“I can’t refund all those tickets—I already spent some of that money on July’s rent, and the rest is earmarked for August payroll,” he tellsme.
I’m about to start getting worried about him giving up the hope he’s barely got in the first place when he narrows his eyes. “Looks like we’re going to have to find JMB, Harold. Because the only way he’s not coming into Lakeside and doing this event like he promised is if he’s dead.”
Four
When we get to Lakeside the next morning, Miguel quickly greets Riley and Dane, then disappears into the stockroom.
“Think he’s okay?” Dane asks later. I’m wondering if he means me when he adds, “He’s been in there for a while.”
“I mean, no,” she whispers back. “He hasn’t been okay for a long time.”
“Right, but now with JMB not showing…I mean, it sounds like we might be in trouble, money-wise. And the last thing the guy needs is more stress.”
“Trust me, we all know Miguel’s been through enough already—and that we can’t afford to issue refunds.” Riley glances toward the back of the store. “I wish he’d listen to me about e-books. I mean, it’s the twenty-first century. If Stephen King’s doing it and half the romance author community’s already on board, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of publishing catches up. We could get out ahead and start making some real money to keep this place open. At the very least, we could start taking online orders and shipping books across the country. If anyone can figure out the digital stuff, it’s you.”
Dane runs a hand through his hair, which makes it stand at attention. “Thanks, Riles. I like to think I know my way around the interwebs, but we can’t push him. Remember the memorial?”
Miguel held Amelia’s memorial at the bookstore, and lots of her writer friends came into town for it. Some of them wanted him to feature her novels. He said no—that it wasn’t the right time to sell them. But one author took it upon herself to pull Amelia’s books from the Romance section and place them on the first table customers saw when they walked in the door. “The point of being a novelist is to create something that lives on,” she told Miguel when he asked her what compelled her to rearrange their bookstore.
He didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t look at her or speak to anyone—evenme—for the rest of the day.
Riley exhales. “That was awful.”
“Hey,” says Dane, eyeing her. “I hope I’m not stressing you out.”
I don’t know all the details because Riley never mentions it. But something called 9/11 happened the year Amelia first started fainting. That’s when Riley moved from New York to Michigan to live with her Aunt Kathy, who told Miguel he’d be an idiot not to hire her. She’s been at Lakeside since right before Amelia got sick.
“I’m good,” she tells Dane. “Promise.”
“Well, you know, let me know if that changes.”
“I will.”
A few minutes later, Miguel wanders out of the stockroom and takes Dane’s place behind the register. “Since I’m here, I’m going to contact JMB’s team,” he tells him. “Then I’mgoing to head home. If anyone comes in asking for a refund, tell them we’re still working on a rain date.”
“You upset?”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
Dane shoots me a knowing look. People may call him dense, but he’s one of the rare humans who gives me the credit I deserve. “No feelings—just facts,” he says to Miguel. “Got it. What are you going to say?”
Miguel frowns. “I’m going to email his agent and assistant and tell them I’ll be out eight thousand dollars if he doesn’t reschedule. Since I haven’t heard otherwise, I assume JMB didn’t have an emergency. Which means he’s a terrible person.” He shakes his head, then mutters, “So much for helping an independent bookstore survive. What a crock.”
Dane claps his hands several times, startling me and Miguel. “Email?Email?If the store’s in danger, you need a show offorce.We should storm the publisher’s office—and his agent’s, too. New York’s, what, an eleven-hour drive? We could be there by tonight. If all goes well, we could have JMB tied up and in the trunk by tomorrow morning.”
“Jonathan lives in Chicago, Dane.” Miguel snorts. “And according to, say, any map, New York’s the wrong direction if we’re planning on kidnapping him. Which, for the record, we are not, because I cannot run a bookstore from prison.”
“Touché.”
“You know what? You’re right about one thing,” says Miguel, whose eyes have just brightened.
Dane flashes him a crooked grin. “I love it when you talk dirty to me. Go on.”
“Email isn’t enough. No, I’m going to call them.” Miguel’salready stepping behind the counter. He pushes a button on the computer, and it makes a chiming noise. “I have their info.”
“That’s it?” Dane’s eyes bulge. “That’syour big idea?”
Admittedly, a parrot could probably plan more than a phone call—but at least Miguel’s looking for a solution. It’s better than him slinking off into the bushes and waiting for the bitter end.
