“I’ll help.” I hurried to follow Jo as she whirled toward a book aisle.
“So will I.” Spence’s voice came from behind me.
Jo stopped long enough to give us a grateful look. “Thank you, but I can’t ask you to work for me. You’re here as guests.”
Spence arched a thick black eyebrow. “We’re also your friends. Let us help.”
“Okay, since you’ve twisted my arm.” Jo turned to continue her agitated march down the aisle. Her ponytail swung back and forth in a tsking motion. “I wish she’d let me and my team handle her books from the beginning. Unloading them now will be disruptive to the other authors who got here early and actually set up.”
I struggled to both keep up with Jo and speed read the titles on the passing shelves. We were in the young adult section. I loved young adult fantasy novels. I hesitated in front of a newly released title. Spence nudged me along.
I caught up with Jo. “This won’t endear her to the other members of her group.” I remembered the way Zelda had acted, as though Fiona was She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
“I don’t think Fiona likes them, either.” Jo’s tone was dry.
“What makes you think that?” Spence asked.
Jo glanced at us over her shoulder. “It’s just a feeling I got from her when we were organizing this signing.”
Jo crossed into the storage room. Spence and I were right behind her. The room was dimly lit in comparison to the main part of the store. Empty boxes stood to the side, waiting to be flattened for recycling. Step ladders and carts were stored in a corner for easy access. Shelving affixed to the walls held office supplies such as paper, printer inks, packing tape, markers, and box cutters. In the center of the room, two matching dark wood tables balanced open boxes of books still to be shelved. On the far table, Fiona’s books had been unpacked, only needing a cart to carry them out. But who would operate the cart?
Was I the only one feeling uneasy? “Where’s Fiona?”
In front of me, Jo frowned as her store owner’s attention seemed to catalog the room’s contents. To my right, Spence appeared to be scanning the room, searching for the source of the disquiet. I stepped forward.
“Marvey, wait.” Spence’s voice stopped me.
But not before I saw the body, lying in a pool of blood on the far side of the rear table.
I must have rocketed a foot into the air before landing on semi-solid ground. Spence’s large, strong hands gripped my shoulders to steady me.
Jo gasped. “Oh, my God. Fiona.”
Chapter 3
“Don’t touch anything.” Every mystery I’d ever read came crashing back to me. “We have to call the police.” My voice was sharp, pitched loud enough to be heard above the blood rushing in my ears.
On the outside, I may have appeared to be keeping it together. On the inside, I was screaming. The stench of death was a sour taste in my mouth. I wanted to spit it out, but that would contaminate the crime scene.
“The police. Yes, you’re right.” Jo was in shock. We all were. Fortunately, we’d been together when we’d found Fiona. I would’ve hated for Jo to have discovered this tragedy on her own.
My muscles shook as I helped her to the door. I tugged at her as I called over my shoulder to Spence. “Do you have a handkerchief?”
He pulled a plain white cloth from the back pocket of his jeans and held it out to me. “Why do you need it?”
“Oh, my God.” Jo was mumbling to herself. “I can’t believe this. Fiona.”
I pressed my palm to the small of her back. She was shaking even more than I was. I was afraid she’d come apart. I turned to Spence. “We need to secure the room, but I don’t want to leave prints on the door.” My voice sounded so far away. I had to get out of here.
“I’ve never seen a dead body before.” Jo looked at me. Her eyes were blank.
Spence pulled the handkerchief from my reach. “Help Jo. I’ll close the door.”
“Ever,” Jo whispered.
Neither had I. Using both arms, I steadied her. I half-carried, half-dragged her from the room as I made myself put one foot in front of the other. The door clicked behind us as Spence shut it. If only I could slam a door against the image of Fiona’s corpse, but it was burned into my skull. With deliberate steps, I led us to Jo’s office, away from that chamber of death. A sinister presence still weighed on my shoulders like a backpack stuffed with encyclopedias.
What happened? Who did it? And why?
I settled Jo on a green cushioned visitor’s chair, then collapsed onto the one beside it.
Since Jo wasn’t in any condition to call the sheriff’s office, Spence circled her desk to use her phone. He reached past her orange University of Florida coffee mug for the receiver and punched in nine-one-one. “I’m calling to report a murder.”
It felt like hours, yet took less than ten minutes for sheriff’s deputies to arrive, accompanied by an ambulance. The piercing screams in my head had quieted to a low whine, but the virtual backpack of encyclopedias still clung to my shoulders.
The deputies had announced the murder before the emergency medical personnel had appeared with the gurney carrying Fiona’s body under a thick white sheet. Shock had filled the store, thick enough to break with a jackhammer.
Jo had declared the book signing over. She was slowly recovering from her initial devastation. The glass of water one of her staff had pressed into her hand was helping. She’d flipped the Open sign in the front door to Closed, but the deputies had directed everyone on the
