Page 44 of Murder By the Millions
“Patrick and Jason were at the bookshop yesterday,” I said, “and he accused Jason of doing some shoddy work, and they—”
“We made amends.” Patrick ran his callused fingers through his hair. “When I ran into him at town hall later, clearer heads prevailed. I apologized and told him I was out of line and said I’d be happy to work with him on any project. He told me to stop by the estate today.” He whistled with wonder. “He’s dead? What happened? Did he have a heart attack, Allie?”
“He was stabbed in the back.”
“Geez!” popped out of him. “He was murdered? Who did it?”
I shook my head. “The police don’t know yet.”
“That bites.” Patrick lowered his gaze.
I noticed mud on his boots for the second day in a row. “Were the caves wet?” I gestured to the shoes.
“Yeah.” He tilted the toe of his right foot up, as if inspecting it. “There’s always water leaking somewhere. It can be a muddy mess. Why?”
“No reason.”
CHAPTER9
For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality,
a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy’s wing.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’sThe Great Gatsby
After making the remainder of my deliveries, I swung by the house, switched into leggings and a billowy-sleeved blouse, and headed to Feast for the Eyes. I’d promised to help rearrange bookshelves. Tegan liked to tackle the task once a month. She said readers spent more time scanning the aisles and often, upon finding themselves in a new realm, were willing to try the genre or a new-to-them author.
In the office Darcy was as pleased as punch to get out of his carrier. He immediately launched himself to the top of the rare books bookshelf.
“Careful,” I reminded him. “Your toenail isn’t healed.”
He flicked his tail as if to chide me for worrying. After all, he was Super Cat. He settled on his haunches and peered through the office window, which provided a view of the bookshop’s main room. From his perch, he could keep track of all the activity until he tuckered out and snoozed.
I returned to the sales counter while dusting my hands on my thighs and thinking about Patrick and the condition of his work boots. Had he lied about going caving? His set-to with Jason had been quite contentious. Had he gone to Jason’s place, seen him outside, chased him through the wet soil, and tracked mud inside before stabbing him? Would anybody at town hall be able to confirm that he and Jason had reconciled?
“Morning,” Tegan crooned as she entered the shop from the stockroom, her arms laden with additional copies ofThe Great Gatsby.“The next shipment came in. I’ll text everyone who preordered. The list is over there if you’ll tag them.” She motioned with her chin.
I took the books from her, stacked them on the counter and, referring to the list, began affixing Post-it notes with customers’ names to them.
“Allie!” Chloe emerged from the stockroom, wiping her hands on a paper towel. She tossed it into the trash beneath the desk, then bear-hugged me and released me. “I heard about the murder. I can’t believe it. How are you?”
“Hanging tough.”
“Was it gruesome?”
“Yes.”
“Who would want to kill him?”
One person came to mind—Patrick—but I said, “Let’s talk about brighter subjects. How was your audition?”
Chloe blew a raspberry. “Not important.”
“She did a good job.” Tegan silently applauded. “She won’t hear about callbacks until tomorrow.”
“Callbacks. Not a chance. I stank up the room.” Chloe made a face. “Anyway, we’re not talking about me right now. I mean, c’mon. Jason Gardner is dead, and the police suspect you? Why—”
“Because he was stabbed with a spearpoint,” Tegan cut in.
