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HARRIET WAS JUST TURNING the sign on the door to “Closed” when Fortune, Ida Belle, and Mary-Alice showed up. (Gertie had gone home to search for an intact handbag). Harriet smiled and invited them in.
Mary-Alice loved Harriet’s Books, with its stale potpourri smell, and its Local Author section featuring Gertie’s racy romances. Late in life Gertie had discovered writing as a creative outlet. She now published romances featuring mature protagonists, a genre she dubbed “seniorotica.” Mary-Alice’s humorless cousin Celia Arceneaux had tried to get Gertie’s books banned from Sinful, which only got them flying off the shelves.
“Tea?” Harriet offered, but her smile faded as she read her friends’ faces. “What is it?”
“We’ve just gone to see Buford Fontleroy Deale, Miss Harriet.” Mary-Alice spoke, as it was she who knew Harriet best. “He claims you’re defrauding him and is planning to gather evidence to prove it.”
“That can’t be right,” Harriet exclaimed. “Defrauding? How can that be? I pay my rent early every month, and I take excellent care of the property. That’s crazy.”
“What’s going on?” Ida Belle demanded. “Why would your landlord want to do this to you?”
Harriet sighed, motioned them into her office, and invited them to sit around the cluttered round table where she reconciled her sales each evening.
“Mr. Deale was here yesterday afternoon,” Harriet said.
“After book club?” Mary-Alice asked. Harriet nodded.
“He made a rather ungentlemanly proposition. I believe he’d been drinking.”
“Well I expect you turned him down,” Mary-Alice exclaimed. Harriet nodded, her eyes fixed on the stack of computer printouts in front of her.
“He didn’t take the rejection well.”
“It seems not,” Fortune agreed.
“Miss Harriet,” Mary-Alice said gently, “Mr. Deale tried to induce his bookkeeper, a Mr. Florentin Menard, to go along with his accusations,”
Harriet looked up sharply.
“Florentin? Florentin would never...”
“He didn’t go along with it,” Ida Belle reassured her. “But Deale’s gonna keep trying.”
“Maybe you should get a lawyer,” Fortune suggested.
“With what money?” Harriet asked. “Darlin’, I’m a bookshop owner in a town of two hundred fifty people.”
A clicking noise interrupted them. They all turned toward the office door.
“I’m certain I locked up,” Harriet whispered.
Fortune lifted her finger to her lips and reached over to switch off the office light. Then she eased the door open and slid out into the shop.
The ladies waited in the darkness. A brief silence was followed by a noisy scuffle, which quickly subsided into a soft whimpering.
“Little help,” They heard Fortune call out.
They emerged to find Fortune, kneeling beside the cookbook shelf. As Mary-Alice’s eyes adjusted to the unlit interior she saw that underneath Fortune was a man, sprawled face-down on the hardwood floor. Fortune’s knee was planted on his back and she had his arms pinned behind him.
“I’ll search him,” Ida Belle said.
“Get the backpack.” Fortune tilted her head to indicate an army-surplus backpack on the floor about five feet away.
Mary-Alice quickly pulled out her phone, started up the video camera, and began filming. One never knew when a video would come in handy.
“Why Adam Sampson, whatever are you doing?” This was Harriet, who was the last to exit the office.
Fortune and Ida Belle looked up briefly and then got back to searching. Mary-Alice kept filming.
“You know this character?” Fortune asked as she groped the man’s pockets.
“Why yes, I do. This is Adam. Adam Sampson. He’s the handyman.”
“Should I let him up?” Fortune asked.
“Well, yes, I believe you should.” Harriet placed her hands on her ample hips. “Whatever our troubles, none of it’s poor Adam’s fault.”
Fortune took her knee out of Adam’s back and allowed him to retake possession of his arms. He stood slowly, keeping a wary eye on Fortune. Despite Harriet’s assurances, Ida Belle continued to rummage through his backpack.
“Now Adam, dear,” Harriet chided, “didn’t your mama tell you to knock? Have you come about that dead outlet?”
Adam took a moment to collect himself. Tall, gangly, and sandy-haired, he could have passed for Fortune’s younger brother. Until he opened his mouth.
“Ma’am,” he said as he worked his fingers to get the feeling back. “I just came by to tell you how sorry I was to hear about you losing your lease.”
Ida Belle and Fortune exchanged a glance. Mary-Alice, too, was skeptical. Who sneaks into a closed shop to bring condolences? The boy didn’t have a card, or flowers, or anything.
Harriet clapped her hands to her face.
“Lost my lease? That can’t be! I’ve been in here since Buford’s daddy ran the company.”
“Sorry, Ma’am. I just came to say goodbye.”
“Oh, Adam, whatever am I going to do? Oh, and I am terribly sorry about all this. Are you all right?”
“Well now, Miss Harriet.” Adam touched a lump above his eyebrow. “If these ladies weren’t your friends, I’d be tempted to call the police. No hard feelings, though. I’ll just take that and be on my way.”
He reached toward Ida Belle. She stood and planted one foot on the backpack.
“I believe Mr. Sampson was planning to call the police regardless,” Ida Belle said. “Weren’t you, Mr. Sampson?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am,” he stammered.
“Or do you just make a habit of carrying around top-of-the-line door locks and rolls of copper wire in your backpack?” Ida Belle persisted.
“I don’t...” he stammered, looked around wildly, then staggered back through the door and dashed away.
“Well now you’ve run the poor boy off!” Harriet ran out after him, and returned quickly, out of breath. “What on earth possessed that boy?” she panted.
“Miss Harriet,” Mary-Alice said, “I believe this is Mr. Deale’s doing.”
“Take a look at this.” Ida Belle opened the backpack and emptied it onto the floor.
“Why, it’s just a bunch of hardware,” Harriet said.
“That that kid was going to plant inside your shop,” Fortune said. “Then Deale would call the sheriff, report a theft, and give them your address. You’d be stuck explaining to them how stolen property ended up in your possession.”
Harriet’s round face reddened. “Why, that sneaky—”
“Don’t you worry, darlin,” Mary-Alice assured her. “You have witnesses. And I got it all on video.”
“Deale’s not going to give up,” Fortune said. “He’s going to try again. I think you should get out of town for a couple days.”
“But the store!” Harriet objected.
“Miss Fortune’s right,” Mary-Alice said. “That Mr. Deale isn’t the type to take no for an answer. And he’s got vengeance on his mind, that’s for certain.”
The ladies eventually left Harriet in the book shop, but only after extracting a promise that she would leave town that night and go to stay with her mother.
“So what do we do now?” Mary-Alice asked excitedly as she walked Fortune and Ida Belle to the Jeep.
“You need a ride, Mary-Alice?” Fortune asked as she unlocked the driver’s door.
“Oh, how kind of you to offer, Miss Fortune. But I believe it’s cooled down enough by now that the walk will be pleasant.”
“I think we should drive over to Gertie’s and let her know what she just missed,” Ida Belle said. “Then we go confront that dirtbag Deale tomorrow morning, show him the video of his employee trying to plant evidence, and enjoy the sight of him blowing a gasket.”
“Yeah, thanks for recording, Mary-Alice,” Fortune said. “That was quick thinking. I think we have enough to get him to stop harassing Harriet. I mean, if he doesn’t put her back on the lease after seeing that—”
“Oh, he will,” Ida Belle said. “He will.”
Mary-Alice watched the taillights disappear into the dark. Then she started down the shell-paved road feeling like a hero. She was normally as non-confrontational as they came, but she couldn’t wait to confront the wicked B.F. Deale and ensure justice was done.