“Oh, Lawson,” Mom said, reaching into her tote bag. “You know better than to say things like that.” She pulled out a clump of tightly wrapped white sage, quickly lit it with a Bic lighter, and then waved it around Lawson’s head and torso. Every few seconds, she would blow on the tuft to send bits of smoke and ash his way. “Gotta get rid of those dark vibes ASAP.”
Lawson collapsed in his chair. “Can’t believe I said that out loud.”
“You sure did,” Mom said, and continued to flutter the smudge stick in the air.
“That’s . . . okay, Becky.” He blinked to keep the smoke from his eyes, then finally grabbed hold of Mom’s wrist. “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
“I think that helped. I’m feeling better, anyway.” Mom held the sage low at her side, where the white smoke drifted skyward in a slender stream. Yes, she carried that stuff with her wherever she went because you just never knew when an opportunity would present itself to cleanse a room—or a co-chairman—of bad juju.
And despite the fury I’d felt less than a minute ago, I had to admire my mother who, in the midst of all this drama, cared more about Lawson’s welfare than her own.
The rest of the members were grumbling and mumbling to each other so Mom picked up a gavel and gently pounded it on the table to draw their attention back to her. “Let’s take a five-minute coffee break to realign our chakras and do a little shake-shake-shake, shall we?” She made a “jazz hands” movement, smiled sweetly to the group, then dashed over to Derek and me.
Wrapping her arms around both of us, she whispered, “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m just sorry we can’t watch you do the shake-shake-shake,” I said.
She moved her shoulders up and down. “Sometimes you’ve got to loosen up, change the vibe, right?”
Derek wasn’t smiling. “Rebecca, who is that man who threatened you?”
“Good question,” I said. “I plan to hunt him down and kill him.”
She pressed her forehead against mine. “Oh, sweetie, he’s not worth one millisecond of your energy.”
“But he was so hostile to you.”
“Yes, and that wasn’t the first time.” She sighed. “His name is Jacob Banyan and he owns Raging Stallion Winery.”
“I’ve never heard of it.” I would’ve remembered such a ridiculous name. And I had to wonder: did he consider himself the raging stallion? Ugh. “Is the winery nearby?”
“Close enough,” she grumbled. “They’re right over the ridge near Glen Ellen.”
“Why don’t you want him at the book festival?” I asked. “Other than the fact that he’s a bully and a blowhard.”
“That’s exactly what he is.” She lowered her voice. “Did you hear him say he’s been buying up vineyards all over the valley?”
“Yeah.”
“In some cases, he simply goes to the bank, pays off the second mortgage on the property, and kicks out the owners.”
“That sounds downright criminal,” I whispered.
“Apparently he’s getting away with it.”
“He’s a dangerous man,” Derek said, though his tone was mild.
Mom’s lips were pressed in a stubborn line. “I’m not afraid of him.”
“Perhaps you should be,” he said. “I didn’t care for the way he spoke to you.”
“I appreciate that, sweetie,” she said, patting his arm. “But that’s just one of the many reasons why I won’t allow him to be a part of the festival.”
“Do we know any of the people who lost their land?” I asked.
“He took over Misty Vineyards, for one.” She scowled. “Changed the name to Rowdy Acres.”
“What a twit.” Especially when it came to naming wineries. But the news about Misty really hurt. She was a longtime member of the Fellowship and a good friend of Mom’s. “Didn’t Misty win a bunch of awards at the Sonoma County Fair last year?”
“Yes. Her wines are outstanding. But as soon as Banyan took over, he began watering down what was left in Misty’s barrels and turned it all into box wine.”
My mouth gaped. “Box wine?”
“And he did the same thing to Dalrooney Cellars.”
This couldn’t be happening. “B-but Dalrooney is just up the road from Dharma.”
“That’s right. He’s getting closer and closer.”
“Oh my God. That’s hideous.”
She sniffed. “Thank you, sweetie.”
