She kept her expression level. “I’m looking for a copy of The Odyssey, by—
“Homer,” the man said, interrupting her with a light chuckle. Or was it a haughty laugh? “I know it well.”
Pippin nodded. Of course he did. He worked in a bookstore, and his tone was just as uppity as the cat’s demeanor. Two peas in a pod. “Do you have a copy?”
“Pretty sure I do,” he said with a very slight Southern accent. He lifted his book-laden arms. “Let me put these down and I’ll help you find it.”
She started to say that she could find it on her own, but he stopped her with a pointed look. “It’s no problem.”
He placed the books on the front counter, said something to the girl manning the cash register, and returned to the used book section, rounding the corner to the next aisle and heading straight to the shelves marked CLASSICS. He ran his fingers across the spines of some of the books, stopping abruptly, putting his finger at the top of the book he’d identified, and pulling it out. He held it out to her. “It’s your lucky day. Last one in stock.”
She took it, feeling its heaviness. Weighted down with answers?
“Do you have a special attachment to The Odyssey?” the man asked.
Pippin looked up at him sharply. “Why would you ask that?”
The man’s mouth twisted in an amused grin. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re cradling it like a newborn baby?”
Was she? She glanced down at the paperback book in her hands. She’d imagined it being a tattered hardcover, full of history and well-loved. Instead, it was a colorful paperback—brand new and never before read. Pippin didn’t respond to the newborn baby comment. Instead, she strode to the cash register, pulled her slim wallet from her purse. The girl who’d been here a moment ago was gone, so Pippin had no choice but to wait for the man to circle around behind the counter to ring up the purchase. “No browsing?” he asked. “Maybe a Kristan Higgins or Kristin Hannah book.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. “Don’t I look smart enough to read Homer?”
He threw up his hands. “Whoa. I did not say that. Spring is here and the Kristans are some of my bestsellers. The Odyssey, well, it’s a little academic is all. Not exactly light reading.”
She pushed the book toward him on the counter. There was no ticking clock. After all, her father’s body had been there for years. Still, she felt pulled to the pages of the book the same way a receding wave pulls at your feet, heels rooted in the wet sand. “Just this.”
He nodded, that little smile like a permanent fixture on his lips. “A woman who knows what she wants. I like it.” He rang up the purchase on a tablet, which was on a handy swivel stand, and she handed over a twenty-dollar bill. He counted her change back to her. “Usually kids read The Odyssey for school. You just have a hankering for an epic poem?”
Pippin wasn’t about to tell him the truth. She swallowed and said, “Something like that.”
She looked around, turning this way and that.
“Something else you need?”
“A chair,” she said as she held up the book. “So I can start reading?”
He pointed to an archway that led to another section of the store. A sign above the opening said Devil’s Brew Café. “There are a few in the shop, but if you want—”
“The bookshop connects to the coffee shop?” God, what luck. She was dying for a dose of caffeine.
The man chuckled. “Yep. Two separate businesses, but we share a wall. Tell Ruby that Jamie sent you over.”
So now she knew his name. Jamie. It fit him. Pippin nodded and thanked him, and a few seconds later, she stopped under the archway between the two spaces. Jamie hadn’t been kidding. There were plenty of places to sit, even though the place was buzzing with conversation. Her gaze trailed over the tables and straight-backed chairs, as well as the comfortable arrangements of plush armchairs, one even with a couch in the grouping. An upright piano stood against the wall and framed paintings, some watercolors and others mixed medium, and sketches filled up much of the wall’s space. A middle-aged man looked up, as if he sensed Pippin’s gaze. He stared at her for a beat too long before giving a slight nod and redirecting his attention to the notebook he’d been writing in. He scribbled furiously, pausing, thinking, then scribbling again. He looked up at her again, but she turned away.
Travis, Jimmy, and Kyron ambled in, plopping down at a vacant table. When there was only one coffee shop in town, it’s where everyone came for a break. Kyron noticed her first, gave a smile, and waved. Jimmy and Travis turned to acknowledge her. Their gazes drifted over the other customers before returning to their conversation.
A long exposed brick wall ran the length of the café, just like in the bookshop. The counter in front of the wall held a massive stainless-steel espresso machine, another tablet on a swivel stand for payment, and a glass case filled with cakes, scones, an array of cookies, and muffins. Her stomach growled.
The barista behind the counter, who Pippin assumed was Ruby, was stunning. Her hair was a riot of spirally curls that framed her face like an aura. Bits of highlighted strands were intermixed with the dark brown and her was skin was Halle Berry flawless. She was probably about the same height as Pippin, but Ruby’s hair gave her an extra four inches putting her close to six feet. The woman smiled, setting Pippin instantly at ease. Meeting new people—and the inherent risk of becoming friends and then losing them—was always tough. But something about her was welcoming, like a warm summer night.
“Ruby?”
She gave a close-mouthed smile, her hands on her hips. “Let me guess. Jamie sent you.”
Pippin held up her newly purchased book. “A place to sit and read.”
Ruby gestured to the room at large. “Take your pick. Can I get you something to warm up?”
The late March chill was lingering, not quite ready to give in to warm sunny beach weather so Pippin ordered a latte and a molasses cookie. She thanked Ruby and took her treats to one of the club chairs, choosing a spot where her back was to the man from a moment ago and to the workmen renovating her house. She wanted to concentrate on the book only. She sipped the coffee and broke off a piece of the cookie before setting both cup and plate on the coffee table.
Thanks to Daisy Santiago, Pippin knew she needed to search the book for the section on the Sirens. She flipped through the pages, searching. The text was broken into stanzas. She scanned, page by page wondering what the story of Odysseus could have to do with the life and death of Leo Hawthorne. She couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The letters danced on the page, flipping this way and that, mixing themselves up in the middle of words. It had been exactly the same when she’d been a kid. It’s why reading frustrated her so much, and why she’d never taken to it.
She went back to The Odyssey. What had made her mother cry out and break down sobbing when she’d seen a copy of this book?
Again and again, Pippin skimmed the pages, searching through the different parts of the epic poem. She paused to haltingly decipher the words, then try again, finally dismissing each bit of text as irrelevant. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty. Her coffee grew cold, her cookie uneaten. Where the hell were the Sirens? Nothing jumped out at her. She slammed the book closed.