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  A Day in the Life of Trixie Pristine

  By

  Laina Turner

  Copyright 2012 Laina Turner

  Five Seas Ink Publishing

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  Formatting by Anessa Books

  Prologue

  What the hell?” I said for the second time in as many weeks as I unlocked the door to the shop to find someone had once again been here—and not with the intention of helping us clean and organize.

  “Not again,” Berklie said. “That bitch Sylvia. This is the last straw. I’m calling Tom and telling him he better have a word with her. This has gone too far.”

  “Uh, Berklie. I don’t think it was Sylvia this time.”

  “What are you saying?” Berklie asked. But then she shifted her gaze to where I was pointing.

  At Sylvia sprawled out on the floor. Clearly dead.

  “I don’t think she’ll be bothering us anymore,” said Sophie.

  I reached for my phone and dialed 911.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “I’m calling to report a murder …”

  Chapter 1

  I told you, Facebook was the devil. We should have run away together when we had the chance,” I said to her. “Life was much simpler when we didn’t live it out in front of everyone. Like back when we were twelve.”

  “Yeah, but then we didn’t know every minute of every day what everybody was doing.” Berklie laughed. “I don’t know how we used to survive without knowing who was having what for dinner. Much less all the other things people post that they really should keep to themselves. Like when Peter Dyer commented on Teresa Green’s post of that picture of her in a bathing suit, saying that she looked hot. And his wife saw it?”

  “Exactly! What did he think would happen?”

  We were sitting in my kitchen doing some Facebook stalking on Berklie’s ex-husband. Why? We’d been bored, and after a few glasses of wine, it seemed like a good idea to jump on Facebook and see who had what for dinner and who else was bored and posting random things. It was fairly harmless and quite entertaining until Berklie decided to see what her ex was up to and found herself confronted by a bunch of pictures of Tom and his girlfriend. The woman he had cheated on her with and who’d subsequently caused the ruination of Berklie’s marriage. “Sylvia the slut,” as Berklie called her.

  You would think at our age, closer to forty than thirty these days, we would have had something better or at least more productive to do than this. Nope.

  While I realize life isn’t meant to be easy, it is really supposed to be like this? At almost forty? Aren’t women our age supposed to have it all together? The solid career, the doting husband, two perfect children, life free of dating and chaos. After all, that was what you did in your twenties, right?

  Well, I’m here to tell you that life is not the way you’re made to think it is when you’re playing with Barbies or reading romance novels. Those people you think have it figured out? Ha! They don’t. They’re just darn good at playing the game. I barely knew the game’s rules, much less how to play, as was evident by my own life.

  My name is Trixie Pristine. I got saddled with the unfortunate perky blonde-bimbo- sounding name because my mother, an avid reader, loved Trixie Belden books as a kid. I always held it against my dad that he wasn’t able to talk her out of it. Pristine was the leftover surname from my ex, but my maiden name, Gradowski, was nothing I cared to go back to. My brown hair and dark brown eyes just didn’t fit with the name Trixie, or Trix as my friends called me. And yes, I’d heard my fair share of Trix are for kids cracks growing up with the name Trixie. With a name like this, I should be blonde with a perfectly groomed appearance and big boobs, but that would be my friend Berklie.

  Even after three kids, she looked fantastic. I had plain brown hair, was rarely able to put together an outfit that made me look my best—I mean who has time—and average boobs. Though I’d had my share of compliments on them, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.

  I’m thirty-eight and divorced with an eight-year old son. I’m the librarian at the local library. I have a good boyfriend and great friends. Sounds good, right? Sure, until you realize all the challenges that result from being divorced, having a child you have to co-parent with your ex, and a job that isn’t your life’s passion. Thank goodness I have friends, good friends who are always my saving grace. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about my life (well, maybe just a little), just trying to clear up the fantasy that life is supposed to be like Cinderella when you grow up.

  Though that might sound cynical, I’m not. I firmly believe in the fairy tale ending. Except, over the years I’ve learned that it doesn’t just happen. You’ve got to work at it. That’s what I began doing with my two best friends Sophie and Berklie. Working on that fairy tale ending—albeit with a few bumps in the road and sometimes even complete detours.

  And it all started that night …

  “I don’t know what I saw in that jerk anyways,” Berklie said, drawing me back into what we were doing.

  “Exactly. So why are we even looking at his Facebook page?”

  “You’re right. Why torture myself like this?” She closed the lid to my laptop and took another drink of her wine. “By the way, this red moscato is really good.”

  “No kidding. What makes it even better is that it’s for sale at five bucks a bottle with an additional ten percent off if I bought ten bottles.”

  “Did you buy ten bottles?”

  “Of course. I had to take advantage of a good deal,” I replied, pointing to my wine rack, which was full of red moscato with the overflow sitting next to it on the counter.”

  She laughed. “You wino.”

  “Well, these days I sometimes feel it’s all I have to look forward to at night.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. When we were younger, we used to confine drinking to the weekends, and now look at us. We do it nightly.”

