Chapter Eight

“Maybe Kate killed somebody.” Two eight-year-old boys jostled their way into Kate’s bookstore, staring intently at the Y-shaped stick one of them was holding. Bright spots of excitement glowed in their cheeks. They were bundled up in jeans jackets, colorful scarves wound tight around their necks.

“Or it’s wrong,” Will added, eyes never leaving the stick. The forked branch twitched.

“It’s not wrong.” Tim snorted in disgust at his friend’s ignorance. “There are loads of dead bodies in a bookstore, stupid, they just aren’t real.”

“Or it’s because she found that guy—Mr. Wendell.”

Tim sighed. “Not in the store. Honestly, Will. And that was a heart attack.”

“If it isn’t my two favorite customers.” Kate put down the book she had been shelving. “What’s the stick for?”

The boys stopped abruptly. Will gripped the back of Tim’s jacket. Tim stood in front, arm outstretched, stick clasped firmly in his hand. “It’s a dividing rod,” Tim said.

“To separate things with?”

“No.” Tim rolled his eyes. “To find things with.”

“Ah.” Kate smiled. “A divining rod.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You can find anything you want with it,” Tim explained knowledgeably. “That’s important, because there’s no mystery if you can’t find the body. It really works, too.”

A figure at the edge of Kate’s vision had her turning. A customer stood between the shelves. Probably a business man from one of the offices nearby. The man’s clean-shaven features were all sharp angles and lean planes, his lips thin. His fingers were clenched around a book, the pages bending inward beneath the pressure. His stare was like something physical, cutting. Kate took a step back.

Kate turned her attention back to the boys. “What are you two doing, searching for corpses in my store?”

“Have you got any?” Tim asked, surprised.

“I hope not.”

“It’s probably better if you don’t,” Tim told her. “They get moldy.”

“They what?” Will turned to look at him, shocked.

Tim shrugged. “They rot, which is why we have to hurry when we get a reading on the divining stick.”

Will thought about that. “That’s gross,” he decided.

“You just point it around until the stick starts to shiver,” Tim explained. “Then you know you’ve found something really good.”

“Can I try?” Will asked.

Tim looked at Will doubtfully. “I don’t know… It isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“I just filed some new books from the Everly Boy Detective series on the shelf there, Tim,” Kate interrupted, before they started their search. “I think there are a couple you haven’t read yet, if you want to use your detective skills to solve fictional cases instead.”

“Cool!” The boy’s features lit up. “Have you got The Mystery of the Mayan Warrior?”

“I might. If not, someone brought some books in yesterday. I haven’t shelved them yet. So, if you don’t see it on the shelf, I can go on the hunt.” This was her favorite part of her job, helping kids find books. Stories weren’t just an escape from everyday duties but complete worlds they lived and breathed in. The books they read at that age came to life for them. The characters were their friends, real people, not just fiction. Kate would pull all the strings she had to get them the books they wanted.

The man moved toward them, skimming books with his eyes as he approached the counter. His expression had smoothed over. Had the contorted features been a trick of the light? The corners of his mouth imitated a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He dropped the paperback next to the cash register. Kate glanced at the cover, read the title. “Death is often the punchline of life.”

“Excuse me?” The man asked, startled.

“It’s a line from the book. Well, paraphrased. Nabokov writes convincingly about loving someone and not being loved in return. Life ending in disaster.”

“I’ve read it before.”

“Then I’ll stop waxing poetic.” She flipped to the first page, checked the penciled price.

“Kate knows about the stages of decomposition,” Tim whispered to Will solemnly. “Since she found the body. I’ll bet the flesh flies were already circling.”

“Sometimes, Tim, you can tell that your father is a cop. That’s four fifty,” Kate told the man, glancing up. His jaw was clenched tightly, a muscle jumping beneath his cheek. She could smell cigarette smoke on him like cinders. Coins clattered loudly onto the wooden counter. Kate handed the book over. “Have a nice day.”

The man paused on his way to the door. “You know, the easiest way to find a corpse is to kill someone,” he informed them blandly.

Kate resisted the urge to clamp her hands over the ears of the nearest boy. “No, it’s not! That’s not a good idea, got it?”

“Kate.” Tim looked at her pityingly. “I’m eight. I know what corpses are and I know that only bad guys kill people. Right, Will?”

“Right.” Will nodded, looking at Tim with hero-worship in his eyes.

“Come on, Will. I want to show you something really awesome.” Tim tore off to the back of the store, Will close on his heels. Books shuddered on the shelves as their feet rounded the corner. How could such small feet make so much noise?

“Why would you tell them that?” Kate asked the man, flinging her hands out in exasperation.

“I thought they should know what they’re looking for,” he replied and stepped out onto the street.