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going anywhere,” Preston said.
    Maggie shook her head. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
    She paused, her attention caught by the book lying beside the man. She noticed the cover of the book was well worn with age and use, but the title was printed in large letters and read,
The House of Mirth
. Yeah, not so much.
    She led the way back up the stairs to Claire’s office. She called the sheriff’s office, proud that her fingers only shook a little and her voice only quavered on the word
body
. Whenthe deputy was done taking the information, she hung up, feeling a little sick to her stomach.
    “Miss Claire, are you all right?” Preston asked. He had placed her on the old brown couch that ran the length of her office wall.
    She made a whimpering noise, and he turned a helpless gaze toward Maggie. Preston was a whiz at fixing all things mechanical, but give him a person hurt or in tears and he was rendered helpless.
    “Claire, can you hear me?” Maggie moved to stand beside the couch. “Claire.”
    She gently patted Claire’s cheek, and her eyelids fluttered open. Behind her glasses her hazel eyes looked unfocused but, as Maggie watched, Claire slowly took in her surroundings and remembered what she’d seen.
    “What happened…wait, is he dead?” she asked. Her voice sounded hoarse, as if her scream had done some damage on its way out of her mouth. She sat up, looking pale and shaky but determined.
    Preston handed her the metal water bottle she kept on her desk, and Claire twisted off the top and took a small sip. She swallowed carefully as if afraid it might hurt or refuse to go down.
    “Yes, he’s dead,” Maggie said.
    Claire looked as if she might faint again, so Maggie gripped her hand and squeezed it hard. Claire squeezed back, whether in gratitude or to make her stop, Maggie wasn’t sure, so she eased her grip.
    “We called it in to the sheriff’s office,” Maggie said. “They should be here any minute. Preston, would you mindblocking the hall so that no one gets through until the sheriff gets here?”
    “Sure,” he said. He gave Claire a concerned look, but left without questioning her.
    Claire got up on unsteady feet and began to pace the room. She looked as if she was trying to stay in motion so she could outrun the bad images that were dogging her in her mind.
    Maggie watched her friend with concern. She didn’t know what she could say that could make the grisly scene in the basement any better. A man was dead, obviously stabbed here in the library. This sort of thing just didn’t happen in St. Stanley.
    But when Claire passed by her for the fifteenth time, Maggie thought she ought to at least try to talk her down.
    “It’s all right, Claire, really. The sheriff will be here any second, and he’ll take care of this. I know that Carlton is on vacation, and as acting library director, this is something you’re going to have to sort out, but really it’s the sheriff’s problem not yours. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
    “It’s not all right,” Claire moaned as she sat down. “It’s never going to be all right.”
    “Oh, honey, I know this was a bit of a shock…” Maggie began, but Claire interrupted her.
    “No, you don’t understand. The man, the dead man, I know him. I used to date him.”

Chapter 6

    “You used to—” Maggie began, but Claire hushed her as Sheriff Sam Collins strode into the room.
    Maggie felt the air catch on her inhale in a hiccupy gasp that was impossible to turn into a fake cough or even a sneeze. Sam Collins stopped halfway across the room, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
    In spite of herself, Maggie took in the sight of Sam, noting that the years since she had seen him last had hardly left a mark on him. He was as tall as she remembered, with the football-player shoulders that had left most of her high school classmates panting after him like a pack of rabid dogs. His wavy brown hair was still thick and full, with