  “Yeah, but look at the amounts we used to drink in our younger days. We probably consume the same amount, but now it’s spread out over seven days.”

  “So, have you decided what you are going to do about the job situation?” I asked. Not only had Berklie just been through a really nasty divorce, she had also worked the last ten years for her husband in his insurance office as the secretary. So she had lost her job when she lost her husband—neither of which she was mourning much. But she did have to think about finding something to do with her time and to bring in some money.

  She snorted. “Ha! I’ve spent the last fifteen years going along with someone else’s plan to the point where I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to think for myself or to have my own life’s ambitions. Now I feel like a kid in a candy store thinking about all the possibilities of what I can be when I grow up.”

  “I’m always thinking about what I want to be when I grow up,” I said wistfully. “I’m so bored. I love the people I work with and the people who come in for books, but the day-to-day is so tedious.”

  “You’ve been saying that for years now, Trix. Why don’t you do something about it? Go after something different. Go after your dream.”

  “Which one? Find a rich old dude with one foot in the grave and no dependents to take me away from all this?”
I said, sweeping my arms all around me. “Or the one where I open a bookstore/coffee shop/wine bar?”

  Berklie pretended to think. “Well, being that this town seems to have a shortage of rich old dudes with one foot in the grave but a surplus of people who like to drink, I think the bookstore/coffee shop/wine bar idea might be the better choice.”

  “Ahh, but it’s always nice to dream.”

  “Dammit, it’s time we stopped dreaming and started doing. Living the life we want and deserve,” she shouted, drumming her fist on the table, her blonde hair flying.

  I stood up to refill my glass and topped off Berklie’s. “You’re talking crazy.”

  “No, I’m not. Things just finally fell into place and became crystal clear.”

  “Really? Just this minute?” I said skeptically.

  “Yes. Now listen to me. You have always dreamed of owning a used bookstore, ever since I’ve known you.”

  “That’s right. Go on.”

  “Well, the only thing that has stopped you is money.”

  “That and the fear I would be a big, fat failure, but there’s no reason to dwell on that because I haven’t noticed a windfall of money in my account lately.”

  “That may be true, but I do have a big windfall headed to my bank account by the end of the month.”

  I started to shake my head, and Berklie held up her hand to stop me.

  “Just hear me out, Trix. I have spent half my life keeping Tom organized at work, taking care of all the details and finances. You know books. I need a job, and you need to finally realize your dream. This is perfect for us. We can be partners.”

  I began to object, even though I found myself instantly excited at the idea of my days being spent at my own bookstore where people could enjoy books while drinking coffee or wine and visiting with each other, rather than in the musty aisles in the public library. But knew it wasn’t realistic. I wasn’t in a position to follow that dream. “Berklie, don’t think that I don’t love the idea. I do. But not only do I not have money to invest in a business, but also you need to do something a lot safer with your settlement than potentially throw it away on a venture that may or may not work. This is your life’s savings you’re talking about.”

  “Oh please. Don’t be such a wuss. We won’t fail. We’re too awesome, and this is a great idea. Do you want to look back in twenty years and regret you didn’t follow your dreams?”

  “How do we know if this town will even support a business like this?”

  Between Berklie and me, I was definitely the more practical and less of a risk taker. Berklie was always up for something. She’d been the first to pierce her ears (with an ice cube and needle without her mom knowing), the first to go all the way with a boy, and the first to get married and have a baby (which was what happened since she was the first to go all the way with a boy). Berklie jumped into things with both feet first and thought about consequences later. That was one of the many things I loved about her. Me? I worried about the consequences before anything else.

  I wouldn’t call myself a “glass half empty” gal, as I wasn’t negative, but rather a “glass half full so we better drink slowly because there’s no back up in the pantry” gal,. Of course, Berklie would drink it down and set out searching for more just assuming she would find some. Even catching her husband playing hide the sausage with the receptionist at the Buick dealership didn’t dampen that optimism.

  “This town would thrive on it,” she said. “You have to drive to the next big town for a bookstore, and the bars here aren’t the most relaxing place to drink a glass of wine, so unless you want to go to half-price wine night at Applebee’s, you’re out of luck. C’mon, Trixie, take a chance for once.”

  “Even if I decided I was up for the risk, it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have a pile of cash lying around.”

  “You may not have a million buried in the backyard, but you have options if you really want to follow your dreams. The money part can be figured out. It’s only money. Your house is almost paid off, you have a healthy 401k and a college fund for Cody. Borrow from one of those.”

  “So when I lose all of Cody’s college money on a business whim, what should I tell him? Sorry dude, but Mom was having a mid-life crisis and decided to spend your future?”

  Berklie rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t use the college fund. My point is that you have options. Opening a business is like having a baby. There’s never a right time. You just need to do it.”

