Good intentions, however, were not enough.
Between the online bookselling behemoths undercutting the little guys, and e-books swooping in to take their surprising share of the market, it was getting harder and harder for brick-and-mortar places to compete.
Every day, it seemed, she read in the trades about another well-established bookstore that had slipped into bankruptcy.
Keeping a positive attitude after each such doleful announcement, she continually told herself it wouldn’t happen to her.
But if today was a harbinger of things to come, she might be the next in line to be washed away by that red-ink tide.
And then what in the heck would she do?
“No sense borrowing trouble,” she muttered, reflexively channeling her mother, who was prone to spout such well-worn chestnuts.
She had a flexible business plan, and so long as she stuck to it, she should be able to weather the unfavorable economic storm.
And if not, maybe she’d simply have to ditch the books and reopen as a coffee shop or a New Age boutique.
Her true dilemma for the moment would be deciding what a good old Texas gal should wear to a filthy rich New York author’s funeral.
“DAMN IT, I WAS AFRAID YOU’D ANSWER.”
Awakened as she’d been from a sound sleep, it took Darla a few moments to realize that the soft voice on the other end of the phone was Jake’s.
Alarmed, she grabbed up her bedside clock to check the time.
Five after two in the a.m.
Like her dad always told her, nothing good ever happened after midnight.
Reflexively, she dropped her own voice to a whisper and demanded, “What’s wrong?”
“Footsteps,” was Jake’s succinct answer.
“It’s that same sound of someone walking around in the store again.
I’m headed up to take a look.”
Not again!
Tracking down possible intruders in the dead of night was the last thing Darla wanted to do after all that had happened.
Unfortunately, her sense of responsibility kicked in right on schedule, and she heard herself saying, “I’ll go in through the side door.
I’ll be down as soon as I throw on a robe.”
“The hell you will.
We’ve had this discussion before.
You can wait downstairs in the hall if you want, but don’t you dare set foot inside the store until I open the door for you.”
This time, it was Jake’s phone that went dead before Darla could protest.
She set down the receiver and flipped on the light, and then grabbed her robe.
To be honest, she was relieved that Jake had insisted she stay out.
Sooner or later, they were going to catch whoever—or whatever—was stomping around the store after hours.
Just to be sure, she took a quick look around the apartment for Hamlet, finding him in his lounging spot in front of the refrigerator.
He yawned and blinked in irritation as she flipped on the kitchen light, a pretty good indication that he wasn’t the one responsible for the commotion Jake had heard.
This left two possible explanations.
Either there was an intruder in the shop, or else Great-Aunt Dee had returned from the Beyond to do an inventory check.
Oh, and there was a third option, she reminded herself.
Maybe the ghost of Valerie Baylor had decided to come back and finish her interrupted autographing event.
“Ridiculous!”
she protested aloud, the vehemence in her tone drawing an offended meow from the cat.
She tugged on her robe with more force than necessary, angry at herself that such thoughts had even crossed her mind.
Surely it was only because she was stressed and had been torn out of a sound sleep that her overtaxed brain had conjured up such far-fetched explanations.
Though, in a way, the haunting thing was preferable to having someone continually breaking into the bookstore for some unknown purpose!
She snatched up her keys and hurried out the door.
The light from the replica Tiffany lamp on the small table near her front door put out just enough of a golden glow to light her way down.
She took the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could in her bare feet, reaching the foyer in record time.
The sight of a shadowy figure looming beyond the frosted glass of the hallway’s outer door made her gasp.
In the next instant, she heard the soft scrape of a key in the lock and realized from the silhouette’s shape that the intruder was Jake.
Doubtless the ex-cop had decided to try a different tactic and sneak in the side door, rather than come in with figurative guns blazing through the front.
Maybe it was time to hang a nice opaque curtain behind the glass, Darla fleetingly thought, realizing that the lamp that had brightened the stairwell also illuminated the foyer suffi – ciently so that someone outside the hazy glass door could see her shadow, too.
Making a mental note to check in with Mary Ann for something suitably vintage in window coverings, Darla hurried to let her friend in.
Jake, unlit flashlight in hand, gave her a look of annoyed resignation as she stepped inside and then moved to the other door.
The panel light at the jamb still flashed red, meaning that no one had turned off the alarm.
Jake frowned and then punched in the code, bringing it back to green status.
“I’m going in,” she whispered.
“Wait out here for me, and don’t you dare come in until I give the all clear.”
Darla waited until Jake was safely inside and then pressed a cautious ear to the door.
She stood there listening for several moments, hearing no movement through the paneled wood.
Soon enough, her nervousness blossomed into concern.
How long had it been since Jake had gone in?
Five minutes, perhaps ?
Surely time enough to sweep through the store and see if anyone was inside.
So where was she?
By way of answer, the door abruptly opened inward with Darla still pressed against it.
She gasped and stumbled into the store, catching her balance with Jake’s help.
All the store lights were on, and she squinted against the sudden brightness for a moment.
When her eyes adjusted, she saw Jake standing before her, expression one of extreme disgust.
“Not a damn thing,” the woman groused, slapping her flashlight against her palm in obvious irritation.
