and Judy laughing. Hallstrom, standing nearby, was red-faced and sheepish. “See, I told you she could find it,” Judy said.

  “I’ve never heard of a book emergency before,” Cynthia told Hallstrom. “You’re a more dedicated reader than I am.”

  “I guess so,” Hallstrom said. He glanced at me as if he thought he might be in trouble. Since I’d told him to shut up, that was true. I handed him the book, glaring at him.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Hellie, he was just enthusiastic about that book,” Cynthia said. “I’ll have to look it up. An Augury, right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “And his copy will cost him $1800.”

  “I don’t—” Hallstrom began.

  “Mr. Hallstrom, Abernathy’s doesn’t like it when customers use its time and then can’t pay.” The continued laughing was getting on my nerves. “Do I need to hold this book for you?”

  Hallstrom patted his pockets, glanced nervously at the still-giggling Cynthia, and shook his head. “I have a box of books in my car, if you’ll just—I’ll just be right back.”

  When he was gone, Judy said, “I know we shouldn’t laugh at him when he’s standing right there, but he’s just so dramatic all the time. Coming in here shouting like it’s a matter of life and death, when it’s just a book.”

  “An expensive book.” Cynthia flipped its cover open. “The title’s Anatomy of a Murder, though. I thought—”

  “Augury is the name of…of the series,” I said, deftly removing the book from her reach. “You know, like a Hercule Poirot or a Nancy Drew. Like that.”

  “Ah,” Cynthia said, nodding like that made sense, which I knew it didn’t.

  Hallstrom bumped the door open with his butt and set a box of books on the counter. It was one of those packing boxes from a moving company and was tearing at the bottom. “I hope it’s enough,” he said.

  So do I. Wearily I pulled out the first book and looked inside the cover, then thought to make a show of looking at the binding and pages as if I was evaluating it for real. “$25.” If they were all this cheap, this was going to take a while. I glanced at the other customers, who were watching the performance and not even pretending to browse the shelves. I mentally cursed my sister and Hallstrom, then Hallstrom again.

  It took nearly half an hour to calculate the value of the books so Hallstrom could pay his bill, then another fifteen minutes to add up the value of the remaining books and put it on his account. By that time, my nerves had frayed almost to the breaking point. Cynthia had watched the process with a tiny, mocking smile that made me want to shove her off my stool and into the street. But she said nothing, so I ignored her.

  An hour after that I showed the last of the afternoon shift the door and collapsed into the wobbly metal chair next to it, not caring that it shifted precariously and nearly sent me to the floor. Too bad she couldn’t be the last customer of the day. I was past ready for six o’clock to arrive.

  “Wow, Hellie, your job is as stressful as mine,” Cynthia said, stretching like a cat.

  “Wow, Cynthia, thanks for the sympathy,” I said sarcastically.

  “Hey, I was serious. I thought you just sat around all day, but all those people…it’s like none of them know how to find a book on their own.”

  She did sound sincere, and it embarrassed me. “Sorry. I get keyed up after…” I let my words trail off.

  “Yeah, what was up with that? All those people coming all at once. They were even lining up on the sidewalk like they were waiting for permission.”

  “There’s a community college class that lets out at one thirty,” Judy said. “We always get a rush around two because of it.”

  “Ah. Interesting.” Cynthia hopped off the stool. “Well, I’m going to get changed, but then Mom and Dad want us to go to this music festival tonight. Want me to pick you up?”

  Stunned, I said, “Um…sure?”

  “Great. I’ll be here at seven, and you can show me your cute little apartment. Mom says the kitchen is divine.” She hugged me before I could protest, and let the door swing shut behind her.

  I stared at Judy. “What was that?”

  “I thought you said she was evil beyond the comprehension of mortal man.”

  “I did. She is.”

  “She seemed normal to me. But then she might just be performing for the audience.” Judy swept a hand downward, indicating herself.

  “I…don’t know. I don’t trust her. She ruined my sixteenth birthday party by showing up with beer and making all my friends gush about how cool she was. She’s never been able to stand it when I have something she doesn’t.”

  Judy nodded. “Like your boyfriend?”

  “Like that. She’s never given me a real compliment. Ever.” I took a step back as the door opened, admitting a couple who had to be a fighting team. “So I’m keeping a very wary eye on her,” I added, and stepped forward to accept the augury slip.

  5

  I had plenty of opportunities to keep an eye on Cynthia. Music festival Saturday night. Picnic in the park on Sunday. Movies and dinner Sunday afternoon. By Sunday evening I was as frazzled as if I’d worked the whole time instead of (theoretically) enjoying myself. Jason, who’d joined us for the movie, offered to drive me home afterward. It wasn’t a short drive, and he was uncharacteristically quiet. Finally, I said, “Why aren’t you overanalyzing the plot?”

  “I was thinking about Cynthia,” he said.

  My fingers closed hard on the armrest. “What about Cynthia?”

  He glanced my way. “Uh…is it too late to pretend I didn’t say that?”

  “Yes.”

  My harsh tone didn’t shut him up. He went on, “I meant I was thinking about the two of you. You really don’t like her, do you?”

