The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(86)

“I’ll be right there.”

When Nina arrived, she and Tom found Liz sitting in the middle of the store, with Mr. Meffo, in the midst of chaos. Every book in the store’s inventory was off the shelves, and Liz sat in the middle like the Caterpillar on his mushroom. Meffo, who reminded Nina more of the White Rabbit, was perched by the register. Both of them seemed to be having a marvelous time.

“Ah, Nina!” said Liz. “You’re just in time.”

“For what?” said Nina carefully. “It looks like I missed the main event, which was apparently trashing the store.”

“Not at all! We’ve been having a literary discussion requiring illustration,” replied Liz, fluidly. “It was necessary to refer to multiple volumes.”

“Are you all right?” Nina picked her way over to Liz, who pushed aside a stack of books to make room. She patted the carpet beside her.

“I am fantastic,” Liz said. “Pull up some rug and pop a squat.”

Mr. Meffo giggled, which was alarming.

“Did you have breakfast?” asked Liz, holding out a bakery box. Inside were a selection of brownies, cupcakes, and muffins.

Nina took a mini muffin and popped it in her mouth. “Wow, these are good.” She took another. “Where are they from?”

“I can’t remember. Do you know,” Liz continued, leaning closer, “that books have been the cornerstone of my life?”

“Yes,” said Nina, chewing.

“I distinctly remember the first time I recommended a book—it was Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson, and I recommended it because the customer enjoyed both William Gibson and S. J. Perelman, and I thought, hey, Snow Crash is futuristic and hilarious . . .” Here she seemed to lose the thread for a moment, but after a second remembered where she was going with all this. “And he came back to the store and said he’d loved it, and I was hooked.”

“On science fiction?”

“No, on introducing people to books. To reading books, knowing people, and putting them together. Love Bridget Jones AND Rebecca? Try Mary Stewart, who crushes the romantic suspense genre and wrote over a dozen fantastic books.” Suddenly, she reached over and grabbed Nina’s arm. “Do you know the best feeling in the world?”

“Uh . . .” Nina shook her head, despite having some ideas.

Liz glowed. “It’s reading a book, loving every second of it, then turning to the front and discovering that the writer wrote fourteen zillion others.”

“Fourteen zillion?”

“Or a dozen!” Liz turned to Mr. Meffo. “Mr. Meffo came by to help—isn’t that lovely of him?”

Liz was definitely losing her mind. Nina looked at their landlord. Ex-landlord. He looked sheepish.

“I was passing,” he said, somewhat defensively, “and I heard noises and investigated. It was Liz.” He cleared his throat. “Singing.” He smiled at Liz. “And she invited me in and we had pastries and coffee and talked about books.” He was almost happy. Nina had never seen him like this. “It turns out we have a lot in common.”

“We both worry about Curious George, for example,” said Liz. “Why doesn’t the Man with the Yellow Hat take his responsibility seriously? Why does he keep leaving George in these obviously dangerous situations and then walking away?”

“No, no,” said Mr. Meffo. “You’re looking at it wrong. The Man with the Yellow Hat is the victim. George keeps promising to behave, but he never does. Not to mention,” he said, warming to his theme, “that Curious George basically teaches kids it’s acceptable to damage property as long as you do something cute afterward.” He threw his hands in the air. “What kind of message is that?”

Nina glanced over at Tom, who had been leaning in the doorway listening quietly. He was looking at Liz and Meffo with narrowed eyes.

“Where did those muffins come from?” he asked.

“From the lovely, lovely lady who’s stealing my store,” Liz told him. “I think she felt badly about the fighting and the ice cream, so she came over last night and dropped off a peace offering.” She reached for the last mini muffin. “I ended up eating some for dinner, and then I decided to reorganize the books.” She looked around. “I started well, but then I got distracted.”

There was a pause.

“You’re stoned,” said Nina.

“Don’t be silly, Nina.”

“Liz, she sells pot-infused makeup. Someone who thinks pot should be in eye shadow certainly isn’t going to hold back when it comes to baked goods.”

“Huh,” said Liz. “Well, that might explain my pressing desire to raise goats and live in harmony with nature.” She turned to Mr. Meffo. “My apologies, Mr. Meffo, I appear to have given you adulterated muffins.”

“Adulterated Muffins is a great band name,” he replied, giggling again. “Plus, we’re adults, so adulterated is completely appropriate.”

“You’re funny,” said Liz. “I should never have called you Mephistopheles.”

“And I shouldn’t have called you Slippery Liz.” His eyes softened. “I will miss our monthly cat and mouse. Of all my delinquent tenants, you were my favorite.”

“But wait,” said Nina to the landlord. “Do we really have to close so soon? I have money now. I want to buy into the store, pay you back, and help Liz run Knight’s for another twenty years.” She looked at her boss. “I wasn’t sure until just now, but I love readers, too, and books, and there’s nothing I want more than to spend my working life making introductions.”