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Brody had just finished a phone call when Donna Columbo entered the store and paused at the entry. Her right hand held the front door open, and her left hand rested on her hip. She wore a black blouse that was unbuttoned dangerously low, bright pink shorts, and black high heels. Her platinum hair was piled on top of her head. Slung over her shoulder was a giant Louis Vuitton purse.
“You’re letting the humidity in,” Brody said.
She stood there a couple of seconds longer, like a bratty teenager refusing to be told what to do. Reluctantly, she stepped inside and released the door, letting it slowly close behind her. The bell once again chimed its warning.
Donna stalked around to the counter and cocked a hip. “Well?” she said seductively.
“Well, what?”
“Ain’t ya gonna say I look nice?”
She looked like a walking, talking slab of Neapolitan ice cream. In his former life, he would have said she looked good enough to eat in hopes that it led to someplace dangerous. But with thoughts of Daphne and socially acceptable relationships creeping into his dreams, he kept that inappropriate comment to himself. Besides, he didn’t want to encourage the wife of a mob boss.
“You look nice,” Brody said, his tone flat and noncommittal.
“Damn straight, I look nice.”
“Did you dress up to come to the bookstore?”
“You wish. For your information, I look good every day.”
Brody crossed his arms. “What can I do for you, Donna?”
“Aww, you remembered my name,” she said, a smile playing across her lips.
“And I remember your husband’s.”
“Oh, him.”
“Yeah, him.”
Travis wandered out from the Noir aisle and sat in the middle of the floor, studying the visitor. Brody watched him, which caused Donna to turn and casually inspect the feline. When she again faced Brody, she said, “He doesn’t like you very much.”
“Who? The cat?”
“No, ya dingbat. My husband.”
“He probably saw you making googly eyes at me at the restaurant.”
“That’s not why. Jimmy was telling him how you was disrespectful and all.”
“Jimmy? Is that the weightlifter?”
“Yeah, Jimmy De Luca. We call him Jimmy the Pump because of how much time he spends in the gym.”
“Jimmy the Pump? Gross.”
“He’s sorta soft up here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “Like he’s stuck in high school or somethin’.”
“How was he after our fight?”
“You two had a fight?” That information seemed to brighten Donna further. “Who won?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
She studied Brody’s face. “I’m going to guess you got the better end. You’re still handsome, and Jimmy ain’t much of a fightah. He’s built for intimidation.”
Travis sneezed and ran a paw over his face.
Donna turned and looked at the cat. “He’s sort of a weird fella, ain’t he?”
“He grows on you.”
“Ugh.” She faced Brody. “So, where do you live, sailah?”
“Not around here.”
Her smile faded. “Is it fah?”
“I drive in every day. Hours each way.”
Suspicion clouded her face. “Hmm.”
“You going to buy a book, Donna?”
Her face scrunched. “Uh, no.”
“Then why did you stop by?”
“I told you I’d be back, but clearly, you’re not buying what I’m selling.”
“No, ma’am, I am not.”
“It’s that woman you were with at the restaurant. Who is she?”
“Does it matter?”
“You bet it does. I want to know my competition. Is she your girlfriend?”
“Maybe.”
“We’re getting ready to leave this town, but when I come back, I’m gonna do something about that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of somethin’.”
Donna walked to the door then, pulled it open, and held it there. She turned around and watched the big man, not saying anything.
“The humidity,” Brody said, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference.
“I’m like the Canadian Mountaineers,” Donna announced, “I always get my man.”
“That’s the Mounties,” he said, remembering the Dudley Do-Right cartoons he’d watched as a child at his grandmother’s. “And I don’t think that’s really their motto.” At least, that’s what his grandmother had told him.
“What?” she said, scrunching her face.
“It’s the Mounties,” he repeated. “Not the Mountaineers.”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Just because you own a mystery bookstore doesn’t mean you know everything about genealogy.”
She spun then, letting go of the door, and left in a huff.
The bell rang as the door closed.
––––––––
He looked up from The Deep Blue Good-by when the brass bell dinged again. Brody was surprised to see the waiter from the Italian restaurant enter the store. When the two made eye contact, the older man rolled his lips inward and nodded politely.
“Anything I can help you with?” It was a question clerks had asked him throughout the years. He felt funny saying it since he didn’t know anything about the store and knew even less about mystery books.
The man shook his head and moved deeper into The Red Herring.
Brody returned his attention to his book. A couple of times, he looked up to catch the older man peering in his direction. The waiter would hurriedly look away, embarrassed at being caught.
When it happened for the third time, Brody put his paperback down and approached the man. “Is there something I can help you with, pops?” He wondered if he’d been sent to spy on him by Frankie Columbo.
The older man appeared frail next to the much larger bookstore owner. He slowly said, “Looking for the books.”
“The books? Which books?”
The older man pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. On it was, in an obviously feminine handwriting, the name Raymond Chandler followed by several book titles: The Big Sleep, The Little Sister, and The Long Goodbye. Brody relaxed then. Chloe Columbo must have written these titles down for him.
“You’re looking for these?”
“Si.”
Brody smiled and patted the older man’s shoulder. “All right, pops. Let’s see if we can find them.”
The waiter nodded and followed Brody as they moved through the various aisles. They started in the Cozy aisle, walked through the Thriller row, and eventually found the titles in the one labeled Classics.
“You’re in luck,” Brody said, pulling the three novels from a shelf. “These look to be the only Raymond Chandler books I have.”
“Lucky,” the waiter agreed.
Brody handed two of them to the older man but held on to The Big Sleep. He flipped it over and read the back of it. “Philip Marlowe, huh? These any good?”
“Excuse?”
“These books. Are they good?”
The older man shrugged. “Do not know. Learn the English from reading.”
“You read books to learn English?”
“Si.”
Brody handed the man the last Chandler novel and returned to the front. The older man followed him and put the books on the counter.
“Anything else?” the big man asked.
The waiter shook his head.
Brody checked the back of the books and quickly announced a total. The older man pulled several bills from his pocket and handed him the exact amount. He slid the three novels from the counter, nodded politely, said “Arrivederci,” and left the store.
He tucked the bills into the cash register, not because he knew what he was doing, but because it seemed like what he should be doing. For a moment, he wondered if he should learn how to order replacements for the Chandler novels. If those were the last ones, it probably meant they were popular among Pleasant Valley readers.
Instead of learning how to place the order though, he returned to the Travis McGee adventure.