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    My boss, Mrs. Shedd, was looking over a small selection of Halloween costumes we had this year. She thought it was okay because they were unusual characters like Albert Einstein and Edgar Allan Poe. I knew she had probably already heard about the murder at the wedding, but I was hoping she hadn’t connected it with me. She kept mentioning that dead bodies seemed to show up wherever I went, and I kept trying to make it sound like it wasn’t so. I wouldn’t have much of a case if she brought up the events of the night before. I felt the monkey jacket in my pocket, reminding me of the yarn bombing.
    “Have you seen Adele?” I said, referring to my coworker. Mrs. Shedd looked at me quizzically, and I realized that because it was Adele, my question could be taken two ways. I could have been asking for Adele’s location, or it could have been a rhetorical question about Adele’s latest outrageous outfit. I quickly made it clear it was Adele’s location I was after.
    “She must be here somewhere, I saw her things in the back room.” Mrs. Shedd glanced around the large interior of the bookstore. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, changing the subject. “It’s good you set things up for today’s group in advance.” She directed my attention to the alcove in the window that we used as our event area. “They got here early.”
    Originally, my job as event coordinator and community relations person had mostly been putting on author events, but lately Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal, the two owners, were looking to bring more customers into the bookstore. So we kept broadening the kind of events we put on. We were just starting to host a young adult writers’ group. Mr. Royal had found someone to act as the leader for the group, but I did all the organizing and setup.
    Adele Abrams had been more than a little put out that she wasn’t in charge of the kids’ group. The kids’ department was hers, and she was always concerned about being overlooked. It wasn’t likely if you had eyes. She was known for her colorful clothes and the costumes she donned for reading time.
    * * *
    T HE WRITING GROUP WAS AIMED AT TEN AND ABOVE, and somehow the kids’ area, carpet decorated with cows jumping over moons and low tables, seemed too childish for the group.
    There were two boys and a girl waiting at the table I’d set up. We had arranged the first meeting of the group for this Monday morning because the kids had no school. But after today, it would meet after school. I noticed a woman standing off to the side and nodded a greeting, figuring she belonged with the kids. I welcomed the kids and told them I expected a few more.
    “Your group leader, Mr. Sherman, should be here any minute,” I said. Actually, I hadn’t met him yet. All I knew was that he had a master’s degree in writing and had some credits. Mr. Royal had done the hiring before he’d taken off on a trip. For years, he’d traveled around acting as Mrs. Shedd’s silent partner, but now that he’d been back for a while, he’d gotten itchy feet and was gone again for some kind of extended retreat.
    “Hi,” I said to the woman. She came forward and introduced herself. “Emerson Lake,” she said. “Lyla is mine.” She pointed at the girl, before explaining that the two boys belonged to neighbors. “I brought them, too. We decided to kidpool.” Emerson laughed and said it was kind of a play on carpooling. With her shoulder-length dark hair and arty appearance, she looked vaguely familiar, but then, everybody did. This was the only bookstore in Tarzana, so everybody came in here to shop.
    “I hope it’s not a problem, but I thought I’d hang around for this first session.” She left it at that, but I understood. I would have wanted to see what the group was like firsthand, too, before I just left my kids on their own.
    Lyla got up and joined her mother. “Can I show you something I want