Well Read, Then Dead(94)

            I said a polite thank you and poured his coffee. There was no reason to mention that I had Kostos’s business card with his cell number printed right on the front. I wasn’t planning to talk to him on the phone.

            As the time of day became more suited to brunch than breakfast, only three tables were occupied. I used the break to browse the shelves in the children’s section and found the book that came to mind when we were at Augusta’s house. I thumbed through a few pages. It was as perfect as I recalled.

            The man sitting at Alex Haley used his index finger to air-draw the universal sign for “check, please.” He paid his bill with a nice tip and wished me a great day. I topped off the coffee cups at both occupied tables. No one objected, so I figured they’d be there for a while.

            I pushed through the kitchen door. The “Ophie is in the house” cooking rubble was becoming so familiar that I barely noticed.

            Bridgy was pleading with Ophie to tell her which of the ingredients on the counter could be put away. Ophie ignored her and they both ignored me. When I didn’t place an order for a customer, they finally looked up from their chores.

            I flashed a triumphant grin and held the book high over my head.

            “I found it. It’s not yet Wednesday and I found it.”

            Ophie was rolling a ball of some kind of dough. Hands covered in flour, she rushed from the counter and made a grab for the book.

            “Watch the flour. I promise it’s a fabulous children’s book. Get cleaned up. You can read it and tell me what you think.”

            “At least let me see the cover.”

            I held the book in front of her face.

            “Chicken Sunday? How will that work for a Wednesday special?”

            Totally exasperated that I’d interrupted when she was trying to get Ophie to tidy up the clutter, Bridgy chimed in, “Aunt Ophie, you’re due for a break. Why don’t you wash up, sit in the dining room and read the book. I’ll bring you some berries and you can call us if someone needs help.”

            She turned and glared at me like she was the Wicked Stepmother and I was Cinderella.

            “You can help me wash down the kitchen.”

            Not even a thank-you for trying to make her aunt happy by finding a book name for her chicken salad. Just “get to work.” Humph.

            While I toiled, I thought of how Bridgy made me crazy a few short days ago. The more I thought, the harder I scrubbed the stove top. Soon I was boiling inside as if all six jets were blazing. I marched to the counter and confronted Bridgy toe-to-toe.

            “So, what do you want to do with the books, donate them to the library or throw them away like so much trash?”

            “What? What are you talking about?”

            “In the church hall Ophie talked about getting rid of the books to make more table space. Then when we visited Miguel, you wanted to ask him if he could handle cooking for a bigger crowd.”

            “I was joking.”

            “Joking? When you say ‘let’s get rid of your beloved books,’ that’s no joke.”

            “I know you were already outside the car, but didn’t you hear me laugh? I thought if we pretended we were considering a change and asked Miguel’s opinion, show how indispensable he is to us, it would cheer him up. As it turned out he was in such high spirits I forgot about the whole idea.”

            I stayed quiet, which threw her into a tizzy.

            “You really believe I’d consider getting rid of the books, the book club meetings, everything? They’re what make the Read ’Em and Eat unique, not just another restaurant at the beach. The books give our customers a connection to one another and to the café. You think I don’t know that?”