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“Go lift weights or run or whatever it is that you do to look like you look,” I said. “Better yet, ask a boy out or something.”

“Clare,” Jimmy said with a sigh.

“Sorry, but you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Marion said. “I don't like it, but call me when I can come back.”

“Of course,” I said, the image of the dusty banister coming to my mind, but only briefly. Jimmy was right: Marion should take a few days off. The dust would still be there.

Trying to keep a balance between teenage dejection and grown-up acceptance, Marion marched out the front door, following the same path that Creighton had taken, however, she and Jodie had a quick friendly word before she left.

“The police want to talk to you?” Jimmy said again.

“It looks that way.”

“Do you know something that will help them solve the murder?”

“I don't think so, but I'll find out when they ask me the questions.”

“Fair enough. I know Chester is probably getting you an attorney right this second, but I can help find one if you need me to.”

“I'll let you know. Thanks, Jimmy”

“And thanks about Marion. I know you think I'm out of control, but I really appreciate your support on that one,” Jimmy said.

Though he was older and his forehead permanently creased, his baby face made him look younger than me. Even in my late-teen years I'd often been mistaken for the older sibling, but the mistake had never bothered me. Before he'd become a dad, he'd been a great brother—caring, kind, and only a little overprotective of his baby sister. He was still a great big brother, but all his energy was geared toward his dad role, which was the way it was supposed to work.

“My pleasure, and though your reactions are typically over the top, I'm with you on this one. I have no idea what might happen next around here.”

Jimmy hugged me tightly. He smelled like a floral-
scented body wash. Marion must have done the shopping recently. After the hug, he filed out of the store too. He and Jodie smiled at each other but they didn't chat.

“Hi,” Seth said as I stepped toward him. He'd been holding some No. 2 pencils and rearranging them in the cup. He put them on the shelf against the wall, in a square space above one of the carved doors. “I'm sorry about contributing to the crowd this morning, but I thought it would be rude if I left. Or you might think I'd let a silly police officer or two scare me away.” He scratched the side of his head and looked at me with amused eyes. His hair was brushed but still messy. He didn't have his glasses on, but his T-shirt and jeans were both clean, wrinkle-free, and void of any clever slogans or declarations.

“Actually, if everyone hadn't been here with their own agenda, it would have been a good time to introduce you to some of them. Maybe next time,” I said.

“Sounds good. In fact, I'm so certain that you will be set free after your time with the police that I was wondering if I could get your number since I failed to ask for it last night. And when I have your number, I'm going to call you and see if you want to go out to dinner again sometime soon.”

I laughed. “I'd be happy to give you my number.”

“That's good news.” Seth looked back at Jodie, who smiled and waved at him. “I have a confession.”

“Uh-oh. Okay.”

“I'm staying in an apartment just across from your place. For some reason I thought it might be weird to tell you that last night, but now it feels weird that I didn't.”

I remembered his perplexed smile when I told him where I lived. It made more sense now. “Oh. Well, as confessions go, that one's not bad.”

“There's more. I spied on you and saw the bartender stop by your house.”

“That's a little weirder, but not bad.”

“I wonder about your relationship with him, but it's none of my business. Should I just step back? He could probably beat me up with one hand tied behind his back.”

I laughed again, and it felt good to release a little nervousness. “No, he's a family friend, I suppose, but he probably wants me to have his grandchildren, a task I won't be taking on. Yeah, he wondered who you were and why I had so many questions about his family, and ultimately why I didn't just go up and talk to him in person. Actually, I wonder the same thing too. I made a big deal about nothing.”

“I see. Well, I'd love to have the answers to all those questions myself, but I feel like it's too soon to be that nosey. Anyway, I have a cool thing at my place I'd like to show you.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yeah, it's a geode. It's very pretty.”

I was surprised by how I was suddenly very interested in seeing Seth's geode.

“How about I call you later?” I said.

We exchanged numbers, and Seth was the next one to leave the store, he and Jodie sharing wary smiles. They'd probably like each other when they got to know each other, but I couldn't be sure.

Once he was gone, Jodie sauntered toward me. Her steps were unusually light, which was how I knew she was nervous too and not pleased about what was about to happen.

“What the hell is going on, Jodie?” I said.

