are,” I said, as I noticed a shelf beside the checkout counter displaying three novels written by one Dara Revin. “An author who owns her own bookstore. Is this how you cut out the middleman?”
Dara glanced at her novels and smiled. “Trust me, I’m not making my living off those self-published books, although owning the store allows me to generate a little more interest in them. Better out in the open than in my basement.”
Dawn walked to the shelf and picked up the one I knew would attract her attention. “The Beginning of Dawn. What’s this one about?” she asked our genial host.
“Dawn is a young widow trying to start life over.”
“I like the tagline on the back cover,” Dawn said. “A coming-of-age story, if you believe life begins at 28. I’m going to buy it. Would you autograph it for me?”
Like a seasoned pro, Dara replied, “When I’m asked that question at book shows my response is usually, whenever there’s a signing event, I figure I should be there for it.”
We all laughed as Dawn set the book on the counter and handed over a $20 bill that Dara set to one side, not ringing it through the cash register. As she inscribed the front inside cover To Dawn – Today is just the beginning! the bell inside the front door rang, indicating a new customer had arrived.
“Thank you so much,” Dawn gushed. “I’ve never met a real author. Now if I like this one, which I’m sure I will, can I order your other books online?”
Dara handed Dawn a bookmark that displayed all three covers of her books. “Take one of my functional business cards, as I like to call them. My website is listed on it.”
“Sweet,” Dawn said, placing the bookmark in her new book.
As our attention was on the local celebrity book signing process, none of us had taken into account the other patron. Dawn and I were about to move into the kitchen to select one of the freshly made sandwiches on display, when the fourth person in the room spoke up.
“Well if it isn’t one of the Tour of True Terror terrorists. Did you enjoy the show last night, Missy?”
To say we were startled by this would be an understatement.
“Excuse me?” Dawn asked, as the question was aimed squarely at her.
“Debra!” Dara broke in. “You can’t come in here and abuse my customers.”
“Why not?” Debra Stanfield countered. “She abused me last night when she stopped in front of Eric and Lucy’s house, gawking at the place like it was a freak show exhibit, all the while listening to Rodney spreading his vicious lies.”
I was baffled how Eric McDowell’s mother-in-law knew Dawn had taken the previous evening’s tour. I was sure neither of us had made any type of direct eye contact during her deranged ranting episode. Had she staked out the kiosk and taken pictures of each person exiting the bus for future reference? Before I could come to some logical answer, it was presented, as Ms. Stanfield pointed to the tour’s souvenir book sticking out of the side pocket of Dawn’s beach bag.
“Did you get to the part where Detective Dutton and Detective Ingles write that Eric was their one and only suspect? That’s because they didn’t investigate any other options or leads.”
Having dealt with her share of angry, belligerent bar and restaurant drunks over the years, Dawn knew exactly how to handle this situation. The look she gave me was I got this covered, big fella. No need to be my hero.
“As a matter of fact, Steve and I—my name is Dawn by the way—did read that section and we both wondered about your son-in-law’s case.” That we knew who she was made Debra stop in her tracks as she approached us. “As for being terrorists, well, that’s just not the case. Tourists, yes, terrorists, no,” Dawn continued undeterred. “There’s a daily guided tour of the city’s art gallery we could’ve signed up for, but decided the True Terror evening sounded more interesting. Obviously, as out-of-towners we have no axe to grind with you personally. We’re sorry about the death of your daughter, which is something a true terrorist wouldn’t feel.”
Our accuser was at a loss for words before saying, “I know. I’m sorry for my outburst. My anger is with Detective Dutton and I hate that he’s making any kind of money off Eric’s situation.”
Seeing that she appeared to be on the verge of crying, I asked, “Dara, do you serve coffee in the kitchen as well as sandwiches and soup? I think we could all use a change of scenery and tone, maybe to sit and talk more.” Dara said she’d put on a fresh pot and headed to the kitchen. “I used to be a police officer—”
“Who now works as a private investigator on different files, including cold cases,” Dawn interrupted proudly.
“Yes, I’ve worked a few cold case files,” I said. “With my background, I know how detectives think and would like to discuss the circumstances surrounding Eric’s case, if you have the time. Maybe I can give you some insight into why Eric was charged and prosecuted.”
“An outsider’s perspective,” Dawn suggested.
The anger was gone from Debra’s face, replaced with an expression combining weariness and resignation. “I would like that, if it’s not taking time away from you.”
“We came in here for a good book and lunch,” Dawn said. “I found the book, so now it’s time for lunch.”
Not quite friends, definitely no longer enemies, the three of us joined Dara in the kitchen where she served us lunch at a table, leaving every once in a while to attend to customers out front. We learned Debra had lived in Dannenberg her entire life, had gone to school with Retired Rodney years earlier, and had been his friend, until Lucy’s death.
“When she opened this place, Dara carried Rodney’s book on consignment, wanting to promote local authors and area history,” Debra mentioned between spoonfuls of French onion soup. “But when I told her how the investigation was carried out, she decided not to renew the contract once the initial ten copies were sold and she’s kept her promise.”
“Have you convinced anyone else of Eric’s innocence?” I asked, before devouring my chicken and bacon wrap. “What about the newspapers or TV stations? Any interested investigative reporters wanting to make a name for themselves?”
“Yes and no,” Debra replied wiping her mouth with a napkin. “A few people were interested but soon learned how powerful Rodney and Det. Ingles still are in the community. The stories never saw the light of day. I even hired two independent investigators to look into Eric’s case and their reports both came back with substandard results. I think they were approached by the current police brass not to make waves.”
“Can you prove that?” Dawn asked.
“Both investigators were former city officers. I thought that would be to my advantage, as they’d know all the players involved. I think it backfired though and they were threatened that the force wouldn’t be co-operative on any future files needing assistance.”
I thought back to my own early days in the P.I. game and getting the same kind of runaround. My police corruption trial and subsequent firing were quite scandalous. Police services around the country knew my name and face. I was toxic to any employee brave enough to give up a new lead or assist
