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eye, she watched those hands come back to life, reach out to her, the way they did when Tori offered her phony olive branch after their awkward exchange about the tablescape.
                  Was it so phony after all?
                  If there are people who are born without sight or the ability to hear or even smell, could there be people who are just born without the ability to make people like them, no matter how hard they try?
                  Why was she entertaining these thoughts?
                  Guilt, that's why. A murder had been committed in her house. And it wasn't the table's fault, or the eye or the cheap plastic cloth. This murder happened on her watch, when she was too involved in a search for honey that wasn't even in the cupboard to begin with.
                  It was ridiculous to be carrying on this way.
                  But one thing was certain: she was beginning to feel sorry for Tori Cardinal.
                  Yes, she was the Queen of Hearts. But her least favorite character in her favorite book was still a character in her favorite book.
                  She stared at the floor. There was the cellphone with the vague message, "croquet mallet," in progress. Then it faded.
                  And gone was the rewound picture of the dead body, the overturned cups and the displaced table.
                  And gone was the cellphone message.             
                  There were just stains now. Around one of them, a little black smudge.
                  A smudge of many parts.
                  Dead ants?
                  Her own cellphone alerted her to an incoming text.
                  I need to see you. Can we meet somewhere?
                  Why in the name of Lewis Carroll's ghost would June Brody want to see her?

9
                  She had thin lips. That's the first thing Allie noticed when she met the woman in the quiet corner of the Verdenier Public Library's science fiction section. She'd never noticed them before.
                  It was an old building, and there were creaks and clicks all around that sounded like the cracking bones of elves awakening behind the walls. But it was Monday morning just after opening and this was the only sound, save for a sporadic rustle of paper or an errant load of books dropped onto the shelves of rolling carts. Without humans making human sounds, it was a very lonely, quiet place indeed.
                  They spoke in hushed tones.
                  June Brody steadied herself on the edge of a shelf: Asimov to Bova. "Why here? I feel like I'm in church."
                  "You can tell if there's someone lurking nearby."
                  "Everyone up front knows us both," said June. "Aren't you worried?"
                  "No."
                  "Everyone's talking about this like it’s a murder now. It happened in your house. I was there. Everyone's talking. You don't think anyone will get suspicious?"
                  Allie blinked slowly at her. "Listen, if there's anyone who knows how to keep a town's secrets, it's the librarians."
                  June Brody took a deep breath and bit the inside of her cheek. "My husband is missing."
                  Allie shook her head. "Ethan's missing?"
                  "Last night. He took an early day home from the shop. I said no problem. Business is a little slow right now. I came home around eight o'clock and he wasn't there." She paused to walk to the end of the aisle, casually inspecting the stacks, poked her head around the corner to sneak a peek for any unwelcome eavesdroppers, and then sidled back down the aisle almost on tiptoes.
                  "June, I take it you didn’t call