“I thought I saw a shadow on the stairs, and I could have sworn I heard more footsteps, but when I ran up to the second floor, there wasn’t anyone there.
I searched every square inch of the place.
Twice.
And, nada.”
Then, as Darla stared at her, wide-eyed, Jake’s anger fizzled.
“Oh God, listen to me.
If someone was telling me this same story, I’d be looking at them like they were crazy, too,” she said with a deprecating little laugh.
“I swear, I truly did hear someone in here.
You believe me, don’t you?”
“I believe you, Jake,” Darla assured her.
“Maybe there really is a poltergeist, like Mary Ann said.”
“Don’t even go there,” Jake countered.
“I’ve lived in apartment buildings all of my life, and believe me, I know what someone walking on the floor above you sounds like.
This isn’t one of those Valerie Baylor books, and those weren’t little ghost-y footsteps.”
“Okay, scratch the poltergeist.
But maybe it’s time I get a security camera installed.”
The idea had just come to her, and she couldn’t help but think it was the only solution to the problem.
Jake obviously agreed, for she gave a vigorous nod.
“Good idea, kid.
I know a guy named Ted who’s in the security business.
I’ll call him for you tomorrow and see what kind of deal he can cut you on some cameras.
I think that’s the only way we’re ever going to put this one to bed.
Speaking of which, I guess we both might as well head back to ours.”
“Sure.
Thanks for checking things out.
I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
She let Jake out the front and locked the door after her before setting the alarm and leaving through the side door, as usual.
Her mood was thoughtful as she made her way back upstairs.
Hamlet was waiting for her inside the front door, having apparently decided that the middle of the night was as good a time as any for a little snack.
She topped his kibble with some fresh but passed on anything for herself.
Instead, she settled at her desk and turned on her computer.
She hesitated a moment once she’d brought up the search engine; then, feeling only a bit foolish, she typed in the word “poltergeist.”
Instantly, the results popped up—well over five million results.
Staggered, she sat back in her chair.
Talk about information overload!
Cautiously at first, and then more rapidly, she began to click on the links, skimming the pages.
“Well, Hamlet,” she told him after half an hour of reading, “all the so-called experts say that if I have poltergeist activity, it should stop as quickly as it started, and shouldn’t last more than a few months.
On the other hand, if it’s a ghost hanging out in the building, I’m pretty well stuck with it unless I get one of those paranormal teams in to run it off.
They also say that there can be plenty of non-supernatural explanations, like high electromagnetic frequencies, mold, and animal infestations.
So what do you think?
Do we bring in a team, or tough it out on our own with a security camera?”
Hamlet apparently had no opinion on the subject, for he looked up from where he’d settled on the couch, gave her a cold green stare, and then went back to napping.
Darla snorted and started to shut down the computer again, when another unsettling thought occurred to her.
Jake had seemed more than a little upset at the idea that she could have imagined the sounds, or that Darla might have thought she had.
Maybe the ex-cop had encountered some similar situation during her career that made her sensitive to the likes of ghosts and mysterious footsteps in the night.
Fingers on the keyboard, she hesitated.
Then, feeling equal parts determined and unaccountably guilty, she typed her friend’s name into the search engine.
By inputting all variations she could think of, Darla found herself with several pages of entries about Jake.
Some were but a sentence or two mention.
Jake had been on the building committee at Mary Queen of Peace Catholic Church five years earlier and had taken part in a fund-raiser for the Big Sisters.
Others were police accounts where she’d been the arresting officer.
Nothing, however, about ghosts.
Finally, Darla found a news story recounting the circumstances of the shooting that had led to Jake’s retirement from the force.
She clicked on the link and read with interest.
The report was straightforward and echoed the story she had pieced together herself via offhand mentions from Jake.
Authorities are charging the man who shot at a New York City police officer this morning with attempted capital murder.
Martin Edward Rose, 52, remains at City Medical Center in good condition after he and the officer exchanged gunfire Tuesday morning in the 300 block of West Olive Street.
Police officials say Rose allegedly fired first, wounding Detective Jacqueline Martelli, a 20-year police veteran.
Despite a bullet to the upper thigh, she was able to fire back, hitting him in the torso.
Other patrol officers arriving on the scene pulled Martelli to safety and subdued her shooter.
Both were taken to the hospital.
Martelli was attempting to arrest Rose on a previous charge of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.
Her condition was upgraded this morning from critical to serious, and she is expected to recover.
A follow-on story from the day after reported that the suspect had been released from the hospital and subsequently denied bail on all charges, while mentioning that Jake’s condition was now “good” and that she would be released in a few days.
No alarm bells in any of that
, Darla thought in relief.
She had been afraid she might find something untoward, like,
Crazed police officer claims to have shot undead suspect
.
“See, Hamlet,” she exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder at the cat.
“You were worried for no good reason.”
But barely had the words left her lips when she noticed at the bottom of the screen a link to a story dated a few weeks after the shooting.
Jake’s name was highlighted as a keyword, and the stark headline said it all.
POLICE OFFICER ON DISABILITY LEAVE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER