The bell by the door chimed as a customer entered, and George strolled back to the front counter.
She didn’t know what she was looking for or where she should start. Still, maps always fascinated her. They always made a place look organized. It would be cool to see how Harbor View had changed. How it had grown.
“Maps, it is,” Ocean whispered, scanning the shelves. “Old maps.”
Her eyes landed on a large binder tucked high on the top shelf. She grabbed the step stool and climbed up, stretching toward it.
Thud.
The sound came from behind her, and she froze, one hand still reaching for the binder. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder.
A thick old book now sat on the coffee table.
She hadn’t noticed it there before. No, she was sure it hadn’t been there before.
Frowning, she craned her neck toward the alcove’s entrance.
Nothing. No one.
She could hear George’s voice from the front of the store. He was chatting with a customer, casual and unconcerned.
A prickle ran down her spine.
She shook it off. Old bookstores were creaky. Books shifted. It was nothing.
Turning back to the bookcase, she reached up again.
Thud...Thud…
Ocean nearly fell as she scrambled off the stool. Her heart hammered in her chest as she turned around.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Three books had clearly been dropped on the table. Three leather-bound volumes of different sizes. Dust was still swirling above them. One of the books lay open to an old map. She could see it was Harbor View.
She stared, trying to breathe, staring at the spines of the other two. The History of Harbor View...with Maps. This was impossible. Early Coastal Towns...with Maps.
She edged out of the alcove, peering down the nearest aisles. Nothing. No one. Just George speaking in the distance. Perfectly normal.
Suddenly, the attic flashed back in her mind. The windows popping open on their own. The rush of cold air. The feeling of being watched.
And now this. The books.
Ocean swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled as she snatched them up. Clutching them tightly to her chest, she turned and walked—no, ran—toward the front of the store.
Chapter Nine
Skye
* * *
Arthur’s invitation to have us over for dinner came as a welcome relief. My brain was still spinning from the endless, soul-sucking questions about something as ‘simple’ as funeral arrangements. Who knew it could be so complicated?
My mother wasn’t exactly the ‘thoughts and prayers’ type. I only knew her to go to a handful of services, but I remembered her celebrating the passing of one longtime adversary with surprising enthusiasm. Clare really knew how to hold a grudge, and hypocrisy was not one of her flaws.
A traditional funeral, a memorial, or a celebration of life? I settled on a memorial service.
Amy, the staff member assigned to me, had asked if it should be a private gathering. Or should she put a notice in the local paper?
