at all. It’s, well, quaint . . . just like your accent, Ms. Pettistone. Where did you say you were from?”
“I’m from Dallas. A Texan born and bred.”
“Well, I think it’s adorable,” the girl confided, as if she were the elder of them. “The accent, I mean. Boys just love girls who talk all cute like that.”
“Good to know,” Darla replied, trying to keep the sarcasm from her tone.
She wasn’t exactly in the market for a “boy.” A couple of years ago, she’d finally gathered the gumption to divorce the inferior specimen she had married and was presently enjoying her independence.
Turning the subject back to the shop, Darla said, “Our main room started life as the brownstone’s parlor. See on that wall, how we still have the original mahogany-mantled fireplace? Now, if you go through that broad arch there”—she pointed toward the rear of the store—“you’ll see what was once the dining room. That’s where most of the classics and reference books are stocked. We keep the fast movers and the gift items up here so we can keep an eye out, if you know what I mean.”
The girl nodded wisely. Having worked in retail, she’d probably seen her share of shoplifters.
Darla continued her quick tour, Madison on her heels. Beyond the old dining room lay the back door, which in turn led to a tiny courtyard where Darla and her staff often took lunch when the weather permitted. She pointed out to Madison how all the doors lined up. In fact, the floor plan reminded Darla of what they called a “shotgun shack” back home in Texas, meaning one could walk a straight line—or fire a shotgun—from front door to back without hitting anything in between.
Or, rather, one could’ve if the shop’s rooms had been empty.
Instead, a maze of oak bookshelves filled the place, the tangle practically requiring a map to negotiate and technically defeating the single-shotgun-blast-traveling-from-door-to-door concept. Great-Aunt Dee had eschewed the concept of optimum use of the available space, choosing instead to make clever little alcoves of the shelves. The old woman also had left most of the rooms’ original ornately carved wooden built-ins intact, so that they served as additional shelves for both books and an eclectic collection of vintage miscellany.
“That’s the nickel tour,” Darla ended with a smile. “Now, about Hamlet—”
“There he is.” Madison cut her short, smiling and pointing to the nearest bookshelf. There, beneath a garland of orange jack-o’-lanterns that Darla had draped in anticipation of Halloween, the cat was stretched at full length, snoozing. But Hamlet was not the stereotypical scrawny Halloween scaredy-cat.
Cliché as the notion was, Darla had always thought of Hamlet as a scaled-down panther. He was large for a domestic shorthair and solid black save for a tiny diamond of white on his belly. His paws when fully splayed were the size of a small child’s hand, though far more lethally equipped, since Great-Aunt Dee had not subscribed to the idea of declawing indoor cats. And he was all muscle, as Darla was reminded of every time she tried to dislodge him from somewhere that he didn’t belong.
Before Darla could warn her, the girl hurried over to the cat. She put out one French-manicured hand in his direction, as if to pet him. “What a cute—”
“No!” Darla shrieked, seeing a glimmer of emerald as Hamlet opened one eye a slit. Rushing to the shelf, she all but bodychecked the girl, and just in time. Barely was Madison out of claws’ reach than Hamlet sprang to his feet and swiped.
Darla dodged the claws but managed to step on the girl’s foot in the process. Madison, who had just caught her breath after being elbowed, gave a little cry of pain. Grabbing at her crushed toes and hopping on one foot, she dropped her iPad, which gave a couple of bounces of its own.
“Well, really,” she huffed once she’d regained her balance. Bending to retrieve the fallen tablet, she added in a peeved tone, “If you didn’t want me to pet the darned cat, you could have said—”
She broke off with a gasp as she found herself nose-to-nose with Hamlet, who had lapsed into ninja-cat mode and slipped unnoticed off the shelf. Suddenly he was on the floor, standing between the girl and her property. Green eyes cold and unblinking, the throaty meowrmph that emanated from him dared her to make a grab for the bright pink case.
“Don’t do it,” Darla hastily warned as the girl huffed again and made as