Once properly dressed, I met Rita downstairs, and we walked through the disarray. My heart sank at the mess. The store hadn’t been neat and tidy to begin with, but now it looked like a tornado had swept through it. Books had been pulled off the shelves, items had been scattered behind the counter, and even the plastic bags had been tossed across the floor. On top of that, the front door, counter, cash register, and coffee station were covered in black fingerprint dust. And Elmer Peabody still hadn’t come to remove the white lines.
I called a locksmith to come fix the broken front-door lock, grateful that whoever broke in hadn’t smashed the glass. Next, I used the phone number I’d gotten from Horace Grimes and called Gladys Washburn, asking her to come help clean up and offering to pay overtime if needed.
When she arrived, the three of us went to work, cleaning, wiping down, vacuuming, and, thanks to Gladys, removing the white tape from the stairs and scouring the floor and stairs in the general area where the body had been found. She would definitely get a nice Christmas bonus this year.
I was thrilled when the cleaning portion of the day was completed before ten AM and Gladys was able to go to her next client’s home, after we’d hugged and cried together a moment and I’d promised her she would still come clean for me once a week. We walked out with her as she left, and I took the opportunity to step back and look at the store from the front for the first time, getting a customer’s view of my new, albeit possibly short-lived, business. Plus, it was a handy excuse to avoid the even bigger job of straightening and organizing the store after many of the books had been tossed around willy-nilly.
A plain sign proudly hung over the door bearing the words Baxter’s Book Emporium in bold, black lettering. Way to be creative, Uncle Paul. I shook my head. A name change was definitely in order. If I stayed.
The phone jangled from inside, and we hurried back inside to the sound of tinkling bells over the door. I rushed to answer the call, hoping it would be my first real customer. Remembering the sign outside, I answered cheerfully, “Baxter’s Book Emporium.”
“Are you happy with your sales? Would you like to increase your daily profit? Well, we at Book Distributors of America would like to offer you—”
A telemarketer? Really? I interrupted the salesman before he could get too far into his spiel. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested right now.” Over the top of his second attempt at stating his case, I hung up and let my gaze scan the room, once again taking in the utter chaos. “Any idea where to start?”
“I don’t think it’ll make any difference.” Rita chuckled. “But as my grandmother used to say, ‘Rita Sue, there won’t be no gettin’ to the end if you don’t make no beginnin’.’”
“Rita Sue?”
“Don’t knock it. It’s my name.” Rita grinned.
“Seriously?” At her pursed lips and narrowed eyes, I sobered. “Well, it fit perfectly with that southern accent you were faking.”
“Who says the accent was fake?”
Good Lord, now I was insulting her. “You don’t have a southern accent now.”
“Honey, let me tell you somethin’ about myself.” Rita slipped back into her southern drawl. “I grew up in a li’l ol’ town in Georgia. My whole family speaks with this here accent.”
“Why did you learn not to use it?” As I asked, I moved to the coffee station and opened the cabinet beneath it, hoping to find coffee-making supplies. Maybe if I had coffee in my mouth, I wouldn’t put my foot in it so much.
Rita’s accent disappeared. “After I graduated from cosmetology school—” She held up her hand to forestall my interruption. “I know, I know, a very stereotypical thing for a southern girl from a small country town to do.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.” Under her glare, I winced. Okay, so maybe I was. I pulled out a stack of filters and fitted one into the coffeemaker, but there had been no coffee with them. “I was going to say it was interesting that you found your vocation so young in life.” A weak claim, but it would have to do. “Come on, I need coffee. Let’s look in the back to see if we can find some.”
“Mm-hmm.” Rita shot me a look that said she didn’t believe me, but she followed me down an aisle to the jumbled back room.
“So, what came next?” I looked into cabinets and under counters. There had to be coffee somewhere!
“As I was saying, after I graduated, I went out to Hollywood, determined to make a name for myself and a fortune to boot. One of the first things I learned was the country bumpkin thing didn’t go over well out there. So, I sort of remade myself. I gave myself a makeover, saved my pennies and replaced my wardrobe, and managed to get an interview with a Hollywood makeup artist. I got the job, and the rest is history.”
“Just like that?” I turned to stare at her. “You make it sound so easy to up and change your whole way of life.” I didn’t think I’d ever feel like I’d changed enough to get past what had happened in Charlotte.
She chuckled. “Oh honey, let me tell you, it was anything but easy. I made a lot of mistakes, but eventually I got my foot in the door with a couple of well-known professionals.”
“Did you stay with the same artist the whole time?” I returned to my search for coffee.
“Yes, but eventually the glamour wore off, and the stress of Hollywood got old.” Rita riffled through the desk drawers. “A few years ago, when I heard about a job at the Hokes Bluff Inn, I jumped at it. And here I am.” She raised a can of Folgers in her hand like it was the World Cup. “Found it!”
“Thank God.” I followed her this time as we headed back to the coffeemaker. “What does a makeup artist do at a hotel?”
“Haven’t you heard about the Hokes Bluff Inn?” Rita glanced over her shoulder at me.
“No. What’s so special about it?” So it was a fancy hotel. It couldn’t be that big a deal.
“And you a native of the lovely state of North Carolina. Shame on you for not knowing about your own historical landmarks.” Rita turned and shook her finger in mock sternness.
“Oh, and you can tell me all of the historical landmarks in Georgia?” I gave her what I hoped was a withering look. I apparently failed.
Rita saucily waved aside her own shortcoming. “No, but that’s beside the point. If you’ve not heard of the Hokes Bluff Inn, you’re in for a treat. This is definitely history with some personality. It’s also the reason for the town’s name. You’ll love this.”
Armed with fresh coffee, we began sorting stacks of books, separating them by category, while Rita told the colorful story of the town of Hokes Folly.