you’ll excuse me...”
“You need to go home after you visit Mr. McNulty, you mean,” Rawlings reminded her with a teasing smile. “He had some fine recommendations for me.”
“And what do you read? Police procedurals? Mafia thrillers?” Olivia lightly mocked the lawman as she turned on her engine.
Unperturbed, the chief pointed his finger at her. “I see you tend to pigeonhole, Ms. Limoges. I read everything, including the books you mentioned, but my latest Amazon box contained some classic literature, poetry, and cook-books. But it looks as though my online ordering is over now that Mr. McNulty’s here. Have a nice day, ma’am.” With a subtle bow, the chief walked away.
“Remarkable. Our chief is an interesting character,” Olivia announced and then drove to the western fringe of town where Flynn McNulty had converted the ground floor of a former commercial fishing supply warehouse into his new bookstore. Upon passing through the wooden doors, Olivia expected her olfactory senses to be assailed by the taint of old fish and saltwater, but she smelled Murphy Oil Soap instead. The inviting aroma was only the beginning of the pleasant surprises. Without doubt, she had stepped inside a reader’s paradise.
The front portion of the store contained oversized antique wardrobes. Standing shoulder to shoulder, these massive pieces of vintage furniture had their doors thrown open, inviting browsers to glance inside at the treasures held within. Rare books, coffee table books, art books brimming with color plates, and signed first editions took residence in the polished interiors made of walnut and southern yellow pine. Small framed signs describing the contents of each case had been tastefully mounted in the center of each wardrobe’s crown molding.
“I’m hoping to see your works in this armoire one day.” Flynn had appeared silently next to Olivia. He now gestured at a stunning English oak arts and crafts wardrobe that bore the sign: “Coastal North Carolina History / Local Authors.”
“Where did you find all of these incredible pieces?” Olivia asked in admiration.
Flynn gazed at his collection with pride. “Several belonged to my aunt. The rest I found in antique malls, thrift stores, or at auctions. It took me over a year to clean them all up, and if this place shows a profit, I plan to keep on buying. So far, only the front of the store has wardrobes, but one day, I’d like every book to be displayed like these sections.” He held his arm out in front of his body. “May I give you a tour?”
Olivia paused. “That depends on how you feel about dogs entering your shop.”
“Well-mannered canines are welcome.”
Pleased by his answer, she asked him to wait a moment while she retrieved Haviland from the Range Rover.
“Come in, Captain. We can add this to the list of places that recognizes the superiority of your breed.”
Barking with eagerness, Haviland bounded toward the door and then sat on his haunches, as if to show Olivia that he would be calm and dignified inside the place that smelled, to his finely tuned nose, faintly of fish.
Flynn knelt and held out his hand. “Flynn McNulty. And you are?”
Haviland offered Flynn his right paw.
“This is Captain Haviland,” Olivia made the introductions.
Flynn grinned. “Limoges and Haviland. A fine match. Do you collect porcelain by chance?”
“I have a few pieces,” Olivia replied enigmatically as they walked deeper into the store. Here, standard wooden bookshelves had been bolted into the wall around the perimeter. To the left, Flynn had arranged works of fiction and to the right, nonfiction. The center of the room contained a grouping of upholstered chairs, end tables, and an enormous coffee table. The table was built with a glass top. A drawer slid out from beneath the glass and Flynn had cleverly displayed magazines for sale within the drawer.
“All you need now is a cappuccino machine,” Olivia commented.
“You haven’t
“You need to go home after you visit Mr. McNulty, you mean,” Rawlings reminded her with a teasing smile. “He had some fine recommendations for me.”
“And what do you read? Police procedurals? Mafia thrillers?” Olivia lightly mocked the lawman as she turned on her engine.
Unperturbed, the chief pointed his finger at her. “I see you tend to pigeonhole, Ms. Limoges. I read everything, including the books you mentioned, but my latest Amazon box contained some classic literature, poetry, and cook-books. But it looks as though my online ordering is over now that Mr. McNulty’s here. Have a nice day, ma’am.” With a subtle bow, the chief walked away.
“Remarkable. Our chief is an interesting character,” Olivia announced and then drove to the western fringe of town where Flynn McNulty had converted the ground floor of a former commercial fishing supply warehouse into his new bookstore. Upon passing through the wooden doors, Olivia expected her olfactory senses to be assailed by the taint of old fish and saltwater, but she smelled Murphy Oil Soap instead. The inviting aroma was only the beginning of the pleasant surprises. Without doubt, she had stepped inside a reader’s paradise.
The front portion of the store contained oversized antique wardrobes. Standing shoulder to shoulder, these massive pieces of vintage furniture had their doors thrown open, inviting browsers to glance inside at the treasures held within. Rare books, coffee table books, art books brimming with color plates, and signed first editions took residence in the polished interiors made of walnut and southern yellow pine. Small framed signs describing the contents of each case had been tastefully mounted in the center of each wardrobe’s crown molding.
“I’m hoping to see your works in this armoire one day.” Flynn had appeared silently next to Olivia. He now gestured at a stunning English oak arts and crafts wardrobe that bore the sign: “Coastal North Carolina History / Local Authors.”
“Where did you find all of these incredible pieces?” Olivia asked in admiration.
Flynn gazed at his collection with pride. “Several belonged to my aunt. The rest I found in antique malls, thrift stores, or at auctions. It took me over a year to clean them all up, and if this place shows a profit, I plan to keep on buying. So far, only the front of the store has wardrobes, but one day, I’d like every book to be displayed like these sections.” He held his arm out in front of his body. “May I give you a tour?”
Olivia paused. “That depends on how you feel about dogs entering your shop.”
“Well-mannered canines are welcome.”
Pleased by his answer, she asked him to wait a moment while she retrieved Haviland from the Range Rover.
“Come in, Captain. We can add this to the list of places that recognizes the superiority of your breed.”
Barking with eagerness, Haviland bounded toward the door and then sat on his haunches, as if to show Olivia that he would be calm and dignified inside the place that smelled, to his finely tuned nose, faintly of fish.
Flynn knelt and held out his hand. “Flynn McNulty. And you are?”
Haviland offered Flynn his right paw.
“This is Captain Haviland,” Olivia made the introductions.
Flynn grinned. “Limoges and Haviland. A fine match. Do you collect porcelain by chance?”
“I have a few pieces,” Olivia replied enigmatically as they walked deeper into the store. Here, standard wooden bookshelves had been bolted into the wall around the perimeter. To the left, Flynn had arranged works of fiction and to the right, nonfiction. The center of the room contained a grouping of upholstered chairs, end tables, and an enormous coffee table. The table was built with a glass top. A drawer slid out from beneath the glass and Flynn had cleverly displayed magazines for sale within the drawer.
“All you need now is a cappuccino machine,” Olivia commented.
“You haven’t
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