  “I’ve told you that before.”

  “And I know you’ve never gotten along, from the time you were kids.”

  My fingers must be leaving permanent marks in the upholstery. “Are you going somewhere with this?”

  “Don’t get mad, Hel. She just doesn’t seem that evil to me.”

  His soothing tone of voice made me angrier, like I was the unreasonable one. “Well, she wouldn’t, would she? She wants you to like her, and you’re not competition for her in any way.”

  “Is that really what you think? That you’re in competition with her?”

  “No, she thinks we’re in competition. Anything I have, she wants.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  I removed my hand from the armrest and crossed my arms across my chest. “Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

  He had his eyes on the road, so I couldn’t tell whether my body language was getting through to him. “No. Just…I think she wants to be your friend.”

  Okay, so it wasn’t. “It’s about twenty-two years too late for that. And I think you should stay out of it.”

  “Are you mad?”

  He sounded genuinely surprised, so I controlled my first impulse, which was to start screaming. “I don’t like being told that my feelings are invalid, and yes, that’s exactly what you just did.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Which is why I haven’t told you to stop this car and let me out.”

  Now he glanced over at me. “Helena—”

  “Can we not talk about this anymore? I just want to go h
ome.”

  “All right.”

  We were silent the rest of the way to my apartment, and when we reached the door, I kissed him goodnight, but didn’t invite him up even though I could tell he wanted me to. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t bring myself to share that space with him. I’m just tired. Another time. Tomorrow, maybe, or next weekend. Soon enough. It was barely seven-thirty, but I got undressed and crawled into bed in my underwear, feeling as worn out as if I’d been hiking all day. Why did relationships have to be so difficult? I wished I knew what Cynthia really wanted. Clearly Jason was ready to jump into bed with her.

  I rolled onto my face and groaned. That was unfair. Jason hadn’t responded at all to her flirting, and his only crime was trying to be fair and impartial. I really hated that word.

  Cynthia had extorted a promise from me to go shopping later that week, and now I wondered if I’d gone temporarily insane when I’d agreed to it. The last time we’d gone shopping together, she’d pretended to steal a bracelet and then claimed I’d planted it on her. Only some fast talking and security camera footage kept me from a trip to the police station. And even then the store manager (male) had let her sweet-talk him into dismissing it all as a joke. It still made me go red with embarrassment every time I had to shop at that store. Whatever she had in mind this time, it certainly wasn’t sisterly bonding.

  The room was hot and stifling, its one window letting in light that made a glowing spot on the red curtains, like some baleful eye. Tiffany’s funeral was in two days, and I wasn’t going to be able to go because, naturally, they weren’t going to hold it in the evening. I hoped nobody would be offended by my non-attendance, but then I hadn’t been a close friend. Viv could go for both of us.

  I got up and opened the window a crack, letting in an evening breeze that smelled of exhaust fumes and popcorn from the theater next door. What if it had been someone I was truly close to? Or, God forbid, a family member? Surely the Board couldn’t object to me closing for a few hours under those circumstances? I didn’t like to think about it, but it was the kind of situation I really should be prepared for, the way old people always said you should have your funeral plans made so you wouldn’t be a burden on your kids. I shuddered and went back to bed. I didn’t need to think about death anymore.

  It occurred to me that maybe I needed to read the Accords—the actual Accords, not the generic assumptions I’d gathered from Judy and Lucia and a dozen other Wardens I’d obliquely asked about dating Malcolm. I was sure everyone I’d talked to was right, because they’d grown up as Wardens, but the Accords governed my life; I should know what they said. As if I had time for any extra reading. Still, it was something to keep in mind. I curled up in my soft, comfortable bed, with the antique frame and the brand-new mattress, and sank into sleep.

  The next few days were the busiest I’d ever seen at Abernathy’s. The perfect summer weather was bringing the monsters out in packs. Hunting teams from both factions thronged the store, wanting auguries to guide their efforts. I didn’t hear anything about unusual types of invaders like the one that had killed Tiffany, but Judy said her father and Guittard were still working on it. Personally, I thought if there’d been one, there could be others, but there was nothing I could do for Tiffany, or anyone else who might be a victim, except help the hunters eliminate the invaders.

  I was busy enough I forgot about Tiffany’s funeral until Viv appeared, dressed somberly in drab maroon cotton, her bright blue hair clashing horribly with her outfit. She was sitting behind the counter when I emerged from the oracle, ignoring Judy, who was ignoring her in turn. “How was it?” I asked.

  “Sad. Lots of crying. Her mom is a wreck. I’d never been to a graveside service before. It’s not at all like in the movies.” Viv unbuttoned the top button of her dress, which went all the way to her chin. “I hate this dress. I’m never wearing it again.”

  “Good call,” said Judy. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Thanks tons.”

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

  “I don’t know how to tell, with you.”

  “Stop,” I said, thrusting the book at Judy. “You, take care of this, and you…are you leaving?”

  “I got the day off. I figured I’d stick around and be insulted some more.” She glared at Judy, who ignored her again. I rolled my eyes.