“For what?”
“For your outrage.”
“Of course I’m outraged! He’s hurting good people.” I took a breath. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with a cheap box wine if you’re going to an outdoor concert where you can’t bring a glass bottle. But Dharma is known for its high-quality wines. If people get wind that box wine is being made here, it could literally destroy our economy.”
She jabbed her finger toward me. “Exactly!”
“No wonder you’re pissed off.”
“You bet I am.” Her fists bunched up and she let out a little shriek of frustration. “He’s such a dipwad.”
For all my mom’s soft heart and tendency to forgive and forget and turn the other cheek . . . she had a do-not-cross line and I was pretty sure Banyan had crossed it.
I nodded. “He really is.”
“Does everyone on the committee agree with your decision?” Derek asked.
She glanced around, scowled again, and lowered her voice even more. “No.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “Why would anyone support this guy?”
She sighed a little, in exasperation and pure frustration. “Because he’s wealthy and powerful.”
I exchanged a quick look with Derek. “Mom, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re wealthy and powerful, too.”
She pondered that. “I guess I don’t wear my power the same way he does.”
“That’s because you’re not a dipwad,” Derek said soberly.
Mom and I both grinned. The word sounded unusually insulting when spoken with a distinguished English accent.
“Also,” Mom added, “a few of the committee members aren’t wine people, so they don’t know the owners of the affected wineries. And they don’t seem to care that he makes box wine.”
“They should,” I groused. “Whatever their business is, our local wine industry is what keeps them afloat.”
“I agree.”
I pondered her dilemma. “You could always quit the committee.”
“If I quit, the committee will be taken over by dipwads like Banyan. No.” She gritted her teeth. “I can’t risk Banyan getting an even tighter grip on the local wine industry and what we do here. I’m very proud to be in charge of our first book festival. We’ve all worked really hard to make it happen and it’s going to be awesome. And no dipwads are going to ruin it for the rest of us.”
“Here, here,” I said stoutly.
“I’m so glad you two are here.” She glanced behind her as the rest of the committee returned to their seats. “I’d better get back to the meeting. Are you taking me home?”
“Yes,” Derek said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’ll wrap this up in about ten minutes.”
“We’ll be right here.”
Derek and I sat down and watched Mom return to the table. He took hold of my hand. “I imagine the rest of the meeting will be pretty cut and dried.”
Mom pounded the gavel. “Shall we move on to new business?”
“Not quite yet, Becky.” Saffron Bergeron stood up. She owned the flower shop over on Montana Ridge Road, and I’d known her for years and had never heard her say a nice word to anyone. I hated to admit it, but I just didn’t like her. She was mean and sneaky. Yes, Dharma was all about love and peace, but Saffron had never caught on to that concept.
I watched Mom sigh. “Yes, Saffron. You have a point to make?”
“I wish to protest your exclusion of Jacob Banyan,” she said. “He’s a resident of the area, just like you and me.”
“Yes, but unlike me, Jacob Banyan is a predator.” Mom tugged on her ponytail, a sure sign of irritation. “He raids and destroys businesses without a single glance back. He’s hurting our friends and neighbors. Stealing their life savings. He’s not a nice person.”
“You can say that again.” Winston Laurie slapped his hand on the table. “Many of us will be taking turns serving wine in the Dharma Winery booth, and if Banyan does get a booth, I don’t want him anywhere near us.”
“Neither do I,” said Jan Yarnell, glaring at Saffron. “If you want to give him a booth, you can sit right next to him and deal with his snotty attitude and rude comments.”
“And his crappy box wine,” Winston muttered.
“That’s not the point,” Saffron began.
“It’s exactly the point,” Mom insisted. “We have a responsibility to the other festival vendors as well. When ninety-nine percent of our vendors are upstanding members of our community who are bringing excellent products to our customers, I won’t allow one percent to ruin it for everyone else.
