Paper lanterns bobbed on wires overhead, casting soft, colorful light. The local bluegrass band played gentle, folksy jazz. A crowd of people thronged Thor’s cocktail stand on the sidewalk, laughing and talking.
At another stand, Andrea was serving pie to just as great success.
But the biggest throng of people milled around the entrance to the tiny house at the center of what used to be an empty lot. The tiny house—a log cabin crammed full of books—had an important detail: a red door.
As Alice approached the scene with another box of books in her arms, she couldn’t help but smile. She still couldn’t believe it. It had taken only a month and here it was—her own bookstore. Ona had designed and built the tiny house, using remnants of the old Blithedale Books, including bits of wood from the red wardrobe. Alice loved the symbolism of it: The bookstore had been reborn.
The sign above the door said:
WONDERLAND BOOKS
Finally, a hideaway she could fit into. A Wonderland made just for her. It was perfect. As her mom had once told her, “A house is made of four walls; a home is made of love.” Alice loved Wonderland Books, and in a way she couldn’t explain, she knew her mom did too.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Coming through.”
Inside the tiny store, people stood by the built-in bookshelves or sat perched on the benches against the wall, sampling novels or memoirs or histories of this-that-and-the-other. Alice plonked down the box on the little counter.
“Just in the nick of time,” Ona said from behind the counter. She wore one of her Regency dresses. “Do you have a copy of The Shadow of the Wind?”
Alice dug into the box and found the novel by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, a magical tale about books and mysteries, one she often recommended to friends. Now she would recommend it to her customers.
Ona rang up the sale. Becca moved around the little space with a tray of canapés, her own contribution to the grand opening party. She bent down to offer one to Mayor MacDonald, who was sitting on a bench in his white suit, engrossed in a copy of Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain. Esther Lucas, the consignment store owner, came to the counter with a stack of books.
“I love reading,” she told Alice. “But honestly, I never enjoyed going into Bunce’s bookstore. I ordered my books online. I’m so happy I can come here instead and support your store.”
Alice glanced at the stack of books, and was surprised by the range of authors Esther had picked out: Robin Hobb, Alexander McCall Smith, Margery Allingham, Anthony Trollope, and Richard Osman.
“You read widely.”
“To me, it’s like travel. The whole point is to go far from where you began.”
Alice nodded, appreciating the wisdom of those words. She herself had come far, even if she’d come right back to where she began—a bookstore in Blithedale.
After unboxing the books, Alice took over from Ona, ringing up more and more sales. She knew she wouldn’t have as many customers on an ordinary day, but she also knew that this was a good sign for her little bookstore’s success.
And her new life in Blithedale.
Ona and Becca joined her at the counter, Becca putting down the empty canapé tray.
Alice took Ona’s hand, then Becca’s hand. “You know what I realized again tonight?”
“Oh, no—another revelation about the murder?” Ona said.
“Something Darrell did that we didn’t realize?” Becca asked.
Alice laughed and shook her head.
“I realized tonight that when I ran out on my wedding, I thought I was running away from love, when, in fact, I was throwing myself right into it.”
She pulled her two friends into a warm hug. She’d never felt happier in her entire life. Who needed a hideaway when you had a home?
* * *
Thank you so much for visiting Blithedale. Join Alice and her friends for another cozy mystery in book 2:
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Turn the page to read chapter 1 of A Theater to Die For (Book 2)…