Bloodier Than Fiction Read online

  BLOODIER THAN FICTION

  A Bookish Cafe Mystery Book 2

  HARPER LIN

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Bloodier Than Fiction

  Copyright © 2021 by Harper Lin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  www.harperlin.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  A Note From Harper

  Excerpt from “Story of a Murder”

  Chapter 1

  The new shipments of books mocked Maggie Bell. There were three cardboard boxes of the latest football-themed novels and biographies, all to celebrate the Fair Haven High School football team playing their last home game of an undefeated season. Visitors had been trickling in even though the home game wasn’t for another three weeks. Business had been booming. People were stopping in the café and finding their way into the bookstore in a steady stream for days. All of them asking her the same question. Would she be attending the game?

  “I’ll probably have to work” was her usual reply before she pushed her glasses up higher, to which they’d gasp and shake their heads and frown.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” they’d gush. “Maybe your boss will let you out early to catch the second half.”

  “I hope not,” she’d quietly reply, which got even more critical looks.

  It was bad enough the display window was bursting with pom-poms, flags, and footballs alongside the classic sports books she’d plucked from the shelves and carefully arranged. Maggie had no idea what constituted a good sports book. It was a topic she’d avoided simply because she never watched any games. It was like every customer who came in over the past couple of days was speaking another language, and she just couldn’t gather even the slightest hint as to what they were talking about. They knew the names of players, the positions they played, the records of the other teams they already defeated, and who was coming up. Maggie knew the Fair Haven team were called the Bulldogs and their colors were red and blue. That was the extent of her knowledge on the team.

  However, what she lacked in smarts when it came to the sport she made up for in the display window that featured not just football titles but How to Raise and Train Your Bulldog, Zelda Wisdom, and English Bulldogs for Dummies. The customers seemed to enjoy it. Secretly, Maggie thought it was rather clever on her part too. But she couldn’t help still miss the old days when her friend and the owner of the store was still alive.

  The Bookish Café, formerly called Whitfield Book Shop, had been a dusty, antiquated bookstore that rarely had a visitor. To Maggie, it was as comfortable as a warm quilt. Now it was becoming a trendy hot spot for visitors and locals alike. Maggie missed the days of sitting at the counter, reading something by Dumas or Hugo uninterrupted with Poe, the bookshop cat, purring pleasantly next to her. Poe didn’t seem to mind the increase in traffic through the store as it usually meant an extra couple of scratches behind the ears.

  After a deep breath, Maggie wrinkled her nose at the boxes and reached over to the old desk where Mr. Alexander Whitfield had spent so many days chatting with her before his death. A pair of ornate scissors, razor-sharp, lay there. Maggie grabbed them and split the seams of the boxes with hesitation, as if their contents smelled foul.

  There were some interesting books inside about people whose names she recognized, like Joe Namath and Peyton Manning. They’d been in the news or something, she thought. But all the rest looked the same. Men in helmets, carrying a ball under their arms with huge, padded shoulders and thighs, running or falling or posing like jersey-clad male supermodels. Most of the books were described as the stories of courage or perseverance or courageous perseverance that resulted in a Heisman Trophy or a Super Bowl ring.

  “See anything you like?” Joshua Whitfield asked with a smirk.

  “I don’t get it,” Maggie replied. “All this hoopla for a game. Have you seen Tammy’s bakery? You’d think a red-and-blue fabric store threw up in there.”

  Tammy McCarthy’s bakery was just down the street. It was a wonderful place that made the entire block smell of cinnamon, which was especially nice at this time of the year, when the mornings were crisp with hints of fall. Maggie was there every morning to pick up pastries to bring to the café. It was a wonderful business move that Joshua had established as soon as he took over the bookstore and built the café.

  “Are you kidding?” Joshua asked, looking at Maggie as if she’d suddenly sprouted antennas. “It’s not just a game. It’s man at his most aggressive in the continual quest not only for goals but for glory.”

  Maggie stared at Joshua, blinking like a deer in the headlights. Joshua walked up to her and put his arm around her shoulder.

  “Just imagine being in the stands of a stadium, looking down on a rectangular field, with one team on one side and their rival on the other. They face off in formation. Talking smack as the play is called. The snap! The ball is thrown down the field. Does he catch it? Is it intercepted? Does he make the yards, or is he tackled? It’s anybody’s guess. And that’s where the thrill is. The crowd shouts. The smell of hot dogs and nachos and popcorn fills the air. Hot chocolate keeps your hands toasty. The sun beats down on your face. You can’t beat it. At least not until baseball season starts.”

  “Lord help us.” Maggie huffed. The truth was she could have stood there for hours with Joshua’s arm around her. He wore an intoxicating aftershave that reminded her of oranges and clove cigarettes. But she didn’t dare let him think she had such thoughts.

