“Ah.” Ziya pointed to a “50% Off All Books” sign that was taped to the end of one shelf, underneath another sign promoting the bookshop’s printing services. “That makes more sense.”
Amie looked around for Madeline. She knew the woman was blond, but couldn’t quite remember her face. She hoped she’d recognize her on sight, but wasn’t having any luck so far.
Her luck took a turn for the worse as they bushwhacked their way to the back of the store. A small spread of cheese and crackers had been set up on the counter next to a large bouquet of lilies by the register. A framed photo of Savannah was half-obscured by a near-empty pitcher of what appeared to be iced tea. A familiar figure was standing alone by the refreshments, building a sandwich with a slice of cheddar and two crackers.
“Ugh,” Amie said, nudging Ziya. “My landlord is here.”
“Gorgeous Benny?” Ziya asked eagerly, looking around.
“Don’t call him that. What’s he doing here?”
Ziya winced. “You’re gonna be really bad at this mystery-solving thing, aren’t you?”
“Why?”
“Well,” Ziya explained, “this is Savannah’s memorial. Savannah lived in your building. Benny is your landlord. Which would make him Savannah’s landlord. It’s elementary, Amie.”
“I knowthat,” Amie grumbled. “I’m just surprised to see him show up to something. Took him six weeks to come fix my radiator.” She tugged on Ziya’s arm, pulling her down an aisle of books. “I can’t do awkward small talk with him right now.”
They weaved around several more people who seemed far more interested in the discounted books than memorializing Savannah.
“Oh, there’s Raina,” Amie said as she and Ziya stopped by the nonfiction section. She nodded at the young woman standing at the end of the aisle, talking to someone she couldn’t see. “She’s the manager.”
“Mm, big suspect, then,” Ziya commented.
Amie frowned. “Why?”
“Based on the stories I’ve heard and my few interactions with her, Savannah was a nightmare to be around.” She lowered her voice. “I think anyone who regularly spent time with her has a strong motive for murder.”
“Hm.” Amie wasn’t sure she agreed. They likely needed to come up with a stronger motive than “spent too much time around Savannah.”
A customer carrying a teetering stack of books was taking his balancing act to the other end of their aisle. Ziya stepped in closer to Amie, who flattened her back against the shelf behind her.
“You don’t like my theory?” Ziya asked, keeping her voice low as she used one hand to brace herself against the books. Her hair tickled Amie’s ear as she inclined her head to be heard over the hubbub of the store.
“I didn’t say that.” Amie clenched her hands into fists to keep them from going to Ziya’s hips and pulling her closer. Her eyes were under strict orders to stay on Ziya’s eyes and not drift any lower. “It’s a good theory.”
Her breathing grew shallow as her ex-girlfriend leaned in more. Their noses just barely brushed before Ziya pushed off the shelf, stepping away.
“It needs more proof to back it up,” she declared. “Let’s go get it.”
“Mhm” was the best Amie could manage in response.
As they continued down the aisle toward Raina, Amie was finally able to see who the woman was talking to. The face she’d been unable to conjure was now crystal clear and in Technicolor: the owner of Eons Café.
“That’s Madeline, right?” Ziya asked, noticing the woman as well. “Two birds with one stone. Let’s eavesdrop.”
Retracing their steps, they circled back around and hurried down the next aisle. Amie and Ziya stopped by a shelf of thick fantasy books, right around the corner from the two other women.
“You should ask him,” came Raina’s voice from the other side of the shelves. “I know it’s soon, but I think he’d appreciate getting it off his plate.”
“I do need to talk to him eventually,” Madeline replied. “I just don’t know if now is—oh, here he comes.”
There was a pause as they waited for the subject of their conversation to join them. Then, a strained, baritone voice quietly demanded, “What are you doing here?”
Ziya snuck a peek through the shelf, with Amie following her lead. Andrew Harlow, Savannah’s husband, was staring at the caféowner. He had white hair, bright blue eyes, and a pale complexion that was steadily turning red from the barely contained rage that simmered beneath his weathered features.
“Andrew,” Madeline said, sounding confused. “I’m so sorry for—”
