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Christina tried the door handle and it twisted. “She’s still here.”
She shoved the door open, and the bells announced their arrival to the dark shop.
“Libby?” she called out, and the books and shadowy objects seemed to swallow up her voice.
Eric nudged her inside and closed the door behind them, setting off the bells again into a merry song at odds with the stillness of the store and the looming shelves that seemed to threaten any intruders into their domain.
Eric called out. “Libby?”
“Maybe she’s in her apartment in the back.”
Christina dove into her purse for her little flashlight and flicked it on. She aimed it in front of her and crept toward the counter.
“Careful. Don’t trip.” Eric put his hand on her hip.
She lifted the barrier that extended from the counter to the wall. “Her place is behind the counter. Libby? We’re here.”
Eric stumbled against her. “Where are the damned lights?”
“I have no idea. Maybe they’re in the back.” She reached out and swept aside the beaded curtain that separated the store from the back area. The beads clacked and swayed.
Christina swept the mini flashlight across the cluttered room, its tiny beam picking out boxes of books and overstuffed chairs with items stacked on top of them.
Eric whistled. “I hope she doesn’t live in this room.”
The beam of the flashlight wavered at an oblong opening across the room. “Looks like there’s another area back there.”
“Maybe she went to bed, Christina. You responded too late and she didn’t think we were coming.”
“Oh, no. She sounded way too agitated to call it a night before she told us what was on her mind. Besides, she wouldn’t have left her shop unlocked.”
“I just hope she doesn’t have a gun she’s going to turn on us when we crash into her bedroom.”
“You can stay here if you’re scared.” Christina picked her way across the room, the flashlight leading the way. She reached the opening into the other room and tripped.
She flung out one hand to grab the doorjamb and dropped her flashlight. “Shoot.”
“Are you okay?”
“I tripped over something and dropped the flashlight.” She crouched down and splayed her fingers in front of her to feel for the penlight, since its light had gone out.
Instead her fingers got tangled in hair—sticky, wet hair.
Christina’s throat tightened and her scream ended in a choked gasp.
Eric’s voice boomed behind her. “Found the light switch. Now I just hope Libby doesn’t kill us for disturbing her sleep.”
Soft light flooded the room and Christina blinked. Then she looked down into Libby’s lifeless eyes.
This time she managed the scream.
Chapter Fifteen
Eric almost fell on top of her, his knees knocking into the back of her head. “Christ, the blood.”
Christina held her hand, smudged with blood, to her face and glanced down at the slash across Libby’s throat.
Eric had drawn his weapon, and the click of the safety resounded in the small room. He stepped over the body, avoiding the spreading pool of blood, and searched the rest of the room and disappeared in the back.
Christina remained stationary next to the body, her knees locked, her eyes dry.
Eric strode back into the room. “Are you okay? Nothing back there but Libby’s living quarters and no sign of a break-in.”
“I-I’m...” She closed her lips against the sob welling in her throat.
Eric took a giant step back over the body and hovered over Christina. “Someone slashed her throat. There’s so much more blood this time, more of what you’d expect unlike the other crime scenes.”
She skimmed her nails across the wood floor. “Nothing to soak it up like at the other crime scenes, or maybe he was more careful this time not to get any on himself.”
“Did you touch anything?”
“Just, just her hair. I must’ve tripped over her shoe or something. When I reached out for my flashlight, I felt her hair instead.”
“I’ll call the cops. Can you get up? Feeling any shock?”
At the mention of shock, Christina’s teeth chattered but she clenched her jaw. They continued to chatter anyway.
She braced her hand—the unbloodied one—against the doorjamb and started to straighten up. She stopped.
One of Libby’s hands was extended from her body, blood smudged the tips of her fingers and the wood floor, not a pool here but a pattern. Christina leaned in closer.
Letters.
“Eric!”
He finished his call to 911 and stepped behind her. “What’s wrong? Can’t stand up?”
