[Observer,Information,Schism,Organization,Solved]
Amy and Chet had left the crime scene spotless, so it was my turn to get to work after they left. Lachlan was killed in the mystery section. Was he in that section for research on his book? He did leave a dangling plot, which I’d asked him about and he claimed he’d done it to build suspense. Was that true or was he stuck with where to go with the mystery plot. I don’t have any access to crime scene photos showing me the exact position of and location of the body. But, I can tell exactly where the largest holes in my inventory are located so I know where the most blood was splattered. I snapped some photos, for reference both to add to my Obsidian white board or as it is popularly known as Canvas.
I swallowed hard when I imagined where exactly he was struck and how he’d fallen. How much easier it must be if you worked for the police. You had the photos of the victim and the scene. The gore was removed from your brain and displayed in black and white on a cork / white board. Plus you weren’t acquainted with the victim. You could just refer to him, to think of him as the victim. You don’t have to think of him as a real person, they are just a piece of the mystery puzzle you have to solve. One of the pawns, on the board. The killer is the king or the queen, unless they did it together.
But a pawn can put a king in checkmate, thereby winning the game. So Lachlan, was being slain in the mystery section a move by you pointing a finger at your killer or were you traversing mysteries merely your fastest option to get back to your room?
But we had been having a conversation behind the counter, so his fastest way to the room would have just been going straight up the stairs behind the counter. So he’d walked out into the bookshelves for a reason. Which makes me think that he’d been in the mystery section, with a purpose in mind. There were fifty paperback mysteries destroyed by Amy as part of the sanitation of the scene. Of those fifty, only thirty one titles were unique.
I scanned down the note to see if any titles stood out to me. But my bookseller superpower was gone. The few books I’d read on the destroyed books list didn’t stand out in any way. My brain injury had rendered the book blurbs fuzzy. Well if I had the books in inventory, I could easily reread the blurbs as I stocked the shelves. The ones I didn’t have in stock, I could read the blurb as I ordered the replacement from the publishers.
I went into the stock and gathered the titles that I had in stock and brought them and some extra copies to fill the empty spaces. It took a lot longer to stock as I read each blurb. None of the books I stocked had blurbs that mentioned Toronto, Korea Town, Troy, Russell Sage, Reddit, and or random sex scenes. I knew surprisingly little about the young man that had lived in my home for over a month and that was my fault.
The store was meant to be a perk of the writers collective. I was using it as a revenue stream to keep the collective afloat. The publishing world and the book market had changed dramatically in the nearly fifty year history of the collective. It’s quite possible that the socialist model that the collective ran under just couldn’t survive within the cutthroat capitalism of the twenty twenties. When CEOs received trillion dollar salaries and workers were being replaced by large language models, no matter how erratically they did the jobs of those they replaced.
No matter how hard I’d worked in the store, or how long we were open, we were losing the battle. So for now I’ll do what I can and that is filling in the mystery section. It’s especially important today as I plan to open by three, so the Mystery Bookclub can meet as planned. That is if anyone isn’t too frightened to shop in a store where a murder has occurred. I started ripping the whole mystery section apart, it’ll be easier to get the books in alphabetical order if they are all off of the shelves.
It wasn’t until I got to the top shelf of the first bookcase containing Mysteries A-D sorted by author that I found it. It was behind a stack of mysteries on this side and romances on the bookcase in the fourth aisle from the door. I didn’t know what it was. It was the size of my hand and suede leather, hand tooled and embossed with a Map of Middle Earth, it was a beautiful and faithful rendition of Tolkien's own hand drawn map. When I turned it over to see the map continued on the other side. I saw the leather strap with a snap, this was an axe or hatchet sheath.
We had Stumpies forestry students from Paul Smith’s college come in every so often, but not terribly frequently as it’s a good thirty minute drive and the used bookstore in Saranac is closer to the school and cheaper. That’s when it dawned on me. Anais had seen the body, and had told me ‘it looked like his skull was bashed in.’ What if I was holding the sheath to the murder weapon. Stars, I was framing myself for this murder.
I took pictures of both sides of the sheath then put it right back where I’d found it. I called Eve.
“Don’t do anything, I'll be there in ten minutes. Don’t touch anything else, do not move any books, if you have books in the aisle leave them. Just get out of that aisle completely.”
“Yes, I already did, I assumed that you might tell me that. Should I call the police?”
“Not yet.”
