The Grim Reader Read online

  The entire town and anyone planning to attend had been encouraged to read the book in anticipation of the various events and workshops that would celebrate the story and the author. The committee had invited a Louisa May Alcott scholar to take part in several panel discussions. But the biggest and most exciting event of the entire festival promised to be the one-time performance of Little Women, the musical.

  A bunch of people we knew had signed up to work on the musical production and my family members were no exception. My youngest sister London had been pegged to be the director, which made sense because she was immensely talented in the arts and, frankly, she enjoyed telling people what to do. My sister China, a brilliant weaver, was making all the costumes—with help from some of the ladies in town. I figured my sister Savannah, a Michelin-starred chef in town, would help with the catering. And then Annie, of course, had one of the starring roles. She wasn’t an official Wainwright daughter, but Mom treated her like one of her own anyway.

  And by the way, if you’ve never heard of the musical version of Little Women, you are not alone. It had even been performed on Broadway, and yet it was still relatively obscure. I wasn’t sure why. How bad could it be?

  “We’re looking forward to seeing you in the musical,” Derek said. “Rebecca tells us you’re the real star of the show.”

  Derek was one of the few people in the world who called my mother Rebecca. And after hearing Derek repeat Mom’s compliment, Annie practically melted and pressed her hands against her chest. “Awwww, that’s so sweet.”

  “It’s true,” I confirmed. “Mom said she was blown away when she heard you sing at one of the rehearsals.”

  Annie actually blushed, but then waved away the compliment. “I just got lucky. They gave me a really pretty song to sing and then I get to die.”

  “It doesn’t get better than that,” I agreed.

  “I know, right? But Shandi Patrick is playing Marmee, so she’s the real star of the show.”

  I made a face. Shandi Patrick was a well-known Hollywood actress who had been living in Sonoma for a few years now and was part owner of a local winery. Many of the locals called her “the Diva.” Not because of the Hollywood connection but because she could be a real pain in the butt. According to the town buzz, anyway. I had never met the woman.

  Shandi hadn’t made a movie or TV show in a long time, so I had to wonder if she could still be considered a star, except in her own mind. The few times I’d seen her walking along Shakespeare Lane (more casually known as the Lane), I’d noticed she’d been wearing a lot of spandex to accentuate her statuesque figure. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It was also a well-known fact that Shandi had a regular weekly appointment at Tangled, Dharma’s premier hair salon, to touch up those gray roots of hers.

  Doesn’t that make me sound catty? I don’t even know her, but I’ve paid attention to the gossip.

  “I’ll bet she hates playing the mom,” I said with a smirk.

  “She wanted to be Meg at first,” Annie admitted.

  “Seriously?” I rolled my eyes. The woman had to be at least fifty years old, probably older. What made her think she could play a teenager?

  “Yeah, it was a stretch, for sure,” Annie said. “And she doesn’t have the soprano voice that the part calls for. London ended up giving the role to Sara Janz.”

  “Much more age-appropriate.” Sara was a high school junior and the favorite babysitter for China’s little girl, Hannah.

  Annie nodded. “And Sara’s good. Everyone is, really. Including Shandi. Despite the rumors about her, she’s actually kind of . . . nice.”

  “I’m glad.” I smiled. If Shandi was being nice to Annie, I might consider changing my opinion of her. “Sounds like you’re having fun with the production.”

  “I am. It’s a lot of hard work, but I love it.”

  “Well, we can’t wait to see it,” I said.

  Annie glanced around the room for one last check, then grabbed her tote bag and purse. “I’d better get going. I’ll probably see you around town, but definitely at the festival.”

  “Hopefully sooner,” I said. “Maybe dinner at Mom’s?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “And I plan to come by your store to pick up some goodies.”

  “Anytime.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ll give you the family discount.”

  “Awesome.”

  As soon as Annie left I checked my wristwatch. “I told Dad I might be able to pick up Mom from her committee meeting. I think it’ll be fun to surprise her. Do you want to come with me or would you rather go visit your parents first?”

  Derek’s parents and mine had become such good friends that the Stones bought a home nearby. They planned to come out here twice a year and stay for a few months each time.

  “We’ll see my parents later,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “I’ll come with you now.”

  “Good.” I breathed him in for a long moment, then gazed up into his dark blue eyes. “The committee is meeting at the town hall, so if you want, we can park at the far end of the Lane and take a nice walk, see what’s new and exciting.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We got Charlie settled, made sure she knew where her food bowls were, and showed her the powder room where Annie had suggested we put the cat box. Then I carried her over to the little cat bed and pointed out her mini jungle gym nearby. We wanted her to know the lay of the land and where she could sleep or play or eat or just chill, whatever she wanted to do while we were gone. Cats needed to have some fun, too, just like their humans.

