5. Mina

After Maisie left, my phone read out the time. It was getting too late to start the hunt for James Pond today. The guys still weren't back yet. Usually, Morrie or Quoth cooked for us all, but I thought that after how hard they were working on the wedding, they might appreciate a night off from domestic chores.

I grabbed the key and Oscar's leash and set out in the direction of the village green.

A new Indian takeaway place had opened up across the green in the shop once occupied by the ill-fated Rasmussen Books. As I stepped through the door, I was greeted by a brief flashback to finding Mr. Rasmussen sprawled on the floor, murdered by a blow to the head from his own fake First Folio. But the delicious smell of spices and fresh naan bread shooed it away.

"Hello, Mina. Hello, Oscar," Chirag, the owner, called out to me. He pulled something from under the counter and handed it to me. "The whole family is looking forward to the wedding. We are even closing the shop for the night. I have a Braille menu for you."

"Thanks, Chirag." My fingers danced across the menu. So many good options. Morrie would have chicken jalfrezi, Quoth loved his tikka masala, and Heathcliff was all about beef vindaloo. And of course, we wanted naan bread and samosas. But did I want mango chicken or lamb balti?—

The bell tinkled behind me. "Oh, hello, Mina." It was Denise, the post-lady. "I see we both couldn't be bothered cooking tonight. Where are your lovely almost-husbands?"

"They're up at Lachlan Hall, doing some last-minute wedding stuff."

"That's wonderful. We're all so looking forward to it. Your wedding will be the village event of the year. And how lovely to have those three men planning it all for you – you're a real modern lady." Denise patted my arm. "Bless his heart, but we never thought that Heathcliff would last in the village with that surly attitude of his. You've been so good for him. Now I can't imagine pub quiz night without him! And your Allan is quite the artist. I have one of his paintings on my wall. ‘Kings Copse From the Air.' It's amazing the details he can paint with a bird's eye view. Does he use a drone?"

I couldn't help smiling. "Something like that."

"And your book launch is the very next day. You are a busy woman! All the members of the Spirit Seekers will be there, of course. We wouldn't miss seeing Argleton's favorite daughter publish her very own book."

From the couch in the corner, I heard someone snort. I figured that they must be watching something on their phone. Denise and I placed our orders and returned to talking about the book launch.

"Honestly, I'm a little nervous about it," I said, thinking about my empty email inbox and Jen's suggestion. "I poured my heart into this book, and I don't know if it will be as successful as I hope for. But I'm trying to stay positive."

"Heathcliff was telling me that you have a bunch of reviewers and fancy publisher types coming down from London. I can't believe it, our own little celebrity?—"

"Yes, Mina has all the fancy, important friends, doesn't she?" a snarky voice snapped behind me.

I stiffened. I knew now that the person who snorted before wasn't on their phone. They were snorting at me.

I plastered a smile on my face, even though my heart was hammering a mile a minute. I didn't want to deal with this guy now, not when I was still raw from Jen's email.

"Hi, Wayne."

Wayne Bryant was a local poet. He'd been in Nevermore numerous times, trying to get us to stock his poetry books. Heathcliff warned me that if I humored Wayne, I'd live to regret it. No matter how many times I explained that our customers didn't really buy poetry, Wayne refused to give up. Eventually, I took pity on him and let him put three of his books on the poetry shelf. I thought that would get him to leave us alone for a bit.

Reader, I was wrong again.

Wayne started coming in every day to move his books from the dusty poetry shelf to our front display. He shoved them under customer's noses, harassing them until they brought copies out of pity. He wanted to do a poetry reading. I explained that he needed to pay for the use of the Events room and I wouldn't be calling in my literary contacts to listen to him read his meandering villanelles about the various farm animals he encounters. (Wayne's the local large animal vet.) Wayne threw a bunch of books on the floor and stomped on them on his way out.

One day I returned from my lunch break to discover Wayne tearing down the posters advertising my book launch and yelling about nepotism and favoritism. We banned him from the shop. Heathcliff got to utter his four favorite words: "I told you so," and Wayne has hated me ever since.

"You should bow down, Denise, and kiss her feet, worship her creative brilliance," Wayne spat out. "That's what Mina really wants. She's going to make a name for herself with her bookshop and her industry contacts and her fancy friends, and bugger the rest of us."

The cruel tone in his voice made me want to run away, but I stood my ground. Wayne might not have a problem confronting me, but he was terrified of Heathcliff. He's only saying this to my face because I'm alone.

"Honey, don't be like that." Wayne's wife, Nora, tried to drag him back to his seat. Nora was the loveliest woman. She was a member of Mrs. Ellis' Naughty Knitting Club and regularly came into the bookshop to buy racy romance novels. "Mina's done so much to support the village. Did you know she donated all the picture books for the library summer read-a-thon?"

"Of course she did. Because Mina loves everyone fawning over her. She only supports the writers that she likes. But when it comes to poetry that tells the truth about the world, she can't be bothered to make an effort. Where's my fancy book launch? Where are all the reviewers and London literary agents for me?"

"I'm sorry that we couldn't sell your poetry book, Wayne," I said brightly, trying to allay the tension. "Sometimes there's just no accounting for the public's taste, right? I mean, look at Dan Brown…"

"It's got nothing to do with taste. You and that bastard Heathcliff deliberately sabotaged my book sales. You stuck my collection on the bottom shelf in a forgotten corner while signs about your upcoming book are in all the windows. And when I tried to tell the truth about your elitism, you kicked me out of the shop."

"You got kicked out because you?—"

"You think that no one sees through this veneer of nice you wear, Mina. But you're just like your mother. You only want one thing – fame and fortune and riches. And you don't care who you stomp on to get it."

"Wayne, stop this right now!" Nora grabbed their order off the counter and shoved her husband towards the door. "I'm sorry about him, Mina. Wayne's having a bad day. Bad week, actually. He goes up hunting deer on the Lachlan estate, but he hasn't caught a thing! It's just rotten luck, but then he gets wound up and doesn't mean it?—"

"I mean every word!" Wayne yelled over his shoulder. "Mina Wilde is rotten, and I'm not going to stand for it anymore. I'll make sure that no one reads a single word you write!"