Page 10 of Killer on the First Page
And so it was that Edgar handed the manuscript to Miranda, and so it was that she placed it inside the reading room cabinet next to the strange book with the mauve cover, and so it was that she once again turned the key on the cabinet, locking them behind the etched glass. And so it was that the most inexplicable crime scene Miranda Abbott would ever encounter, a crime worthy of Lachlan Todd himself, had been laid out before her without her realizing it.
She was about to pocket the little key when Edgar sighed and said, “This isn’t LA, Miranda. This is Happy Rock. Just leave the cabinet key in the lock. We don’t have any duplicates, and if you take the key with you, it might get lost.”
“Then what is the point of locking the cabinet in the first place?”
It was a perfectly reasonable question, but Edgar ignored her. He headed back to the main room instead to deal with the paperbacks that Helen had sent.
With a huff Miranda followed, leaving Andrew to close the door to the reading room behind them.
“Shouldn’t you at least lock the door to the reading room?” she called out as she came into the main room.
Edgar was standing, fists on hips like a general surveying the terrain, frowning. “We’ll have to move books around to make space.”
Running a bookstore was an ongoing game of Tetris. One was constantly rearranging, re-sorting, shifting things about.
“We can move some of the Ian Rankins aside,” Edgar said. “I mean, how many times can Detective Rebus be disillusioned?”
He took a box of the paperbacks to the R section of the main shelves in order to fit them in alongside the other John D. Ross novels—and stopped. He stepped back. What the hell...?
“Our John D. Ross paperbacks,” he said. “They’re gone.”
* * *
NOT GONE, ASit turned out. Only hiding. Hiding amid the labyrinthine logic of Miranda Abbott’s mind.
“Oh, those?” she said with a sunbeam smile. “I reshelved them last night before I closed up. They were in the wrong place. I did it alphabetically! Under D, of course. It’s all about managing the details. What is it I say about details, Andrew?”
“Um, I don’t... I don’t remember.”
“Precisely!” She pivoted back to Edgar. “This is the part where you thank me for fixing your... well, I won’t say ‘slipshod’ methods, but they are shod and they do slip.”
Edgar followed the shelves backwards to... John D. Ross, whose books were indeed now shelved under D. As he looked about at the other names on the shelves, his face clenched.
“Oh my, that’s quite the facial twitch you’re developing,” said Miranda. “You should have Doc Meadows take a look at that.”
Trying to remain calm, Edgar began running his finger along the spines. “Miranda, why is Sherlock Holmes now located next to Miss Marple?”
“Alphabetical, my dear Watson! AgathaChristieand ArthurConanDoyle. Both are C’s.”
“I see. So that’s why Mary Higgins Clark’s novels are no longer in close proximity to John Dickson Carr’s. Or why Dorothy Salisbury Davis is no longer next to Carol Anne Davis, despite them bothhaving, oh, I don’t know—the same last name!”That last bit came out louder than he’d intended.
“Well, Salisbury is S and Anne is A, so no, not together.”
“Which would also explain why James Lee Burke and Elmore Leonard are suddenly cuddled up next to each other—under L for Lee and Leonard—and, and, and...” He was starting to sputter. “... why P.D.Jamesand J.A.Janceare not next to each other—with neither of them listed under J.”
“Exactly! P.D. James and J.A. Jance. Why on earth would their books be next to each other? Do you think Catherine Zeta-Jones is listed under J in the movie guides? Of course not! You will find her where she belongs, under Z.”
Edgar took another long, steadying breath. “I know what I will do. I will track down the clerk at the bank who forgot to carry the two, thereby granting you a controlling interest in this bookstore—mybookstore—and I shall beat him to death with his abacus.”
Miranda was spared further murderous scenarios, as imagined by Edgar, when the bell above the front door jingled. She turned to see a reedy man with an eager smile enter the store.
“Hullo?” he hazarded.
“Yes!” she said, arms wide, answering a question he hadn’t yet asked. “It is I!”
“It is! Pastor Fran. I mean,Miranda Abbott. Sorry, it’s just, I’m a bit tongue-tied. I heard you worked here, but I couldn’t believe it was true! Miranda Abbott, Hollywood superstar,*right here in Happy Rock, workin’ at a bookstore, no less. Who’d have thought!”
Her smile became strained. “Not working.Owning.” And before Edgar could say anything, “Welcome!”
