“Are you blind?” Tex asked back.
“Sorry?” the man queried.
Tex threw out a beefy mitt. “Don’t you see we’re havin’ a meetin’?”
The man looked around. He also looked confused.
He looked back at Tex. “I thought you made coffee.”
“We do. We also fight crime. Don’t you read the papers?” Tex asked, and I heard Jet giggle.
I was right with her.
“Um… yes, but I didn’t know you did it when you were making coffee,” the man replied.
“Crime don’t happen when you want it to,” Tex returned. “You gotta be prepared. You gotta plan. And that’s why we’re havin’ a meetin’. Now shut it and wait until we’re done.”
The man gave big eyes to Jet and I. He also appeared indecisive, like he didn’t know whether to wait as Tex ordered, or take his life in his hands that Tex might not like it and flee.
Obviously not a regular.
“We’ll be right with you,” Indy assured him as she moved to walk around the counter.
“We’re done meeting anyway,” I announced then looked between Tex and Mr. Kumar. “The plan’s in place. I’ll give you both a heads up when we put it in action.”
“Thank you, Ally,” Mr. Kumar said. “The neighbors will be very happy to hear this news.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Kumar,” I replied.
“What’ll it be?” Tex boomed to the customer.
But he wasn’t looking at Tex. He was watching, with some alarm, as the apparent walking corpse of Mrs. Salim shuffled to Mr. Kumar carrying a pile of seven books in her arms.
All hardbacks.
I fought the urge to leap over the espresso counter to relieve her of her burden just as Mr. Kumar took the books from her and led her to the book counter.
My eyes went there to see Jane standing behind it, and I began to look away when I looked right back.
One of the pink Rock Chick books was sitting on the counter and she had her fingers to it; not leafing, lightly brushing. As Mr. Kumar and Mrs. Salim approached, she jolted, like she didn’t expect customers (ever) then gave them a small smile.
This wasn’t unusual, Jane being startled. She lived in her own world most of the time. And anyway, selling a book didn’t happen frequently so seven of them would surprise anybody.
But I wasn’t thinking about that.
I was thinking about how she was touching that pink book.
Jane loved books. She was an avid reader. And as a book lover who worked in a bookstore her whole life, she treated them with reverence.
That wasn’t what I saw.
Her touch on that pink book was reverent, for sure.
It was also loving.
Hmm.
Before I could move that thought to fruition, Indy interrupted it.