line of twenties. Hamlet, coming to the defense of his new “bro,” Darla thought in surprise as the feline abruptly sat atop the money.
“Get that cat outta the way,” the man demanded and made as if to shove Hamlet aside. Hamlet, with a deep-throated growl that sounded more Doberman pinscher than domestic shorthair, raised a large paw to display a set of formidable, needle-sharp claws.
“I think he, you know, wants you to sign first,” Robert replied, a hint of a grin on his lips as he held out the pen and receipt pad. The cat seemingly confirmed the teen’s words with another Baskerville-ian rumble.
With a cold look that encompassed all three of them, the man scrawled his name on the pad and ripped off the top copy, then slapped the pad back on the counter. Hamlet obligingly rose and padded to the far end of the counter, where he sat and surveyed the man with cold disapproval.
“You two think you’re smart,” he snarled, reaching for the bills, “but I won’t forget this. Mess with me, and I’ll—”
Whatever his threat might be, Darla wasn’t to learn. The shop door jingled, and a jovial voice boomed, “Hiya. Anyone home?”
FIVE
���COME ON IN, CURT,” DARLA GRATEFULLY REPLIED, recognizing the irony that, for the first time since she’d met him, she was thrilled to see one of her most annoying customers walk in the door.
In his late forties, with slicked-back black hair and a handsome if florid face, Curt Benedetto was a new regular customer at Pettistone’s . . . nice, since he had no compunction about whipping out his credit card and buying a book or two each visit. And he’d also placed a couple of expensive special orders, stopping by promptly to pick them up as soon as they arrived. All in all, he should have been on Hamlet’s official approved list.
Unfortunately, Curt tended to be both boisterous and flashy—Hey, I’m a born salesman, was the line he often used on her to excuse himself—which rated a fail in Hamlet’s cynical green eyes. Darla, for once, was in total agreement with Hamlet’s assessment. Part of that dislike, she realized, was that he reminded her a bit too much of her slimeball ex, Curt’s New York accent notwithstanding. Not that she ever was anything but friendly, in keeping with her previous philosophizing to Robert about the first law of retail.
Besides, there was also Curt’s business partner, Barry Eisen, to consider. A pleasant-looking balding guy with brown eyes and an affable smile, Barry had given all signs that he was interested in Darla as more than simply his neighborhood bookseller. And, if she were to be totally honest, Darla had found herself looking at Barry as more than just another customer. Unfortunately, it had been a week since she’d last seen Barry.
Any other time, she would have thought it too bad that she couldn’t say the same for his partner. For the moment, however, she welcomed Curt’s beefy, obnoxious presence as a secondary backup in case pervy Bill had more than just a verbal threat in mind.
Curt strutted on in, toothpaste-commercial grin at full brilliance. He’d apparently come from the brownstone that he and Barry were remodeling, for his khaki pants and red polo under a bright blue Windbreaker had a faint coating of white plaster dust. The project, Darla knew from past discussion with the pair, was an extensive one, but the two men expected to make a sizeable profit once they finished work and put the refurbished building back on the market. They’d already recouped their investments on a couple of similar properties, Barry had previously told her, and despite the down economy their construction partnership was inching into the black.
“Hello, fine people,” Curt called, waving at her and Robert as he headed toward the register. Then, catching a glimpse of Porn Shop Bill, he stopped short and added in a dumbfounded tone, “What the—?”
“Benedetto,” the man snarled in return. “Hell, this is the last place I expected to see you. I had no idea you even knew how to read.”
“Real funny, pal,” Curt retorted, his florid face growing even redder. “I’ll have you know I’m a regular customer here.”
“What, my selections aren’t good enough for you anymore?”
Bill leered as he said it, and Darla saw Curt’s fists clench in response. Where the heck is Jake? she frantically wondered. Apparently, the two men knew each other, and the relationship wasn’t a cordial one. The last thing she needed was a bookstore brawl, and