  “Oh, come on Mags.” Joshua chuckled as he pulled his arm away and took a few steps back to watch her return to the boxes of books.

  “I’ll pass. And I don’t mean with a football.” She pulled out a few more books, looked at them like they were covered in fungus, and set them down in stacks.

  Joshua laughed. “Have you ever been to a game?”

  “No,” she replied without looking up.

  “Never? Oh no. That just won’t do. We’ve got the high school game coming up. I am making it mandatory for all my employees to attend,” Joshua said.

  “Well, since that’s just me, I say no,” Maggie replied.

  “Oh no. I’ve got people coming in to interview for the two jobs that opened up,” Joshua said as he headed over to the cubby he’d been working on to house the more valuable books for sale. There were a few that his father had collected that weren’t worth as much as the books he’d left to Maggie in his will but were still a good investment for a beginner collector.

  “What did you say?” Maggie choked.

  “I need someone to help behind the counter. Tammy’s got too much on her plate as it is. She can’t keep pitching
in over here. So I put an ad in the paper and got a couple replies. They’ll be coming in throughout the day,” Joshua said. “I’d appreciate your help if they come in the bookstore. Just tell them to have a seat in the café,” Joshua said as he held a level on the shelves one last time before he started to attach the decorative glass door with the skeleton key lock on it.

  “Well, the café has gotten pretty busy.” Maggie swallowed after speaking.

  “Yeah, and so has the bookstore. I’ve seen you running back when the deliveries come just to run up front to ring up a sale or answer a question. So I’m also looking for a stock boy to help both of us,” Joshua said without looking up from his work.

  “I really don’t need anyone to help me,” Maggie insisted while nodding her head. “You can save yourself the extra money. I’m good.”

  “Too late,” Joshua replied. “They’ll be coming in throughout the day.”

  “What if I don’t like any of the candidates? They should have a basic understanding of the kinds of books we have and be familiar with all the classics, plus some of the more obscure titles for our more discerning customers and…”

  “You aren’t interviewing any of them. I am. I’ll decide who will be competent enough to help with stocking the shelves,” Joshua replied with a smirk.

  “You didn’t even ask me if I wanted any help,” Maggie replied, and her hands automatically went to her hips.

  “You would have told me you didn’t need any help.” Joshua went back to the bookshelf.

  “I don’t think I like this.”

  “All the more reason to do it,” Joshua teased as he turned around and stepped aside for her to see the bookshelf was just about done. “We just need to varnish the wood. I’ll have your new assistant do it. Did I tell you that you’ll get to tell them what to do too?”

  “I will?” Maggie said.

  “You can’t go crazy. You’re not Captain Queeg. At least I hope not,” Joshua said.

  The reference to The Caine Mutiny’s captain made her burst out laughing. Quickly, she regained her composure, nervously tugging on the hem and cuffs of her sweater before turning around to get back to the football books she had been unpacking.

  At first, she felt itchy and uncomfortable in her own skin as the thought of new people infiltrating her sanctuary came into focus. But what Joshua had said was true. The foot traffic had increased, and sales were better than she’d ever seen them. Although people were buying more of the drivel that was on the New York Times Best Sellers list rather than really diving in deep to the classics, at least they were reading. And that, her friend Alexander Whitfield would say, made it all worth it.

  Still, she was hesitant just to accept the people Joshua decided to hire. If they were going to work in the bookstore at all, they would have to have some kinds of qualifications. Maybe a degree in literature or library sciences. They would at least have to be well read, having knowledge of the major authors throughout history and some, or very few, of the more contemporary authors. Perhaps she could quickly draw up a couple of questions and give those to Joshua to help him screen out the riffraff.

  She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and placed it next to the boxes she was emptying. As an interview question came to mind, she’d quickly scribble it down. By the time she’d finished pulling out all the books, organizing them, and finally placing them either in her display or on the shelves, she had over twenty-five questions for Joshua to ask the interviewee who would eventually be working with her. Just as she was about to present them to him, the bells over the door jingled, and a wafer-thin girl with green hair tied neatly in a bun and combat boots walked into the bookshop.

  Chapter 2

  “Can I help you?” Maggie asked, wondering when this look came back in style.

  “Yeah, I’m here to see Joshua Whitfield about a job,” she replied politely. Maggie did as she had been instructed and told the young lady to take a seat in the café. She then took her list of questions and walked up to Joshua, who was busy in the back room of the café, measuring a big space against the far wall.

  “What’s going to go there?” Maggie asked.

  “An oven, if I can figure out how to route the gas,” he replied before wiping a little sweat from his brow. He looked so ruggedly handsome Maggie almost forgot what she was there for. After clearing her throat, she looked down at the piece of paper in her hands and shook her head.