  “When did we become cat people?” Derek wondered aloud and grinned as we walked out to the car.

  “I think it happened while we were sleeping.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We found a parking space on the Lane—a few blocks south of Arugula, my sister Savannah’s gourmet veggie restaurant, and headed north toward the town hall. The weather had cooled off and I zipped up my jacket to stay cozy.

  Derek reached over and pulled my arm through his. “Come over here and we’ll keep each other warm.”

  “What a good idea.”

  “The Lane looks especially festive today,” he remarked.

  “People pull out all the stops for the Harvest. It’s everyone’s favorite season.”

  It was lovely to see the leaves changing colors on the trees that lined the Lane. Burnt oranges, dark reds, and golden browns mingled with the occasional stubborn green leaf that refused to accept the inevitable. A few yards ahead of us, one little girl dashed here and there, stooping down to collect the most beautiful leaves she could find to impress her mom and dad.

  The shops and cafés had been festooned in their best fall colors. Wreaths, garlands, and tiny twinkle lights decorated doorways and the windows gleamed in the cool sunlight. It was nice to see so many people I recognized. Even the strangers we passed were friendly enough to nod a greeting.

  And every single shop window displayed a poster for the upcoming book festival and the Little Women musical to be performed on the last evening.

  When we reached the doorway of Warped, my sister China’s yarn and weaving shop, Derek and I stopped and waved. The shop looked toasty, with beautiful wool hats and scarves and intricate wall weavings displayed on every surface. Baskets hanging from the ceiling held gorgeous shawls and blankets in every shade imaginable, and the cubbyholes that lined the back wall were bursting with yarns in all the colors of autumn, from warm gold to sage green to dark brown.

  All of my brothers and sisters had various shades of blonde hair like our parents, including Savannah, if she would only stop shaving her head every day. China wore her long shiny hair wrapped in a bun on top of her head and she managed to look sophisticated and artistic, while I was pretty sure I would’ve looked like a slob.

  It onl
y took a few seconds for China to notice us and she came running out to give us big hugs. She wore a gorgeous variegated sweater that she’d obviously knitted herself over slim jeans and lace-up boots. “Come inside.”

  I shook my head. “We’re on our way to pick up Mom so we can’t stay. But we’ll see you in the next day or so.”

  “No problem,” she said, and reached for the door handle. “Love you guys.”

  We waved and continued walking. “I’m so happy we’re here,” I said to Derek.

  “I am, as well,” he said. “It’s lovely to recognize more faces each time I return.”

  But as we started on the next block, I began to feel a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn weather. I realized we were approaching Turturino’s Fish Market, a fabulous place where my parents and most of the town had shopped forever. My steps slowed and I almost stumbled as the flashback hit me. It was a day several years ago when our good friend Gabriel was shot in front of the fishmonger’s shop. I remember Joey Turturino poking his head out from behind the screen door to see what was going on, then running back inside to call the police.

  Gabriel lay on the ground, his head puddled in so much blood, I’d almost fainted.

  Thankfully, Gabriel had survived and thrived, so I tried not to focus on that old memory but on all the happier ones that had followed.

  I glanced up and saw the look on Derek’s face. “You’re remembering, too.”

  “Yes. I recall that I finally caught up with you at the hospital.” He grimaced. “But that was after I’d seen all the blood on the sidewalk. Someone told me you had gone to the hospital and I thought you were the one who’d been injured. I’ve never driven so fast before or since.”

  I squeezed his arm and tried for lightness. “It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, remember? Between you and Gabriel, I mean.”

  He laughed and we let go of that memory together.

  “We’ll have to invite Gabriel over for dinner,” I said. “I’ve missed him.”

  “I spoke to him yesterday. He’s already invited himself.”

  “He would.” The thought of seeing Gabriel again cheered me right up. “He can bring the wine.”

  We continued chatting about this and that as we walked the rest of the way to the town hall.

  I checked my watch as we entered the building. It was three forty-five. Perfect timing, I thought. Dad had mentioned that the festival committee meetings usually wrapped up by four o’clock, so Derek and I could sit in the back of the room and watch and listen to the conversation until Mom was ready to leave. I just hoped that, since we were planning to surprise Mom, she didn’t interrupt the meeting to make a fuss over us.

  We walked across the empty main hall. We had used this space last year for an unusual installation of photographs of art and artifacts found in one of our wine caves. Recently the photographs had been moved to a smaller space inside the town hall to make room for panel discussions with some of the book festival’s biggest authors and their audience.

  “I’m not sure which room the committee members are using,” I said, my voice echoing in the large space. We entered the hallway that led to several meeting rooms and that’s when we heard a loud argument.

  “I believe we can figure this out,” Derek murmured.

  “Yeah, no kidding.” But I frowned at the sound of a man’s vitriolic tone, followed by my mother’s quiet response. “That’s definitely my mom.”