“Half of our local vintners are scared to death that he’ll drop a foreclosure notice on them and the other half are just afraid he’ll mock them or call them names. The man is like a dark cloud. He treats us all like we’re chum and he’s the shark in the water.”
“Ooh,” I whispered. “Good one, Mom.”
Derek patted my knee. “She’ll win this fight.”
“Her metaphors are killing it.” Despite my concerns, I had to smile. Mom had been a Deadhead, a farmer, a wife, and a mother. She had astral traveled with her spirit guide, Ramlar X, and was the current Grand Raven Mistress of her local druidic witch coven.
But now she was in corporate mode and I could honestly say that I’d never seen her like this before. She was in charge of an important event that promised to bring thousands of visitors to Dharma less than a week from now and she wasn’t putting up with any nonsense. And dang, she had just totally played that shrew Saffron Bergeron.
But Saffron just rolled her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, Becky?”
Jan fumed. “It means he thinks we’re all idiots.”
“It means he’s trying to gobble us up,” Sue added. “Like a shark. Get it?”
“Banyan’s hurt too many people,” Mom said. “I refuse to allow him to be a part of the book festival.”
“You refuse?” Saffron mocked. “It’s not your decision, Becky.”
Mom shot a look at her co-chairman. “The committee elected me and Lawson to make the tough decisions.”
“Sounds like you’re turning it into a dictatorship.”
“Don’t be melodramatic, Saffron,” Lawson said wearily, staring at his hands. He looked defeated and I wondered if he was afraid to say anything more about Banyan in front of Saffron, who seemed to take Banyan’s side of the issue.
Lawson was a nice man, but he was the last guy I’d turn to for any tough decisions.
“I agree with Becky,” Clyde said. “Banyan is toxic.”
Mom nodded. “And I’m doing exactly what the committee appointed me to do. Ensuring the success of the festival.”
“Exactly,” Lawson said.
“Naturally you would side with Becky,” Saffron said sulkily. She turned to Mom. “Why don’t you let the whole committee vote? See how the rest of us feel.”
“All right.” Mom stood, still holding her gavel. “All in favor of barring Jacob Banyan from the festival, raise your hands and say ‘aye.’”
I quickly counted eight people who voted with Mom.
“Those opposed?”
Four people waved their arms and shouted “nay.” I tried to see who had voted against my mother. There was Saffron, of course, Professor Dinkins, and the cute blond guy. I couldn’t tell who the fourth arm belonged to. A woman for sure, but it could’ve been either Penny Lewis, who owned the dry cleaners over on Montana Ridge Road, or the woman sitting next to her whose name I’d forgotten.
“That seems to settle it,” Mom said, and pounded the gavel once. “Banyan’s out.”
Saffron snorted. “You’ve padded the committee with all of your cult members. I can’t possibly win.”
“Don’t be insulting,” Mom said. “First of all, people chose to join this committee because they live in Dharma, not because they’re in the Fellowship. And more importantly, we’re not a cult and you know it.”
“Whatever,” Saffron said with a disdainful flip of her hair. “Your little fellowship”—she used air quotes—“is nothing but a freak-filled secret society. Who knows what goes on in those clandestine meetings you have.”
Mom looked completely stunned. “What is wrong with you?”
“She’s just jealous,” Clyde said, “because we don’t invite her to our secret meetings.” Clyde owned the most wonderful used bookshop in town and he had always been one of my favorite people.
Jan snorted. “Yeah, right. Secret meetings.”
But Winston was frowning. “The book festival has nothing to do with the Fellowship.”
“Of course not,” Mom said. “And just because the majority of this committee voted to keep that offensive box-wine jerk from having a booth at the festival, you’re now accusing us of being part of a secret cult? That’s just stupid.”
“Now I’m stupid!” Saffron was outraged at the implication but I couldn’t figure out why. She’d surely heard it before.
Mom breathed in and out to calm herself. “I didn’t call you stupid, Saffron. But your accusation was stupid.”
