Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(74)
Author: Mimi Strong

“As long as you have a nice smile in the pictures, because I swear that’s the only part I’ll look at.”

I started backing away, aware of time slipping by. “Did you get rid of your problem? Your rat?”

He shook his head. “I took away all the food, except I forgot the bananas on the table. Wouldn’t you know, he got the bananas.”

“Maybe it’s a monkey.”

Mr. Galloway waved goodbye, signaling he was finished with this particular topic, and off I went.

With my mocha in hand, I opened the door to Peachtree Books. The shop smelled different.

I started to feel irritated, then angry. Someone had moved the round pedestal table, and it wasn’t aligned with the chandelier anymore, which meant that a tall man browsing one side would hit his head. He would hit his head and then stare at the store manager (that’s me) with a very litigious-looking scowl. I could practically see it happening, like a clairvoyant.

“Fucking Adrian,” I growled, and I set to work putting everything right again.

My new coworker Adrian didn’t return any of my text messages on Thursday. I suppose my tone may have been too scary for him. That, and me calling him a cheese-fucker. I didn’t say anything about him talking about my high school crush on him, or his highly inappropriate dick pic (never mind that I started it with my nip pic), but I did give him the excoriating he deserved over f**king with my shit at the bookstore.

On Friday, I started creating a binder of Do’s and Don’ts for the store. Actually, it was more of a collection of Do’s, Don’ts, Fucking Never’s, and Death Will Befall You If’s.

The day went by quickly, and I closed up the shop at six, as per the new schedule. We had been open later hours on Friday through most of summer, with Amy working the later shift, but now she was gone and apparently Adrian was doing Friday shifts at Chloe’s, making pies, so we were just closed at six.

I snuck out quickly and kept my head down to avoid eye contact with any potential customers on their way in for some evening shopping.

Someone called out my name, so I started walking faster. Then he started chasing after me, his footfalls approaching rapidly.

I turned around, prepared to go back in and open the store for someone’s literary emergency.

The man chasing me down was middle aged, with a brown mustache and long hair tied back in a ponytail. At first I thought he was a regular customer, because seeing Vern, Dalton Deangelo’s butler, didn’t make any sense in Beaverdale.

“Sorry to be any trouble, but where would you buy towels here in town?” he asked.

“At the mall, I guess. Why?”

“There’s a mall?”

“Yes, with a K-Mart. Beaverdale isn’t that small.” I stared into Vern’s cool, professional face. “No offense, Vern, but why are you here?”

His calm veneer cracked as his eye twitched. “Mr. Deangelo didn’t tell you?”

“Vern, tell me you’ve quit working for that Hollywood ass**le and you’ve moved to Washington for a slice of the small town life. Tell me you’ve joined three book clubs and you’re thinking of getting a mountain bike. Tell me he’s not here, in this town, where I live.”

“He’s not here.”

I hugged Vern and kissed his cheek, to his surprise and dismay.

Vern explained, “I’m preparing the cabin for his arrival.”

“Fuck. Tell him I won’t see him. We’re through. Tell him don’t bother coming to Beaverdale for me.”

Vern shuffled his feet, his eyes cast down. “He’s not coming here for you. He needs somewhere to hide, and I’ll admit I suggested coming here because I do enjoy the town so much.”

I shook my head. “He’s hiding? Now what has he done?”

“It’s quite unfair, really. He hasn’t done anything. I’m afraid it’s something rather troublesome from his past. I suppose you could read it along with everyone else in today’s papers, or tomorrow’s. Apparently, Mr. Deangelo bears a striking resemblance to a young man in some adult films.”

My insides grew heavy from the weight of the news.

We stood there a few more minutes, as Vern described how everything had happened so quickly, starting Monday morning. As his lips moved, words came out and fell on my unhearing ears, because my body was focused on pumping out panic sweat and adrenaline.

Dalton had told me his secret, about how his parents had been in adult films, and how when he grew up and ran away from home, he’d been in a couple himself, despite being underage. That was all before he changed his name and started fresh. He told me his story, then he had me sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement, promising I wouldn’t divulge any of his secrets.

But then I’d gotten really hurt by him, and…

Did he suspect me of being the one who leaked the information? Was he going to sue me? Did people do that?

Oh, shit.

In the last week, I’d been pretty angry with him, and I’d had at least two nights of heavy drinking. Everyone who knows me would agree my mouth is the biggest thing on me.

I couldn’t remember blabbing about Dalton’s seedy  p**n -star past, but I didn’t remember getting a tattoo, either. Did I…?

Vern was still talking, saying, “Most people aren’t annoyed by sounds from nature. Even the most shrill of bird calls is still a welcome antidote to city life and big trucks with air brakes… and there’s a goat that comes with the cabin, but I don’t expect I’ll be milking her, though who can say, really.”

I nodded. “Right. Who knows?”

“Goats are the ones with the weird little eyes, right? Do they have hooves, or feet?”

“Everything has feet.” (How am I having this conversation right now? How are my lips moving and saying these things?)

He said, “I suppose hooves and feet aren’t mutually exclusive. So, which way to the mall?”

I pointed down the hill. “Five blocks. Take the east entrance or you’ll have to walk in through the food court, and have cheese popcorn smell in your nose the whole time.”

Vern thanked me, then turned and went on his way, in a manner I would describe as merry.

I started walking home, mulling over the news of the day.

Vern didn’t seem upset at all about Dalton’s secret getting out. He’d been disappointed with life in Beaverdale the previous time he was there, until I gave him a few pointers about making an effort, and now he acted like an eager transplant.