An anxious ten minutes later Eve breezed through the front door. Once she had some photos of the aisle, she had me call the police. I took more photos of the aisle myself, after the call and before Jones arrived with a few deputies. Eve had reminded me how I was to reply to any questions asked. She also instructed me to wait behind the counter. She would wait on the customer side, so she was in my line of sight.
The questioning followed the same procedure. Jones asked and I looked at Eve and answered as succinctly as possible.
“How did you come to find the item?”
“I was restocking.”
“Was the scene cleaned by a permitted crime scene cleaner?”
“Yes”
“Who?”
I handed him Chet’s card.
“They didn’t find the item?”
“No”
“Don’t you find that odd?”
I looked at Eve, she gave the barest of nods.
“No”
“You don’t find it odd that paid professionals missed a piece of evidence at the crime scene, only to be found less than an hour later by a suspect in the case.”
This one Eve answered.
“Detective, if you have questions about how crime scenes are cleaned, please direct your questions to them. But I may also point out that while the crime scene cleaners who were here for a few hours did not find the evidence, neither did your own forensic team who’d had more than thirty six hours to process this crime scene. Please refer to the detailed photos your team no doubt took. What my client found odd, was that a beautiful hand made sheath had been lost in her store, yet no one has come asking if it was found. We make no claim that this is related to the crime. However due to the nature of the item, and the location it was found in she felt it her duty to report it which she did. Do you have any further questions as to how she came to be restocking the shelves or are we done here?”
“Did you place that item there yourself Ms. Eriksson.”
I was used to Eve’s tactics by now so I wasn’t surprised with how long it took her to nod that it was okay to answer the question.
“No.”
He grunted, spun on his heel and walked out the front door. I thanked Eve for coming. Then I went back to the mystery aisle to finish stocking the shelves before opening the store. The neatly stacked piles of books looked like they had been kicked over purposely a few more of the new paperback ruined as they had been walked on either purposely or just because they were in the way, I’ll never know. I placed them in the bargain bin, and finished stocking the shelves just at three pm. I walked over to the door, unlocked and turned the closed sign to open.
If people had seen the police here again as three cars had arrived to retrieve the sheath. I might not have any customers at all. But instead of no customers, we had a steady stream. Not everyone bought something but by the time the Mystery Bookclub had taken their seats in the reading nook they had more than double the usual number of club attendees. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was more appalled than surprised. While I was happy to see a filled to overflowing bookclub meeting here in the store, it also shocked me that people would come just to see a crime scene up close.
Maybe if it had been fantasy or science fiction book club night, maybe their numbers wouldn’t have swelled like the mystery readers did. Sometimes in mysteries the first murder occurs on the first page of the story. Thankfully this wasn’t a mystery so statistically we wouldn’t have another murder here in town for another twenty eight years.
There wasn’t anywhere for me to sit in the reading nook so I took to tidying the shelves of the aisles abutting the reading nook. I didn’t really expect to pick up any clues on the Lachlan case, I did enjoy listening to what people thought about this week's book and Crocodile on the Sandbank by Elizabeth Peters was a favorite historical mystery I'd enjoyed reading in the past. When I suddenly realized when thinking about the book I clearly remember the main characters Amelia and Emerson, I couldn’t recall Amanda’s traveling companion’s name or her love interest, and while I recall the fake ‘supernatural mummy’ I couldn’t recall who the villains were or how they were caught.
So to avoid spoilers I was going to go back and order the books that had been ruined that needed replacing. I’d also read the blurbs to see if anything toward the case stood out. Nothing did, but I put this list into my room, in case my memory went fuzzy for any items on the list or any of the blurbs. It’s possible that after we learn more that these books will help make sense of the whole thing. It’s also possible that Lachlan was just walking through this section when the killer attacked him.
It was past closing time, Anais had already arrived, ready to see what we might learn in the pub. So I went to tell the club that it was time to close for the evening. I’m not sure if they ever got around to discussing the book chosen for the week which is a real shame. Because I’d loved it, and made a mental note to reread it right after I finished Lord of the Rings.
Just when I was about to tell them all to leave an idea occurred to me which I decided to implement immediately.
“Thank you all for coming, before we leave tonight, I’d like us all to take just a second to have a moment of silence for Lachlan. Afterwards I’d love to talk to any of you that had met Lachlan out and about in town. I’ll be writing to Lachlan’s parents about ways that he’d touched all of our lives. So if you met him in a bar or out hiking, please let me know before you leave. I’m sure his parents would appreciate hearing about any details of his life, in his final weeks of life before he was taken from us.”