“I’m not stupid,” she snapped. “You’re stupid.”
“Enough!” Clyde shouted and stood up for emphasis. “Yes, Saffron, you’re stupid if you think we’re part of a cult. Why don’t you just admit the truth? Jacob Banyan offered you money if you’d get him a booth.”
“You . . . how . . . he did not!” she sputtered. “How dare you!”
“Is that true?” Mom asked.
She huffed. “Of course not!”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Clyde said with a smirk.
Leave it to old Clyde to quote Shakespeare properly, I thought fondly. The guy was a world-class curmudgeon but smart as a whip and snarky to boot.
Saffron pushed away from the table, clearly affronted. “I didn’t take any money, but even if I did, who cares? What matters is that you’re blackballing him just because he isn’t a member of your hoity-toity commune.”
Now Mom stood. “That has nothing to do with our decision and you know it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s too bad,” Mom said, taking a step toward Saffron. “The only reason that man isn’t welcome at the festival is that he’s vicious.”
“He’s a pillager,” Winston cried.
“He’s bent on destroying our community,” Jan added.
“You’re all being ridiculous,” Saffron chided. “Jacob Banyan is a well-respected businessman, pure and simple. He’s pumped plenty of money into our local economy, and even if you don’t agree with the way he does business, that doesn’t mean he should be shunned.”
Sue sneered. “He might be a businessman, but he’s not well respected.”
“He destroyed Misty Vineyards!” Jan shouted. “Misty had to take a job as a barista at the Kaffe Klatch.”
“Oh, cry me a river,” Saffron snapped.
Mom pounded her gavel for order, then said, “Misty’s not the only one. Dalrooney, Clearwater Winery, and Clayborn Cellars all went belly up, thanks to Banyan. And Oak Road Barrel Company just went out of business.”
“It’s not Banyan’s fault the barrel company went under.”
“Oh, Saffron.” Mom’s tone was pitying. “Being deliberately obtuse is just so unattractive. You know as well as I do that there is a clear correlation.”
The good-looking preppy guy who’d voted “nay” stood up and coughed self-consciously. “Don’t you think that’s stretching it, Mrs. Wainwright?”
“Not really, Ryan,” Mom explained. “Our community of winegrowers is like an ecosystem. Banyan’s a predatory fungus that’s killing off all the good wine to the point that eventually we won’t need barrels anymore.”
Okay, maybe she was stretching the theory a little, but I could see her point. Wooden barrels were used to store and age the wine, but wine destined for boxes—or cans—was rarely barreled. If the box wine trend were to continue unabated, nobody would need barrels anymore.
“Look, Banyan’s not welcome at the festival,” Mom said. “The ayes have it. We won’t reward predatory behavior. That’s my final word.”
She blew out a breath, sat up straight, and rolled her shoulders slowly. I recognized her attempt to realign her chakras and I had to give her props. She was hanging in there in the face of all that negativity, mostly coming from Saffron Bergeron, one of my least favorite people ever.
For someone who worked with beautiful flowers, Saffron Bergeron had a downright ugly disposition. She was desperate, sneaky and suspicious, always thought the worst of people, and clearly hung out with the wrong crowd. She had lived in the area for nearly as long as we had, but she’d never been friendly or neighborly. She had always reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. I didn’t know what her problem was, but I’d had it up to here with her verbal abuse of my mom.
“Any other comments before we adjourn for the day?” Mom asked calmly.
“What’s the use?” Saffron whined. “You don’t listen to anyone else’s opinions.”
“On the contrary, Saffron,” Mom said on a sigh, “we’ve all listened to far too many of your opinions today.”
“Don’t be a whiner, Saffron,” Jan murmured.
Winston shook his head. “Poor loser.”
Saffron didn’t respond, but she looked furious enough to rip the skin off both of their faces.
Mom ignored Saffron as she checked her notes. “We just have one more item to mention, and it’s good news. Lawson will tell us all about it.”
