Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [493]
Then last year, sometime before Thanksgiving, she had called Nick’s apartment, except a woman answered, telling Maggie Nick couldn’t come to the phone because he was in the shower. Since then, Maggie had kept the distance between them, increasing it by increments with shorter phone conversations replaced by missed phone calls and then never-returned voice messages. She hadn’t expected Nick to wait for her to be free. And, though she had been surprised—and yes, a bit hurt—to discover that he had moved on, in the days that followed, she felt an unexpected sense of relief that only galvanized her decision. It was better to be alone, she had decided. At least for a while.
The flight attendant interrupted her thoughts with preflight instructions, something Maggie politely ignored. The woman beside her seemed frantic to find the laminated guide in the seat pocket in front of her. Maggie took out her own and handed it to the woman, who thanked her quickly as she searched with an index finger to catch up.
Maggie opened her paperback again and began to read, using the envelope as a bookmark.
CHAPTER 16
Lillian Hobbs carried an armful of paperbacks and gently placed them on the front table where Rosie had started setting up the new display. Rosie had another excellent idea, only Lillian’s mind was off somewhere. How could she concentrate with a different media van driving by almost every half hour? It was much more exciting than her regular view of the gray, bleak headstones peeking up over the brick fence from the Center Street Cemetery.
This morning they had served half a dozen out-of-town reporters while watching Good Morning America on their new portable TV. Maybe it was only a matter of time before Diane Sawyer and Charlie Gibson showed up at their little coffee counter. In fact, Lillian was certain she recognized the reporter ordering a double espresso. She had seen him on Fox News, but she just couldn’t remember his name.
She sorted through the books, keeping one eye on the front store window. Rosie had suggested they do a table display with murder mysteries, maybe even a serial killer novel or two. It certainly fit the current atmosphere, although a bit macabre, perhaps. Rosie considered it a business opportunity. Lillian worried that someone might find it offensive, until she realized that she would be able to showcase some of her favorite suspense-thriller authors.
For Lillian, so much of what she saw in real life reminded her of something she had read in a book. This mess at the quarry was no different. Besides that, it truly sounded like it had been concocted by the imagination of Jeffery Deaver or Patricia Cornwell. Fiction Lillian could grasp, like a puzzle with pieces waiting to be fit together or simply sorted through, usually leading to an exciting climax and a neat and tidy conclusion. Or if not neat and tidy, then, at least, one that made sense. Real life, however, wasn’t as easy to figure out and oftentimes made no sense at all. Wouldn’t it be nice if real-life situations could be summed up in a two-to three-page epilogue?
She stopped arranging the paperbacks and thumbed through the top one. She knew all the characters in this series by heart. Knew the major plots and the killers’ MOs. She could even quote some of her favorite lines. But