One Book in the Grave: A Bibliophile Mystery

Melody said, presenting me with a small bowl of dried brown discs.
     
    I’d never been a big fan of dried fruit but I took a few chips and popped them into my mouth. “Mm. Yummy.”
     
    “And if you think they taste good, just look how exciting they are as jewelry!” She flung her hair back to reveal her earrings, tightly overlapping clusters of thin, lacquered banana chips that ruffled and fluttered around her earlobes.
     
    “Unbelievable,” Mom said.
     
    “Stunning,” I whispered. I wasn’t kidding; I was stunned.They were…pretty. Light and flirty and feminine. Very clever. But, come on, they were bananas!
     
    A customer came over and Melody turned to offer her banana treats and advice on fruit dehydration.
     
    Crystal led me and Mom over to her jewelry display. “These rings are my latest creations,” she said, pointing to a display of dried fruit slices affixed to simple silver bands. “They’re made from plums and apples and sweet potatoes. Oh, and this little coral-colored one is made from apricots.”
     
    Some of the wafer-thin slices fluttered straight up like a fan. Others were flat and layered, with ruffled edges. The dried-plum ring looked like a rich, dark red rose with its petals rippling gently in the wind. Many of the rings had the vintage look of a plump fabric rose pinned to a forties-era cocktail dress.
     
    I picked up the plum ring and slipped it carefully onto my finger. It wasn’t my style, but I admired it against my skin. “It’s beautiful, Crystal. Where did you learn to do this?”
     
    “I’ve always made jewelry for me and my sisters,” she admitted, suddenly shy. “My parents aren’t ones for spending money on frivolous ornamentation, so I found ways around them. The dried-fruit designs are my latest experiment.”
     
    “Well, these are really unique. You should make a bundle on them.”
     
    “Thanks,” she said. “I hope so. Enough to pay for my classes, anyway.”
     
    Mom picked up on the conversation as she admired a green-speckled kiwi ring. “Where do you take classes?”
     
    “Over at the Art Institute. I’ve been taking jewelry classes off and on for a few years.”
     
    The Art Institute?
I wondered immediately if Crystal knew Solomon. Or Angelica. Before I could grill her, her sister, Melody, still in conversation with the customer, flashed Crystal an impatient look.
     
    Crystal got the message and scurried over to the tablewhere a few more customers were lined up to sample the edible dried fruit.
     
    I leaned close to Mom. “This jewelry is amazing, but I’m not sure I’m capable of hanging dried fruit from my ears.”
     
    “I find it strangely compelling,” Mom whispered, and slipped a rose-tinged chunk of desiccated fruit onto her finger.
     
    After a few minutes Crystal turned back to me and Mom and held out a plate piled high with round and twisted dried stuff. “These are pineapple. They’re my favorites. Try some.”
     
    I examined it first to make sure it wasn’t jewelry, then took a small bite of the overly sweet, chewy fruit. “Thanks. But that’s it for me. I’m starting to get full.”
     
    “Dried fruit will fill you up, but in a good way,” Crystal insisted. “Much better than potato chips.”
     
    I ignored that blasphemy as she forced several more types of fruits on me. Finally I grabbed my stomach and begged to take a break.
     
    “She’s always had a delicate system,” Mom murmured to Crystal, who nodded sagely.
     
    “It’s all delicious,” I lied, “but I think I’d rather wear your dried fruit than eat it.”
     
    Pleased, Crystal clapped her hands. “I love to hear that.”
     
    “OMG, we have our first dehydrator sale,” Melody whispered, surreptitiously waving a check at her sister before shoving it into her pants pocket.
     
    “OMG,” Crystal whispered back, tittering with excitement. Then she somberly pressed her hands to her chest and gazed heavenward. “Thank you, great Ogun.”
     
    “Congratulations,” I said.
     
    “Dried fruit for everyone!” Melody cried, shoving plates out toward the people passing by.
     
    After a few minutes of giggles and text talk between the sisters, my mother was finally able to corner Crystal to ask if she’d talked to Bennie about teaching her how to load ammo.
     
    “Oh, I meant to tell you first thing,” she said. “Yes, we talked, and Bennie will be happy to show you how to do it. But he said he’d have to come over to your