She nodded to her co-chair who pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m pleased to announce that Bettina Trimble, our Louisa May Alcott scholar, will be here in a few days. She and I have had several delightful conversations and I can’t wait for you all to meet her. She’s a lovely woman and a true academic. We’re planning a nice reception with tea and pastries and I hope you will all attend.”
“Wonderful,” Mom said, smiling at Lawson. Her co-chair was a real fanboy. “Won’t that be exciting?”
“Whoop-de-do,” one of the “nay” men said sarcastically. It was Mr. Dinkins, a professor at the Sonoma Institute of the Arts. I’d thought he was an okay guy when I met him a few years ago while teaching a bookbinding class at the Institute. I wondered what his problem was now. Maybe he had voted against the “girlie” Little Women and wasn’t taking the defeat well.
Mom ignored him, smiled sweetly, and pounded her gavel. “Meeting adjourned.”
Most of the committee members had left the room and Mom was slipping her clipboard into her tote bag when Lawson began a quick, hushed discussion with her. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but when they were finished, Mom patted his shoulder and said, “I’ll be fine. You take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“I will.” But he didn’t look happy as he strode out of the room.
He must be concerned about Banyan confronting my mother, I thought. But leave it to Mom to be more concerned about someone else’s problems rather than her own. With the way tempers were flaring, though, I was right there with Lawson. I couldn’t help but worry about her safety. And the fact that I needed to worry was really unsettling. Up until a few years ago, Dharma had always been a refuge from the ugliness of the outside world. Seeing that ugliness creeping in here was unsettling. And extremely disappointing.
Everyone else was gone by the time Mom walked toward us. “I think we can go now.”
Derek met her halfway. “Let me carry that for you,” he said, and reached for her tote bag.
“Oh, thank you, sweetie, but I’m just going to tuck it inside my cubby.” She walked to the far wall where a dozen square cubicles and shelves held various items of clothing, books, and notepads. Setting her tote bag into one of them, she explained, “Some of us leave our notes and things here between meetings instead of carting them back and forth from home every day. And we keep the door locked so nobody will take anything.”
“As long as it’s safe,” I said.
“Safe as can be.” She pulled her smaller handbag from the tote. “But I keep my personal stuff with me.”
“Good,” I said. “You ready to go?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked exhausted. “I’m ready.”
I walked over and slipped my arm through hers. “We thought we’d show up and surprise you, Mom. But this probably wasn’t the happiest moment to sneak in here.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “We’ll all be friends again tomorrow.”
Of course my mother would believe that, but I doubted it. Still, I smiled encouragingly. “I hope so. But Mr. Dinkins sounded really angry.”
“He’ll snap out of it,” she said sharply.
“Ooo-kay.” I cast a quick glance at Derek, who flanked her other side and wrapped his arm around Mom’s shoulders.
“Let’s get you home, Rebecca.”
Usually when someone called her Rebecca, Mom would tell them to call her Becky. But when Derek said it, she purred like a happy kitten. I couldn’t blame her.
She leaned her head against his chest. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“It’s lovely to see you, too.”
Mom lifted her head and glanced at me. “I should apologize for all the ugly vibes circulating around here today.”
“Not your fault, Mom. Let’s go home and have a glass of wine.”
“Now you’re talking.”
Feeling the need to protect my mother from those vibes she mentioned, Derek and I stuck close to her all the way out to the sidewalk along Berkeley Circle. I observed a few of the committee members talking together in small groups and hoped they weren’t planning a coup. Mom didn’t need that aggravation. I waved to Clyde but he was talking to Lawson and didn’t notice me.
Mom looked around. “Where did you park?”
“It’s such a nice day,” I said, “we parked a few blocks away and walked. But if you’d rather . . .”
Derek caught my glance. “Why don’t you two wait here and I’ll go get the car.”
Mom patted his arm. “No, no. The walk will do me good. Calm my nerves.”
