“I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not sorry the bastard’s dead.” Jordan stood up, and Diesel scooted back beside me. “He embarrassed the hell out of me by not showing up here—twice—for advertized events. Not to mention the money I lost on returning hundreds of copies of his books—books I could easily have sold. But he didn’t have to balls to show his face in here.”

“That’s too bad. No wonder you were pissed at him.” I didn’t know what else to say. The passion in her voice startled me. Right now, she sounded angry enough to have killed him.

But anger this intense because of business?

Or was there something more personal behind it, as Patty claimed?

I couldn’t ask her that outright, or I really would be banned from the bookstore. At the moment I couldn’t think of a subtle way of getting at the information either.

“Now, is there something I can help you with?” Jordan became very businesslike.

“I would still like a copy of Godfrey’s latest book.” I nodded at the box of signed copies. “If those aren’t available, an unsigned copy will do.”

Jordan stared at the box for a moment before reaching into it and pulling out a book. “It’s okay. You can buy one.”

“Thank you.” I went around to the front of the counter, Diesel at my heels. As Jordan rang up my purchase and bagged it, I pulled out my debit card.

The transaction finished, Jordan returned my card and handed me the bag. “Thank you very much.” She didn’t smile the way she usually did, but she also didn’t look like she never wanted to see me in her store again. That was a relief.

“Come on, Diesel. Got to finish our errands.” I flashed Jordan a smile as the cat and I headed for the door, but the bookstore owner had already turned away.

Outside the store, I paused. Diesel sat down and looked up at me. I gazed back at him, lost in thought.

Why had Jordan changed her mind and let me buy one of the signed copies?

Should I take it as some sort of bribe? Because the book would probably soon be worth a lot more than the $26.95 plus tax I paid for it.

Or was it Jordan’s way of telling me she had nothing to do with Godfrey’s death?

Short of asking her point-blank, I didn’t see any way to answer those questions for now.

Diesel warbled at me, bringing me out of my wool-gathering. “Time to move on. I know.”

I put the book in the car, and Diesel and I walked down the block to the bakery.