Page 47 of Dead Pretty

It was almost like he’d already known it happened.

I take the young girl’s library card from her and begin checking out the stack of books she brought to the desk.

Some good books in here, I muse as I scan the label on each one, creating a new pile of books to go.

I’m working on the checkout desk.

I don’t usually work here. I prefer not to. Facing people isn’t my thing. But we’re a staff member short today.

Mike didn’t show up for work, which isn’t like him. Well, that’s what our manager, Margaret, told me.

She said she called him, and he didn’t answer. She seems concerned. He’s probably just sick, and that’s why he isn’t answering.

I told her not to worry.

Mike’s worked here longer than me. He’s quiet, like me. Keeps to himself.

Honestly, I don’t know him that well.

I hardly know anyone in this town.

Except for Jack.

Jack, who has been on my mind since yesterday.

Well, mainly, his reaction has been bothering me—or lack of a reaction to a woman being murdered in the building next to ours.

But I guess not everyone reacts the same, and it’s not like he knew the woman. Also, Jack must have seen a lot of death, being in the military.

That has to be it. There’s no way he already knew because he wouldn’t have asked me what was happening if he did.

And if he did know, then it would have been because he …

Nope. Not Jack.

I’m not that unlucky.

Right?

I place the last book on the pile. “All done,” I tell her.

The girl picks up the books and puts them in the canvas bag she’s carrying. “Thanks.” She gives me a smile.

I smile back. “Have a good day,” I tell her.

Look at me, being all pleasant.

Not that I would ever be an asshole to a kid.

I’m a lot of things, but I would never upset a child. Even I have my limits to my bitchiness.

Folding my arms on the counter, I rest against it, looking around the quiet place. People reading. Students working. Some on laptops, tapping away.

But no Jack.

I didn’t see him again after our run-in yesterday. Part of me had thought he might come to see me. Okay, I’d hoped he would come see me. But he didn’t.

Ugh. Why does everything in my brain automatically take me to Jack?