Derek stared into her eyes. “If you’re sure.”
“Absolutely.”
“All right, then.”
With Derek and me still flanking Mom, we strolled around the curve of Berkeley Circle to the Lane and headed south toward the car.
I finally had to say what I was thinking. “I can’t understand why anyone would want that Banyan guy to take part in the festival.”
Mom shrugged. “For one thing, most of the members who voted ‘nay’ don’t own wineries. And not that it matters, but since they’re not commune members, they don’t think they have a stake in Dharma’s future.”
“But that’s ridiculous. We’re a community like any other in the country.”
“I’ve tried to tell them.” Mom sighed. “I mean, Saffron owns a business in town and half of her customers are Fellowship members. Nobody boycotts her simply because she’s not a member. Why would she pick a fight over a nonexistent issue?”
“I think Clyde had it right,” I mused. “Jacob Banyan is paying her to do his dirty work.”
“Apparently that’s true, even though she tried to deny it.” Mom shook her head. “It’s kind of sad.”
I squeezed Mom’s arm. “I would feel a lot more sympathetic, but she’s such a grinch.”
“She can’t help it, poor thing,” Mom admitted. “Her aura is positively gray. And her complaints are completely unfounded. It’s just not fair. I didn’t try to stack the committee with Fellowship members. There are just more of us than anyone else in Dharma because, you know, we built the town. And we tend to take an interest in what’s going on in our town because, well, it’s ours. Robson instilled that sense of community in all of us from the very beginning.”
“That’s true, Mom.” Guru Bob had always led by example. He was committed to living a life of quality, kindness, and service. My mom and dad and the rest of his followers had strived to do the same, and those lessons had been drummed into their children’s psyches from an early age.
Mom thought about it for a long moment. “What I’m trying to say is that even though Saffron and others like her have lived here a long time, they’ve never once tried to learn our history or our philosophy. They don’t understand that part of our culture is to welcome everyone. We make a big deal about not being, you know, an exclusive club. A cult. A secret society. Any of those silly things.”
“You’ve always bent over backward to avoid giving that impression.” And maybe, I couldn’t help thinking, that hadn’t always been the best way. If they’d been more careful in who they’d allowed to move into town, they wouldn’t be dealing with Saffron and her allies now. But that just wasn’t the commune’s way. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want it to be.
“It’s their loss, Rebecca,” Derek said. “Your generosity is overflowing and I, for one, feel very fortunate to be a part of your family and your life.”
Mom beamed at Derek and then flashed me a smile. “Have I told you lately how much I love this guy?”
“Yeah.” I grinned. “Me, too.”
As we approached Warped, Mom said, “Did you get a chance to talk to China earlier?”
“Yes, briefly. But we can stop if you want to talk to her.”
“No, we don’t have to stop,” Mom said. “We’ll just wave as we pass by.”
“Okay.”
We stopped in front of China’s shop window and waved. She saw us and waved back. Then we all laughed at ourselves and the three of us continued our walk.
“That was fun,” Mom said, clearly feeling better.
As we passed the Good Book, Clyde stepped outside the shop. “Brooklyn, hold on.”
I turned. “Hey, Clyde.” With a grin, I grabbed him in a hug. “It’s great to see you.”
He patted my shoulder, then stepped back and scratched his head self-consciously. “Saw you at the committee meeting but couldn’t stop to chat. I had to get the hell out of there.”
“I don’t blame you. The meeting seemed to get a little tense.”
“Ya think?” Clyde rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Me, too.”
Mom touched Derek’s arm. “You remember Brooklyn’s husband Derek.”
“Sure do. You’re a lucky man,” Clyde said gruffly, shaking Derek’s hand.
“I’m well aware,” Derek said with a smile.
“Good.” Not one to dawdle, Clyde turned and yanked the shop door open. “Come in here. I’ve got a book for you.”