We took a moment to think about the young man who was taken too soon. Then everyone started out, no one spoke to me. But I did see one young woman, who appeared to be hanging back, maybe she wanted to talk in privacy. I hoped so anyway. But she kept on moving and was almost out the door. I had to say something.
“I’m Laura by the way, I don’t think I’ve seen you at the bookclub before, did you enjoy it?”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Yes, very much.”
“Did you know Lachlan?”
“I met him once out hiking McKenzie Mountain.”
“Would you care to share anything? I'm sure his parents would appreciate anything they could hear about him.”
“I’m not sure they’d want to hear this, but I’ll tell you and let you decide whether to tell his parents about this or not. I was out hiking about two three weeks ago with two of my girlfriends and he hiked up McKenzie Mountain. Only to find Lachlan, sitting cross legged naked, hands covering himself on the summit. He claimed to have been meditating. But there were two pairs of hiking boots and a Lake Placid volunteer firefighter shirt, tossed in the dirt. So my friends and I figured we had interrupted something between him and a firefighter. So instead of staying for the view, we turned around and laughed our way off the mountain. Like I said I’m not sure if that is the kind of story his family will want to hear about.”
“No, that's wonderful. I’ll go to the fire department, maybe they will have more to tell. At the very least, his family will be comforted to learn that someone here cared about him.”
“Right, I never thought about it that way. That’s a really nice way to put it.”
“Thanks again for sharing and come again."
“I will bye.”
She walked out the door, the last of the customers. I turned the open sign to closed and out of the corner of my eye I noticed movement in the same spot that I’d thought I had seen a person watching the store. This time I was sure I had seen a person, dressed in dark clothing. It was too far and too dark to see if it was a man or woman. But I was sure this time. I guess murder and the threat of prison sharpen the senses.
“Anais, I just saw someone watching the store from the same place as I guess I definitely saw someone after the Fantasy Bookclub meeting.”
“Really,” she said and hurried to my side while peering out.
Then we left the store, I locked up and we walked to the Brew House. Along the way I filled her in on the information the girl had provided about the possible liaison between Lochlan and a firefighter.
“Excellent, so no matter what we learn tonight at the pub, we’ll still have a clue to follow up on tomorrow.”
We arrived and I had Anais grab a table while I loaded up a drink card with cash. This was a self serve pub, but table service for food. It saved the owner from paying for a bartender but was also fun for the guests. Pouring their own glasses of beer from the thirty three varieties that they had on tap. I wondered if the poor waitress had to change the kegs while she also waited on every person in the pub that wanted food.
It was an astonishingly nice young lady named Hazel, who waited on us. Anais and I both ordered sandwiches and an order of nachos to share. I hoped she didn’t also have to cook in addition to helping out first time customers navigate how the pouring system actually worked, while waiting tables.
After eating and while Hazel cleared the table I got us another round of beers. Our plan was to wait for a lull, then speak to Hazel. When she wasn’t serving food, or bussing tables she stood by the beer wall as the called line of taps against the far wall. To help anyone who needed it. It was almost half an hour after we had finished, that Hazel resumed her position by the wall. I hopped up and walked over to talk to her.
“Hi, Hazel, I heard a friend of mine used to visit her quite a lot. I’m wondering if you ever saw him.” I showed her a picture on my phone of the writers collective having the welcoming dinner for Lachlan. I zoomed into Lachlan and handed her the phone.
“Yes, he hasn’t been in for a few days, but he does come in a lot. He never eats, just buys one beer, then sits at one of the high top tables and types away until a girl gets curious about what he’s typing. Then he usually buys her a beer and then when they finish their beers they leave together. That boy has game, what is he always typing anyway do you know?”
“He was writing a novel, he lived down at the writers collective.”
“Oh, no he’s not the person who was killed is he?”
“Yes, I’m afraid he was. I’m trying to write up a little something for his parents. Just so they can see that he had friends and was enjoying his time writing. Are any of the girls you’ve seen him with here tonight? I’d love to hear anything I could to include in the letter to them. Most of the other writers are older so he spent most of his free time away from us old farts.”
“No, I’m sorry I don’t see any.”
“You don’t happen to remember seeing him with a fireperson do you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, there was a blonde in her with a few pals from the fire department, a week or two back.”