  “Fine, just don’t…bicker, all right? I have enough trouble without the two of you arguing over clothes.” I accepted another augury slip and made my escape.

  When I returned, book in hand, Judy was saying, “…and the line is all wrong. It should be—”

  “Unbroken from the shoulder to the thigh, yeah,” Viv said. “I don’t know what he was thinking.”

  “What who was thinking?” I said.

  “André Courrèges,” Judy said. “The triangle shift, sure, but it was so overdone. I have an original Courrèges pantsuit I love, though.”

  “Ooh, jealous,” Viv said. “It must have cost you a fortune.”

  “Who’s André Courrèges, and why should I care?” I said, handing off the book to Judy.

  The two gave me identical looks of amused disdain. “Only one of the great fashion designers of the ‘60s,” Judy said. “Though I don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for the go-go boot.”

  “Go-go boots really are for tall women,” Viv agreed. “They’d just make you look like you were playing dress-up.”

  “What did I say about arguing?”

  “It’s true,” Judy said, ignoring me. “I look better in platform heels or just plain old Mary Janes.”

  “I’m leaving,” I said, taking another augury slip with a smile for the customer. At least they weren’t fighting anymore. Anytime Viv and Judy were in the same room they tended to circle each other, growling like a couple of dogs challenging each other for the same bone (i.e., me). It was funny right up until it wasn’t, and mostly I found it tiresome. Couldn’t we all just be friends?

  When I exited the oracle, I found the store empty except for my current customer and Viv and Judy, laughing their heads off over something. “What’s so funny?”

  “You had to be here,” Viv said. “Oh, I feel better now. I really needed to laugh.”

  “I’m glad,” I said, stifling a flash of irrational jealousy. “That will be $500, Mrs. Duclos, and your check is welcome here.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Duclos said, eyeing Viv and Judy with some skepticism. Judy finished writing the receipt and accepted the woman’s check. It was clear she was holding back more laughter. I’d never heard Judy laugh so unconstrainedly before.

  When Mrs. Duclos was gone, Viv and Judy went back into peals of laughter. “I hope you weren’t laughing at Mrs. Duclos,” I said irritably. “She’s a nice woman and a valued customer.”

  “No, nothing like that,” Viv said, wiping her eyes. “Time for a rest?”

  “I need to put a couch in the office,” I grumbled.

  “I’ll get you a Diet Coke,” Judy said. I stared at her retreating back. Judy had never volunteered to get anything just for me before.

  “I might have guessed Judy understands clothes by the way she dresses,” Viv said in a low voice. “We’re totally going shopping later.”

  “At least you’ll have someone along who appreciates it,” I said, more snappishly than I’d intended.

  “Hey, I like shopping with you! It’s like having a disgruntled Barbie to dress.”

  “I am not disgruntled.” I leaned against the counter and rubbed my forehead. “So who else came to the funeral?”

  Viv’s face lost its characteristic animation. “Lots of people. Amie, Sheridan, Poppy. Dave and Linda. Markus and Jerret. It was a really long day. There was the funeral, and then the graveside service, and then we all went back to the Alcocks’ for a sort of luncheon. Not that anyone could eat anything. Mostly we stood around holding punch glasses and talking about how natural she looked. How peaceful.”

  Judy returned from the break room wit
h a cold bottle which she handed to me. “It’s amazing what morticians can do,” she said. “Or are they called funeral directors these days? I can’t remember.”

  “I don’t want to think about it,” I said, “what they’d have to do to make someone who’d died like that look natural instead of terrified.”

  Viv gave me a funny look. “What do you mean, died like that? Tiffany had an undiscovered heart condition.”

  Judy and I exchanged glances. “You didn’t tell her,” Judy said.

  “I forgot. It’s been busy.”

  “Tell me what?”

  I set my bottle on the glass top of the counter. “Tiffany was killed by an invader.”

  “She was not! It was a…” Viv grabbed my bottle and took a long drink. “But those don’t leave you looking peaceful.”

  “Yeah, which is why we said—”

  “No, no, listen, Hel,” Viv said, taking another drink. “I talked to Mrs. Alcock for a little while, a very uncomfortable little while, and she said—she was the one who found Tiffany, you know. It sounds like you know a lot more about this than I do. But you know she was found in the backyard, right? And Mrs. Alcock said she looked peaceful, like she’d died happy. Not terrified. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Alcock would have noticed if her only daughter had died of fright.”

  I gently removed my drink from Viv’s hand and finished it off. “That’s impossible.”

  “Or maybe not,” Judy said. “You said when you were attacked, it left you euphoric rather than in agonized terror. Maybe Tiffany was like you.”

  “That’s…actually, it’s a little frightening,” I said, “considering I don’t know why I reacted the way I did, and it’s too late to see what Tiffany and I had in common.”

  “What I don’t understand is why my father hasn’t been pursuing this,” Judy said. “He had to know she didn’t die in fear.”

  “Maybe not,” said Viv. “Doesn’t rigor mortis wear off after a few hours? I don’t know how many, but if it took long enough between Tiffany’s death and the time some magus figured out how she was killed, maybe her face might have relaxed out of that…fear rictus, or whatever you call it.”