  Her enthusiasm was starting to get to me as it usually did. She didn’t typically have a difficult time swaying me to her way of thinking. I hadn’t felt too excited about what I was doing in my life for years and had come to the belief that maybe this was just what it meant to be an adult. You did what you needed to do rather than what you wanted to do. That was the responsible thing, right? But musing over the possibility of doing something I actually wanted to do? Wow, it sure was fun.

  “At least think about it,” Berklie implored.

  She must have been reading my mind. What did I have to lose if I speculated a little? “Okay, fine. I’ll think about it.”

  Berklie squealed with excitement. “I just know you’re going to see this the way I do, Trixie.”

  Chapter 2

  I had just poured the first cup of the second pot of coffee I brewed at work that day. It had been one of those mornings. I had tossed and turned all night unable to get Berklie’s crazy idea of the bookstore/coffee shop/wine bar out of my head. I woke up bleary eyed, my brain still racing with a continuous loop of excitement followed by a dampening practicality. I kept telling myself that playing it safe wasn’t a bad thing. I had a son to consider, after all. It wasn’t all about me.

  But I couldn’t help thinking I had played it safe all my life. Maybe it was finally time to take a risk. Thoughts of business ownership were temporarily pushed aside as the first grade class from Oak Ridge Elementary walked through the door for their field trip. Their excited little voices carried back to my office, and I walked out to greet them. This was one of the highlights of my day and one of the main reasons I had decided to pursue a career in library science. Always an avid reader, I had spent countless hours in the library as a child. This very library, in fact. Books opened up so many worlds, and of course when I was a child there was no Internet with its wealth of information. When young kids like this first grade class came in to visit, it was fun sharing with them my love of books and all the library had to offer.

  The morning flew by, and I had been successful at putting the business idea out of my mind and focusing on my job. At least until Berklie showed up with whom I assumed was ammunition in the form of our third partner in crime, Sophie Taylor. She was a more recent addition to our little group, having only moved to Romero a few years ago with her then boyfriend, unlike Berklie and me, who’d lived here all our lives. The boyfriend had become an ex, but by then Sophie had come to like our town, and us, and she decided to stay. Cute and athletic, she had shiny straight brown-black hair, and she thought fun was running five miles before work.

  “You have time for lunch?” Berklie asked.

  “Sure. Let me just tell Sasha I’m leaving.” I walked through the stacks to the back and poked my head through the door that connected my office to the small room where the lunch area was. “Hey, Sasha,” I called to my assistant librarian. “I’m going to take off for lunch, okay? I told Sheila to call you over the intercom if she needed you.” Sheila was one of our four part-time library associates.

  “No problem. I will be up there in a minute.”

  I returned to my waiting friends and slung my purse over my shoulder. “I’m ready.” Berklie, Sophie and I walked out the door and the warm sun shone on our faces, though the breeze made it a bit chilly. All in all for an April day in Michigan, it was pretty decent out, as it wasn’t unheard of to still have snow on the ground this time of year.

  “Where to, girls?” Berklie asked. We all laughed. There wasn’t a ton of choices
at this end of downtown by the library, so we always went to the same place: Subway. Not very elegant or exciting, but good for the waistline and the pocketbook.

  I ordered my usual tuna on wheat with baked barbeque Lays and a large Diet Dr. Pepper—this Subway was one of the few restaurants in town that had it on fountain—and took my food to a table along with Berklie and Sophie. Unwrapping my sandwich, I said to Sophie, “So I’m assuming Berklie told you about her crazy idea?”

  Sophie shrugged. “Yes, but I can’t say I think it’s crazy idea. Personally I like it. It seems like a win-win.”

  “I’m just not that big of a risk taker, and she’s not thinking clearly if she’s willing to risk her life savings.”

  “Of course it seems scary, Trixie, but timing is everything, and I agree with Berklie that now seems right.”

  “See, Trixie, she agrees,” said Berklie. “You need to quit being a worry wart. We need to just go for it.”

  I sighed. I was beginning to cave. Owning my own store had been a dream for so long and thinking it might actually happen, that the possibility was somehow within reach, was enough to make even my normal conservative nature take a turn down the risk taker path. Why not? What did I have to lose? It was only money, right? “Okay, fine. I will check into my financial options,” I started to say, before being quickly cut off by Berklie’s squeals of excitement.

  “You won’t regret it,” she said. “This will work out; you’ll see. In fact, I found the perfect place for a storefront this morning.”

  “This morning? Were you that confident I was going to say yes?”

  “It’s all about positive thinking. Anyways, there’s that storefront were the old fabric store used to be. You know, next to the Main Event hair salon.”

  “Isn’t the hardware store on the other side?” Sophie asked after swallowing a bite of her turkey on white.

  “Yes, which makes it a good location,” Berklie said. “Both businesses generate a lot of foot traffic, and we’d be right in the middle of all that. Who wouldn’t want to stop in and buy some books or have a glass of wine after getting their hair done or while waiting for their husband at the hardware store?”