“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, I’ll try and come back tomorrow, to see if anyone else knows him. I can’t imagine losing a child so I just want his parents to get as much info as I can gather for them. He’s from the Toronto area so it’s unlikely they can get here themselves.”
“Are you one of the writers from the collective?”
“No, I’m kind of the den mother, and I also run the bookstore. My name’s Laura.”
“Laura, if I see any of those girls, I’ll tell them what you are doing and ask them to stop at the store to talk to you.”
“Thanks Hazel.”
I went back over to our table and sat back down.
“Aparently Lachlan, used to come here quite a lot. Hazel said he’d lure the girls in with his typing, they have a beer together and then leave together. Quite pretty girls according to Hazel and one of them was a fireperson.”
“Tomorrow, in the morning before the store opens, do you want to go to the firestation, Laura?”
“Yes, I hate getting up, but this is important.”
“Yes, staying out of prison is important and I hear they get you up at six am in prison. But it’s alright, it’s nine pm lights out so you get plenty of sleep.”
“I haven’t gotten nine hours of sleep since I was a teenager. I’m lucky if I get six or seven a night now and that’s on a good mattress, I would be lucky if I could sleep at all in prison. So I’ll go to the fire department around eight. You don’t have to go, I’ll be completely safe at the fire department.”
“You are going to meet a suspect, you always bring a partner to meet a suspect. A young firewoman will be fit, and could probably choke you out if she wanted to. So I’ll be at the store at eight.”
“Eight thirty.”
“Eight, remember prison six am.”
“Fine.”
We walked back to the store, I looked at the spot where I’d seen the person watching the store. But it looked empty. I thanked Anais for coming with me and for paying for dinner. Just before I closed and locked the door, Anais reminded me.
“See you at eight.”
I wanted to talk to Monique about Lachlan being in her room but there was no light coming from under her door so she was either out or already in bed. So I picked the next thing on my todo list. Which was to drag out all of our financial information. Which was way too much for my desk so I carried all the paperwork downstairs in a file box, along with my laptop.
There I began sorting, and piling. I was never very good with finance. Back when editing was a decent paying job and I made more than I spent. I hired a financial planner, he also did my taxes, and paid my bills. My aunt was all for education except for economics. She considered doing anything for money unless you were in dire need, to be beneath people. If you made enough to be comfortable, why try to make more. Anything more than an emergency fund would be donated to whatever charity needed it the most at that time.
So when I didn’t have any money, I didn’t know how to handle the little I had. When I did have some money, I hired someone to handle it for me. So I never learned how to take care of it. Now that I’m back to not having any money. I still haven’t learned how to handle it. So I just try and pay every bill that comes in, as they come in. But we don’t have enough money to do that anymore. Now when I could really use a money manager, I can’t afford one. Money the catch twenty two of life.
The one thing I did know was that the government can take your property so if you can only pay one bill, that’s the one you pay. You can live without lights, but you’ll be homeless or unhoused if you don’t pay the government. I don’t want to be unhoused, I also don’t want to sell my aunt's legacy.
“What are you doing, Laura. Because it kind of looks like you are torturing yourself, from where I’m standing.”
I’ve been trying the dire straits of our finances from the writers but I think they’ll notice if the power gets shut off.
“Ah, Bianca, our finances are in a mess and I don’t know how to fix them. I’m thinking I’ll have to go back to editing either part or possibly fulltime.”
“You’re thinking of selling the mansion?”
“Only if I can’t earn enough to keep it going.”
“I thought the writers paid to keep the place going, and I thought the bookstore was your way of making money for retirement, vacations ect. Is that not the case?”
“No, I don’t take a salary in the bookstore, if it earns any money it goes towards bills we owe on. This is probably all my fault, my aunt ran the place for forty five years with no problems but as soon as I took over the finances fell apart. Look, don't tell the other writers yet, until I see if I can get some freelance editing jobs, maybe I can keep the place afloat.”
“Let me have a look at your statements, Laura.”
“I can’t I signed an NDA, not to reveal who our largest royalty check comes from.”
“That’s alright, I can write an NDA, and sign it and have one of the other writers witness it. Then you’ll be covered, if I broke the NDA which I won’t because I love living here.”
“How do you know how to write an NDA, were you a lawyer before becoming an author?”
“No worse, much much worse. I was a stockbroker.”