  “There’s a girl with green hair here to see you,” Maggie said. “And here.” She handed over the piece of paper that Joshua squinted at before focusing and reading the words.

  “What is this?”

  “Just some questions to ask the person who is going to be primarily helping me.” Maggie shrugged. “They aren’t hard questions. It’s just to gauge where they are when it comes to literature. That’s all.”

  “What was the primary drive of popular eighteenth-century authors in the area of domestic life? Are you serious?” Joshua laughed and shook his head before handing the sheet of paper back to Maggie.

  “You aren’t going to hire someone for the café who doesn’t know the difference between a croissant and a scone, are you?” Maggie huffed.

  “Even if they didn’t know the difference, Maggie, I think they’d learn it by, oh, say, the end of their first day. This isn’t rocket science. Look, I know you take your job seriously, but I just need some people to help. You are going to have to trust me that I know what I’m doing,” Joshua said before he took a small notebook from his back pocket and flipped it open. “The girl you are talking about must be Zoey. Well, she’s on time. That’s a good start, don’t you think?”

  Maggie rolled her eyes as Joshua scooted past her and went out into the café to begin what already felt like a grueling process.

  With her head held high, Maggie followed Joshua and slipped back into the bookstore without making any eye contact with Zoey. With the boxes of books nearly empty, she had enough to do to keep herself occupied. But the fact that Joshua wouldn’t even allow her to have a say in the people he was going to invite into his late father’s store ruffled her feathers.

  After about twenty minutes, Zoey left the store with a smile on her face. She didn’t wave or say anything to Maggie on her way out, and Maggie was just fine with that. The temptation to go ask Joshua what his impression of the green-haired beauty was nagged at her, but she was afraid to hear his answer.

  “She’s wonderful” or “She’s perfect” or “She’s just the kind of edginess the bookstore and café need” were phrases she dreaded hearing. That girl belonged at one of those chain coffee shops where the people at the counter cracked jokes and put on skits while trying to make some made-up coffee drink no one ever heard of. So she remained in the bookstore, acting as if she didn’t care what Joshua ultimately did.

  After about ten minutes, another person came into the bookstore looking for Joshua. She was dressed to the hilt in a nice pantsuit, and Maggie wondered if she knew she might get dirty working in the café and the bookstore.

  “I have an interview with him for café administrator.” She pronounced her words perfectly and towered over Maggie by at least a foot.

  “Have a seat in the café. I’ll get him for you,” Maggie said as professionally as she could muster. Inside she was laughing. A café administrator? After Joshua took a seat and began to explain the job, Mrs. Administrator stood up, shook her head, and stomped out. Joshua looked at Maggie and shrugged while chuckling. It was contagious, and Maggie did the same thing.

  The third person was a tall, wiry young man who looked like he was as nervous as a dog on the Fourth of July.

  “I’m here to see Joshua about a stock boy job,” he said to Maggie.

  “Just have a seat,” she said and pointed to the small table for two in the corner that Joshua had reserved for his interviews.

  On his way to the café side of the store, the young man stopped and picked up one of the books that was being displaced for the football-themed inventory. It
was a small vintage hardcover of Black Buggy by some author Maggie couldn’t place at the moment. She’d read the book years ago and remembered liking it as a novel about the days preceding the Civil War. She watched him open it to the first pages and begin to read. Within a few seconds, he closed the book, looked at the price tag, and then carefully put it back where he’d found it.

  Joshua saw him and quickly came to the table. They talked at length. Before Maggie could ask, the young man was shaking Joshua’s hand with a bit of a frown on his face and left the shop quickly.

  He was who Maggie wanted to stock the shelves. It was obvious that he read or at least knew how to read, which was more than she could say for Zoey-green-hair and Mrs. Administrator.

  But Joshua assured her he had people scheduled to come in all day. And so they did. There were mostly women who wanted to work in the café. More than one of them bragged about watching the cooking competitions and had dreams of creating masterpiece cupcakes and pies. Maggie didn’t think there was anything wrong with that except for the fact that Joshua needed someone to run the register and clean the place, and there wasn’t even an oven set up in the back yet. What kind of ad had he placed in the paper that these people were expecting so much from The Bookish Café?

  A couple hours later, Maggie had encountered three more candidates, and each one of them was more interested in making goo-goo eyes at Joshua than learning what their job description was going to be. At least that was how it looked to Maggie. One man who came in, wearing a tie and sport coat, seemed very nice until Joshua had to step away from the table for just a minute. That was when Maggie saw the clean-cut man pick his nose and wipe his hand under the café table. If he did that, there was no telling what he’d be doing around the food. She made a note of it and would tell Joshua after the man left.