I glanced at Mom and we both raised our eyebrows. “I can’t wait to see it.”
I walked in and was instantly enveloped by the intoxicating scent of books. Call me a weirdo, but I could get high off that heady combination of pulpy vellum and aged leather, along with the slightest hint of cinnamon. It was a trick used by savvy booklovers to treat their wooden bookshelves with cinnamon oil in order to ward off the infestation of silverfish and other annoying paper-loving insects.
“I know it’s a bit late to ask,” Clyde explained, “but I just came across this little gem yesterday.” He reached behind the counter, pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper, and handed it to me. “If you have time to fix it, great. If not, I’ll understand.”
I carefully unwrapped the paper and stared at the book inside. “Little Women,” I said, smiling. “How perfect.” I noted that the poor book had been handled badly, but underneath the scruffiness was a beautiful treasure waiting to be rediscovered. “Where did you find it?”
“Uh, just around,” Clyde muttered.
“Wow, lucky find.”
“Yeah, sure. I, uh, found it in a used bookstore. Yeah, over in Grass Valley.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Paid almost nothing for it, but I thought it could be worth some money if it got fixed up.”
“Definitely,” I said, immediately wondering why Clyde sounded nervous.
“It’s kind of a mess,” he continued, his voice stronger now. “But the paper’s good and the cover’s pretty decent. Just need you to resew it and glue it and, you know, do all that other magical stuff you do.”
I turned the book to study it from different angles. On the front cover, a vibrant color illustration showed the backs of four young women walking arm in arm through a tree-lined park. Each of them wore a long skirt and petticoat in the style of the 1860s and a different colorful shawl across their shoulders.
I could tell that the book’s spine, though worn and faded and coming loose, had once been a pretty shade of blue.
Both back and front covers of the book were dangling by a few threads. Most of the signatures—those folded pages that are sewn together to make up the textblock—had come apart completely. As a whole, the book was a mess, but its individual parts were outstanding.
I had my work cut out for me.
“Do you plan to sell it during the festival?” I asked.
“That was the original plan. But if you can get the work done in time, I was thinking of entering it in the silent auction. That way, all the money will go to charity.”
The silent auction was part of the Saturday-night festivities and the proceeds would be donated to an adult-literacy organization.
“That’s a lovely idea, Clyde,” Mom said.
As a book nerd, I had to agree.
Clyde coughed again, but this time I knew it was because he tended to feel awkward when anyone tried to pay him a compliment. This was part of his curmudgeonly charm, as far as I was concerned. “Huh,” he muttered, then looked at me. “Well, do you think you can finish it in time?”
“Of course I can.” I almost laughed. Clyde knew me too well, knew that as soon as I saw this jewel of a book, I would be itching to start work on it.
“I’ll pay you, of course.”
I gave him a long look. “How about if you take the money you’d normally pay me and put it toward the charity.”
He didn’t smile exactly, but gazed at me with something that might’ve been pride. “You’re a good girl, Brooklyn.”
“She sure is,” Mom said sweetly, giving my arm a squeeze.
“I should be able to finish it by the end of the week,” I said.
“Perfect.” He gave me a curt nod. “Thanks.”
Now that our business was completed, I took a moment or two to check out the bookstore. Sadly, I hadn’t visited Clyde’s shop in more than a year. But growing up, I used to stop in at least once a week. I adored this little shop with its narrow aisles and its rolling library ladder. I loved its mix of new bestsellers, classic used books, fascinating how-tos, and the rack of comics by the front desk.
The most surprising aspect of the shop was its cleanliness. I had been in hundreds of used bookshops in dozens of cities all over the world. And while I loved them all in different ways, I could admit that, in general, every one of them could use some serious housecleaning at least once a year or so.
But Clyde’s shop was nearly spotless and virtually dust-free. I knew he had been inspired to overhaul the entire space from top to bottom soon after his grandkids began visiting the store and picking out their own books. It turned out that his youngest granddaughter was allergic to everything and would start sneezing as soon as she walked inside. The dust in the shop triggered her asthma, Clyde had explained, so he took action.
