The window display on one side offered an array of Ms. Honeywood’s bestsellers, surrounded by beach trappings—flip-flops, an umbrella, a beach towel, shells. Oh, and a scary-looking knife sticking out of a sand-filled bucket, which Roz hoped was a rubber prop.
The window on the other side was full of science fiction and comic books, which were among Big Bang’s specialties. It also carried plenty of romance, bestsellers, quirky reads, kids’ fare and banned books. There was something for everyone inside.
Alden held the door for her, and she strolled into the frosty air-conditioning. He briefly caressed her back as they paused at the entrance, then stuck his hands in his pockets as he gazed around at the crowd.
She loved his touch, but getting smoochy in public probably didn’t do much for their reputations as journalists with The Courier-Beacon, so they tried to keep PDAs to a minimum. All part of adjusting to the whole relationship thing. This wasn’t Roz’s first, but it was so much more. She’d never been so emotionally entangled with a guy before. And now she was all mixed up.
Big Bang Books wasn’t chain-store large, but it was spacious. It had taken over an old shoe store that had been half a dozen other things over the years. It had that lovely bookish smell of paper and ink and binding glue.
Under high tin ceilings, dozens of people milled among the bookshelves or claimed seats in the rows of chairs set up in the back. Their voices echoed and overlapped in a roaring waterfall of words. Kids giggled and screeched in the children’s section. A local folk duo played guitar and flute in one corner. This was no bookishly quiet event. It was a party, and it was loud.
“Should we get a seat before they run out?” Alden’s voice held a touch of boyish anxiety that made Roz smile.
“Maybe we should mingle first.”
“You’re just looking for a story.”
“And you aren’t?” She quirked her mouth at him. “Maybe I just want to say hi to my friends.”
“Ha. Fine. I think I see a likely target anyway.” He glanced to the right, toward a few men clustered around the history section.
“Is that—that guy?” Roz asked. “Blake Burbage, right?” He was fiftysomething and handsome in a silver fox kind of way, his dark hair threaded with steel-gray and his blue eyes sharp and dancing as he laughed with his cohorts.
“Yep. Blake Burbage. I haven’t seen him in anything good in forever.”
“I loved him in that show about the Army police—Chain of Honor. And then he played that officer in … I can’t remember.”
“Probably because he’s played a military man in so many movies and shows,” said Alden, an avid film fan. “He hasn’t had a big role in ten years. Though he did play that crazed priest in Say a Hail Mary.”
“Oh, yeah!” Roz exclaimed. “He was super creepy in that one.”
“He’s still too famous to be a has-been. I’ll see if I can chat him up.” And off Alden went to do what he did best, mine the stars for gold.
Roz went the other way, spotting someone a lot less famous flipping through a tome on a display table covered with dragon books and merchandise. “Sheryl?”
The woman was slender with highlighted shoulder-length brown hair. She wore a brown T-shirt that said Trees Hug Me Back that hung straight down over her modest chest and bunched around the waistband of her tan capris. Thick leather sandals and a patchwork, cross-body boho bag completed the look.
One of the paper’s stable of poorly paid freelancers, Sheryl Pugh wrote the gardening column. Not that the poor pay bothered her that much. She’d apparently survived a bitter divorce from a philandering Bohemia Beach allergist, emerging with enough money to pick and choose her careers, no matter how little they paid.
“Hey, Roz!” A smile lit up Sheryl’s pretty elfin face, subtly tan and only slightly weathered by sun and her fortysomething years. “Are you a fan of Enolia Honeywood too?”
Roz got close enough to whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve only read one of her books, and it wasn’t my favorite. Is she here yet?”
“I think she’s hiding in the office. Or maybe she’s coming by limo. No one seems to know, but there’s a podium and table set up in front of the chairs, so I think she’ll be here.” Sheryl bore a small frown at the thought of being stood up.
“I’m sure she will. What are you writing about this week?”
Sheryl’s brown eyes sparkled. “Plumeria! They’re already starting to leaf out. Soon they’ll be blooming. It’s always an exciting time, especially since they’re just a bunch of fat sticks during the winter. And they smell so good.”
“Great!” Roz tried to muster convincing enthusiasm. “Are those the flowers they have in Hawaii?”
“Yes, but they thrive here as well. Frangipani. I love them.”
“I grew up here, but I never learned much about gardening. As a kid I didn’t care, and as a grown-up, I’m just too busy.”
“Roz.” Sheryl closed the book she’d been riffling through and gave her a serious look. “Gardening is the best therapy ever. I mean, outside of sex.”
Roz barked out a laugh at Sheryl’s unexpected declaration. Sheryl grinned, then her eyes brightened again as she spotted someone enter the shop with another jingle of the door.