  Derek hustled us toward the door that was open a crack and we slipped inside. Mom didn’t even notice us as we sat down in two of the chairs that lined the back wall.

  I took a quick glance at the conference table and recognized almost everyone sitting there. Mom held court at one end and Lawson Schmidt, her co-chair, sat beside her. Saffron Bergeron sat opposite Lawson, wearing a burnt orange poncho and a permanent frown. There was Clyde Good, owner of the Good Book bookshop on the Lane, and next to him was Sue Flanders, an old Deadhead friend of Mom’s and an eternal hippie with her long, curly gray hair, granny glasses, tie-dyed sweatshirt, jeans, and chunky work boots.

  Winston Laurie, the thinnest man I knew, was there, too. He was a Fellowship member and good friend of our family. Jan Yarnell, my old school pal and spelling bee rival, sat next to him. Jan worked in the Dharma Winery with my brother Austin. He was also a booklover and president of the Friends of the Dharma Library.

  I didn’t recognize the cute younger man with the shaggy blond hair, but he was watching the argument with interest. He looked like the dictionary definition of preppy in khakis, a white button-down shirt, and a gray cardigan wrapped jauntily around his neck. There were five others at the table but I was distracted by the ongoing argument between Mom and a big guy who was standing right in front of her. His fist was raised and he was shouting at her.

  “Who is that?” I stood and took one step forward, but Derek stopped me. “Wait.”

  “You incompetent twit,” the big man bellowed. “This festival will be a complete failure and it’ll be all your fault.”

  “What the hell?” I muttered, and shot a glance at Derek, who also stood. I read his body language easily: Ready to kill.

  But Mom wasn’t cowed.

  “That’s beyond ridiculous,” she said, standing her ground. “This is going to be the most successful event the county’s ever seen.”

  “Not if I can’t be there.” He was almost as tall as Derek but much bulkier, with a thick chest and a heavy stomach. He reminded me of an angry bull who was used to throwing his weight around. He was standing so close to Mom that I knew she could feel his breath. It made my skin crawl. “Don’t you know how important I am? My company is on the verge of taking over this whole valley,” he crowed. “I’ve already bought up six wineries and I’m not done yet.”

  “Well, you’re done here,” Mom said.

  “The media will expect me to be there,” he continued. “Everyone knows my name. You’re a fool if you shut me out.”

  I didn’t have a clue what this was all about, but I was seriously going to tackle that guy if he didn’t back off. Nobody raises a fist to my mother and lives to talk about it. Sure, I knew she could handle whatever came her way, but she didn’t have to handle it alone.

  The man turned and glared at Lawson, the co-chairman of the committee. I’d known Lawson for years. “And you, Schmidt. You’re nothing but a thief and a liar.”

  I blinked at his harsh words.

  Lawson stood. He was almost as tall as the blowhard but thin enough that his trousers were hiked up almost to his chest. “Really, Mr. Banyan, you should go.”

  Banyan? I’d never heard of him. He was dressed like a San Francisco banker with a dark suit, a white shirt, and a bright red tie, but he still came across as a thug. Who was he?

  The guy brushed off Lawson and turned back to my mother, wagging his finger in her face. “I know you’re the real troublemaker here and I’ll make sure you pay for this.”

  “Time for you to leave, Mr. Banyan.”

  “Oh, I will,” he said, his tone threatening. “But don’t try to cross me, lady. You’ve got a happy little family here. Be a real shame if something happened to one of them.”

  Mom gasped. “You’re going to be sorry you said that.”

  The guy sounded like a mob boss! Incensed and ready to pounce, I took a step forward. Derek grabbed the back of my sweater to stop me. “Your mother is handling this berk just fine.”

  I turned on him. “Did you hear what that berk said?”

  “Yes, love.”

  I was breathing fire, but Derek’s sharp, steady gaze calmed me down. I also appreciated his use of British slang for twit or idiot. Banyan was both. So for Derek I compromised. I stayed right where I was and shouted at Banyan, “Get outta here, you jerk!”

  Banyan whipped around and sneered at me, then glanced back at Mom. “Can’t fight yo
ur own battles, I guess.”

  Mom ignored that comment. “If you threaten me or my family again, I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Ooh,” he taunted. “I’m so afraid of the Mayberry police force.”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “Just leave, Mr. Banyan.”

  “Oh, I’m going.” He scanned the room, eyeing everyone there. “But you won’t stop me for long. I’ll win this one.”

  Lawson bared his teeth, but didn’t make eye contact. Under his breath, he muttered, “Over my dead body.”

  Banyan leaned in to Lawson and murmured softly, “Be careful what you wish for.” Then he turned and stormed out of the room.

  Chapter 2

  “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.