In each of the four corners there was a comfortable chair for reading. In the middle of the shop was a round reading table large enough to seat eight people.
Once a month Clyde held a “Meet the Author” event where he would invite a famous author to visit. He served wine and cookies, and generally attracted a good crowd. The one unusual aspect of the event was that the authors were always dead. So basically, Clyde held a séance once a month.
My mother was a regular attendee and a big fan of all the dead authors. And now with Derek’s mother Meg visiting Dharma on a regular basis, the two of them attended the events together as often as possible.
I gave Clyde another hug. “I’ll have to come back and browse when I have more time.”
“You’re welcome anytime, as always.”
“And I’ll have the book back to you by Friday.”
“That’ll do it.”
We left the store and continued walking down the Lane toward the car. When we were a block away, I heard footsteps pounding on the sidewalk behind us and turned around.
“Oh my God,” I cried.
“What is it, dear?” Mom asked, then turned and gasped.
Derek had already whipped around and moved in front of Mom to protect her from Jacob Banyan.
I felt every muscle in my body tense up in alarm.
Mom touched Derek’s back. “It’s all right, Derek. I’m sure Mr. Banyan just wanted to say hello.”
“I very much doubt that,” Derek said, his laser-like gaze focused on Banyan.
“What do you want, Banyan?” I asked.
Banyan curled his lip in disgust. “Quite the little army you’ve got here, Becky. They won’t always be around to protect you, though.”
“I don’t need protection from you, Banyan.”
“Want to bet?” he murmured, his tone menacing.
Derek leaned closer. “You should think twice about threatening people, Banyan. It could get you into trouble.”
“From you?” He scoffed. “That sounds like a threat to me. I’m just trying to live my life here.”
“Then go do that,” Derek said quietly. “Walk away. Now.”
Banyan bared his teeth. “I don’t follow orders from you, pretty boy.”
Good grief, I thought again. I hoped for Banyan’s sake that he wouldn’t find out what a big mistake he was making.
Derek just laughed. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
“I know exactly what I’m doing. And you’ll be sorry if you get in my way.”
And then he actually tried to shove Derek aside. Derek didn’t budge an inch and Banyan scowled. He leaned to his left to make eye contact with Mom, but Derek took a step in that direction and blocked his view.
“For goodness’ sake, Jacob.” Mom was clearly fed up. She patted Derek’s back and stepped around him to confront Banyan. “What do you want?”
Banyan gripped Mom’s arm. “I heard what you said about me after I left the meeting.”
“Looks like you have your own little army reporting back to you then,” Mom said, mocking him. “Isn’t that special?”
He might’ve squeezed her arm tighter, but in a lightning-fast move, Derek grabbed Banyan’s arm and wrenched it behind his back.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Banyan howled, arching his back to try and relieve the pain.
“I warned you,” Derek said, his voice deadly calm.
“Let go of me!”
Derek released him suddenly and Banyan almost fell over.
Rubbing his shoulder, Banyan muttered, “I’ll kill you for that.”
Derek made a tsking sound. “Sounds like another threat.”
Banyan’s nostrils flared like an angry bull, but he was smart enough to leave Derek alone. Instead, he jabbed his finger in Mom’s direction. “Don’t try to blackball me, you witch.”
“But I’m a good witch,” Mom said saucily.
Unlike Saffron Bergeron, I thought, but kept silent.
“Think you’re real funny, don’t you?” He bared his teeth. “One of these days I’ll find you all alone and wipe that smile off your pretty little face.”
Mom gave him a cool stare. “That’s enough. You’re boring me, Banyan. Now get out of my way.”
“I’ll go when I’m good and ready.” But he was still rubbing his shoulder. “Just remember this. You try to keep me out of the festival and I’ll make sure you don’t live to see another day.”