Page 72 of Killer on the First Page
Edgar was being sarcastic, but Miranda thought this was a splendid idea.
“A mystery bookstore where the books are arranged... mysteriously. I love it!”
“Miranda,” he said. “I know you’ve always been a night owl...”
This had been a bone of contention, not to mention discontent, in their marriage, Edgar waking up at six in the morning to type (as authors are wont to do) and Miranda sleeping in till the crack of noon every day (as actors are wont to do). Miranda had long suspected this was the real reason Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe had gotten a divorce.
“You and Andrew need to go home and get some sleep,” he said. “And stop meddling.”
“Meddling? I never meddle!”
“Meddling isallyou do—in my bookstore, my life, this investigation. You can’t go around letting yourself into places whenever the mood strikes you. Call first and, maybe, I don’t know,knockbefore you enter?”
“I am the majority co-owner of this establishment, may I remind you.”
“Of the business. Not my home.”
“Our home.”
“My home!”
Miranda fought down the hurt, opted for ire instead. “Andrew! We are leaving.” She tossed the keys to the Jeep onto the nearest book-laden table. “We shall walk!”
“Miranda, don’t,” said Edgar, but she was already gone, into the cold air of night.
Andrew caught up to her, more out of loyalty than common sense—it was a good half hour’s walk to Bea’s, downhill on slippery roads and then out along the bay—and the talk of bears had rattled him.
“You grew up in Minnesota. Lotta bears there?” he asked, puffing as he jogged alongside. When Miranda Abbott strode, shestrode.
“Oh yes. St. Olaf was rife with bears,” she said. “Bears, bears everywhere! Bears on the lake, bears in the park, bears in the lefse store, bears lounging about outside the town hall. One couldn’t leave one’s house in the morning without shooing away several bruins.”
“And—what do you, um, do if you encounter one? A bear, I mean.”
“You run. Faster than the person you are with, preferably.”
“Kidding, right? Youarekidding, right? Any bears out here are probably hibernating by now, right? That’s what bears do, they hibernate. Right?”
Miranda was heading downhill at full pace, a storm cloud of emotion over her head.
“Maybe we should turn back,” Andrew pleaded, still jogging just to keep up. “Maybe smooth things over with your husband.”
“I have no husband!”
“Ex-husband?”
“I have no ex-husband!”
“Former?”
“Same thing. And I have neither!”
“I’m just saying, maybe you overreacted? You do tend to do that.”
Miranda stopped, dead in her tracks. Turned and glared at him. “Did you just say I overact?”
“Over-re-act.”
“Oh. Okay. Fine, then.” She continued down the hill.