“Clare, you were here all night when that man was killed.”

“So?”

“We have to ask you some questions, and it should be done in a police setting. I'm sorry. You have to know how sorry I am.”

I kept the look on my face as disagreeable as possible. She somehow took that as an agreement.

“Good,” she said. “Come on and let's just get it over with.”

I walked to the back and told Chester and Mirabelle I was leaving. Chester was on the phone, the landline attached to the wall with the stretched and kinked cord now dirty from spending its life in the same space as so much ink. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and told me that his attorney would meet me at the station. He also told me I shouldn't say one word until the attorney arrived. He offered to come with me, but I told him to stay at the store. He wouldn't rant and rave like he probably wanted to with Mirabelle sitting in a chair with her cup of coffee, which was good for everyone. Mirabelle told me again that I would be fine. I hoped so.

As I turned to leave the workshop, something started to claw its way up from my subconscious. There was something about Mirabelle . . . I turned around again and saw her sitting with her legs crossed, her coffee mug perched on her knee. She wasn't looking my direction now, her gaze focused on the steaming cup.

What was it, what did my subconscious want me to pay attention to? It was something to do with Mirabelle, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly what. It wouldn't come clear. I stood still and looked at her for so long that Jodie finally said something.

“You coming, Clare?”

“Yeah,” I said absently. “Yeah.”

As much as I didn't want to, I went with her.

T
he Star City police station broke tradition with the town's older architecture. The station, located at the bottom of the long Main Street hill and then over two curvy streets, wasn't far, because nothing was far in Star City, but walking back up the hill when I was done would be more a hike than a leisurely stroll back to work. I hoped Jodie would give me a ride. The station had been built in the early '90s, its angular, sloping but not peaked roof topped with dark green tiles. The rest of the small structure was also angular and had been a source of contention when it was built. People had thought it was too modern. Now it was just too '90s.

Jodie wouldn't say more except that neither she nor Creighton would be questioning me because we were all
friends, or at least had once been. We just knew one another too well. I didn't listen closely to her official explanation.

“Will I be put under arrest?” I asked as she pulled into the long but skinny parking lot.

“No,” she said. I wished I'd heard a little more confidence in her voice.

“I probably will be advised by my attorney not to answer anything, don't you think?”

“Possibly.”

When she parked in her self-awarded space by the front door, we got out of the Bronco. Jodie pulled open the station door and let me go in first, but once inside she walked past me, her heavy footsteps having returned as we made our way down the hallway.

“In here,” she said as she pulled open another door.

The light was bright and the walls were a drab gray, making the room immediately unpleasant. However, I'd been in it a time or two when I wasn't under suspicion of murder and I'd stopped by to pick up Jodie on our way to lunch or dinner or something else more fun than police business, and it hadn't been so bad then.

It wasn't a big room, but it was one of the bigger ones in the building and the spot where six cops, Jodie, Creighton, their partners, and two other officers had their desks.

Creighton stood up from his chair and met us halfway across the room. “You won't be questioned by one of us,” he said.

“I know. Jodie told me.”

“You don't need to worry about this,” Creighton said, his tone friendlier than it had been in some time.

“Got it,” I said.

Even though Creighton was a lot bigger than Jodie, they had matching angled shoulders. I'd never noticed the genetic trait before, but as I followed them, I saw how their right sides were both slightly lower than their left ones.

“Officer Streed, this is Clare Henry,” Creighton said after he opened a door and signaled me into a smaller room, obviously built to question suspects without distractions that might interrupt the interrogation. It even had the mirrored glass I knew was one-way only.

“Have a seat,” Officer Streed said without standing. He barely looked up from the papers on the table in front of him.

Creighton nodded at me and then closed the door, leaving me to fend for myself. I didn't spot Jodie anywhere behind him.

I sat and remained silent.

Finally, after what seemed like a long, rude passing of time, Officer Streed looked up. He was probably in his forties, with a deeply receding hairline and heavy dark circles under his brown eyes. I couldn't remember ever seeing him anywhere around Star City, and I definitely didn't know him.

He pushed a button on a small digital recorder in between us on the table. “Clare Henry, this is to advise you that this conversation is being recorded.” He stated the date and then jumped into the questions. “Where were you the night of—”

But I cut him off. “I'm waiting for my attorney before I talk to you.”

“Whatever you want to do.” He clicked off the recorder and leaned the chair back a little. “I just have a few quick questions though. You could be out of here in a jiffy.”

“I'll wait.”

The door opened before Officer Streed could fit in more motivational commentary.

“I'm Ms. Henry's attorney,” said the man who came through the doorway.

Both Officer Streed and I were at an immediate loss for words. The man who came through the door wasn't a man exactly. It was probably only last week that he was considered a boy. It looked like everything he wore—his suit, shirt, and tie—was too big for him, as if he'd had to dig though his father's closet for the clothes. His short brown hair had been combed sideways, and it looked like he'd used some gel to keep it in place, but the effect was definitely more like spit from Mom's finger. His pale skin and thin face made him seem even more youthful, if that were possible. I was sure that Officer Streed regretted sharing with me a look of disbelief, but he hid it quickly.

“All righty,” the police officer said before he clicked on the recorder again. “Come on in.”

“I'm Danny, I mean Dan Nelson,” he said as he shoved his briefcase under his left arm and extended his right hand to Officer Streed.

Officer Streed shook, but not without a suspicious squint at Danny, I mean Dan. Dan and I shook too. As we did, he smiled as if to reassure me he could handle this.

“You know my grandfather?” I said as he pulled back
the chair next to me, noisily scraping the feet over the '90s linoleum.

“Well, not really. My father knows your grandfather. I just recently joined my father's firm. Dad's fishing today.”

“Have you been to law school?” I said.

“Of course.” The smiled disappeared as he sat in the chair and scooted it forward.

“Passed the bar?”

“Yes. Just last month.”

“I see,” I said.

Officer Streed had the gall to smile big. I was surprised he didn't lick his lips.

“Excellent,” Officer Streed said. “Let's get started.”

“Uh, no,” Dan said.

“Why not?” Officer Streed asked.

“Because my client isn't under arrest. She doesn't have to answer any of your questions. She can leave if she wants to. Do you want to?”

“Wait. I didn't
have
to come in?” I asked.

“No, you weren't arrested,” Dan said. “Want to leave?”

I did want to leave. I also wanted to have some serious conversations with Jodie and Creighton regarding how I would never trust them again. But I was kind of curious too. What evidence did they have that made them want to question me? How could they possibly have anything?

“What are the questions?” I finally said to Officer Streed, but I turned to Dan then and added, “I'll answer only what I want to answer. You tell me if I should skip something.”

They both nodded, Dan with a scared enthusiasm, and Officer Streed with impatient irritation.

Officer Streed began. “You first saw the murder victim when?”

“The day before he was killed—or is that the day of, if he was killed that night?”

“I understand what you mean,” Officer Streed said. And then he recited the dates attached to the events so they would be recorded. “Please give me the sequence of events as you remember them from that day.”

I saw no problem in relaying the sequence of events, and Dan didn't stop me as I went through them step-by-step. Actually, I tried very hard to give as many details as possible, like the fact that leather man's eyes seemed to be rimmed in red. Officer Streed didn't interrupt and he didn't take notes. He kept his sad-dog eyes on mine. He might not have even blinked.

When I finished, he said, “Before that day in The Rescued Word, you'd never seen the victim before?”

“No, never,” I said.

“Anywhere else?”

“No, nowhere else. Never.”

Officer Streed nodded and opened a file. “I'm going to show you some pictures.” He pulled out a small stack and fanned them in front of me. They were all of Mirabelle, Marion, and me in The Rescued Word.

“I've never seen these pictures before, but I know the people in them,” I said. “These were on the camera? I thought I saw a flash or something.”

“When did you see a flash?” Officer Streed asked.

“When Mirabelle and I were talking to Marion before we went to the back.”

“Why didn't you mention that in the sequence of events?”

I swallowed hard. “I guess I forgot. These were on the camera?”

Officer Streed didn't confirm or deny that these were pictures found on the camera that had fallen out of leather man's grasp or pocket or wherever it had come from as he'd turned to escape from the store.

“How about these? Have you ever seen these pictures?” Officer Streed said as he pulled three more pictures from the folder and turned them over. One picture was me on my front porch, holding a cup of coffee. One was of me leaving Little Blue, stepping off the stairs and onto the sidewalk. I was holding a bag that I sometimes used to carry books back and forth if I didn't want to leave them in the safe. There were just some books I felt shouldn't be left at the shop. Chester understood this and never argued when I told him I was taking a book with me. The last picture Officer Streed turned over was the most bothersome one. It was of me at my kitchen sink. Whoever had taken this picture must have been up on the side of the mountain with a strong telephoto lens.

“This was the same day he came into the store. I had that bag and I know I wore that shirt.” I pointed at the middle picture. Then I pointed at the kitchen picture. “This is from that day too. I don't remember that moment, but it must have been before I went into work. To answer your question though, no, I've never seen these pictures before. They bother me.”

Officer Streed nodded, but now his eyes weren't glued to mine; he was looking down at the pictures.

“Where were you the night the murder occurred?”

I looked at Dan, who clearly wasn't sure whether I should answer or not. I thought he might shrug, but he managed to look completely unsure of himself without needing the shoulder move.

“I was at The Rescued Word all night. I was working on a project, and then I fell asleep at my desk,” I said. Truth was truth, I decided.

“Did you see or hear anything unusual?” Streed said.

“No.”

“Did anyone knock on either the front or the back door?”

“No. Well, not that I heard.”

“What about your grandfather? He lives in the building, right? Was he there?”

“I . . .”

“Hang on, Clare,” Dan said. “Let's let Chester answer that for himself.”

“All right,” Streed said. “When was the last time you saw your grandfather before you spent the night working?”

I looked at Dan, who did shrug this time.

“Earlier that afternoon. He left the store around six o'clock,” I said.

“And then when did you see him next?” Streed said.

“He woke me up the following morning.”

“You were sleeping—where?”

“At the worktable. That's where he woke me up.”

“But you have no knowledge of where he was overnight?”

I thought for a moment. I didn't have to answer. I could lie, but that wasn't a good idea either. Finally, following Dan's earlier lead, I said, “I think you should ask Chester where he was.”

“I will,” Streed said. “I wasn't asking you where he was, though. I was asking you if you saw him.”

“I didn't see him overnight,” I said. “He might have been in his apartment above the store though. He's over twenty-one. I didn't ask him. He doesn't have to check in with me.” This was kind of a lie. We did check in with each other out of common courtesy, but not all the time.

Was that a good or bad answer? It seemed bad, but I didn't want to make it worse by showing uncertainty or concern. I didn't need to push up my glasses, but I did just to give myself a minute to regain my composure.

“And do you have any knowledge at all about what might have happened to the murder victim, the circumstances behind his murder?”

“Not at all.”

“You and your grandfather found the body.”

“Yes.”

“I'd like that sequence of events too.”

I did as he asked, taking him through seeing leather man's shoes on the computer screen and then finding the body outside in the alley.

“Your cameras just go out that night?”

“No, in fact that was the first time they'd been
on
in a
long time. We'd become spooked when the man came in earlier demanding the No. 5. We decided to make sure the cameras and sensors were on and the program was working. We didn't do that very well, unfortunately.”

“Number 5?”

“The typewriter. An Underwood No. 5.”

“I recommend you get your system fixed.”

I nodded, but only a little. I didn't want to agree with Officer Streed on much of anything at the moment.

“Any chance your grandfather turned off the cameras in the middle of the night?”

A thread of panic zipped through me, but again I tried to remain neutral. “No chance at all. My grandfather stays away from all that stuff. He doesn't understand any of it.”

Officer Streed nodded coolly now. “Perhaps you or your grandfather were so scared by the man's intrusion into your store that one of you thought you should take the law into your own hands?”

I knew this was the part where the person being questioned should see that the officer was just trying to shake things up, and the person being questioned should remain obstinately quiet.

However, I pulled in a breath as if to protest.

Fortunately, my attorney was better than his first impression had indicated. He put his hand over one of mine and said, “That is not really a question, Officer Streed, and my client will not be answering it or any more that you might have. We're done here.”

I shut my mouth and let the air travel out through my
nose. Of course, my nose whistled. Everyone in the room acted as if they hadn't heard it.

“All righty, then,” Officer Streed said. “Until next time.”