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in for a signing. The one who wrote the book about the hauntings?”
    “Oh, right … ” Jenny tried to remember the book and couldn’t.
    “Mavis will be out for a while,” Samuel continued, “so Joe will work the register, you and Tiffany work the cafe, and I’ll work the author.” He winked. “If it gets too busy up front, I’ll move one of you from the cafe.”
    “Is Mavis okay?” Jenny asked. Mavis Lupinski was nearly seventy years old and had been working at Books since before Samuel bought it in 2001.
    Samuel shook his head. “Death in the family.”
    “Oh, no,” Jenny said. “When will she be back?”
    “I don’t know, but I may need someone to help out in the meantime.”
    Jenny remembered Clare, trying not to think of her unpleasant son. “I think I might know someone. I think she wants something temporary, too, so it could be perfect.”
    Sam ran a box cutter through the tape on a new box before looking up. “Have her call me, will you?”
    She smiled. “Yep. I’ll go make sure the cafe’s ready.”
    She pushed through the door leading to the store. The incident with Ben faded a little as she breathed in the scent of ink on paper and the vanilla candles Samuel burned whenever the store was open. She was truly comfortable, truly herself, in exactly three places: at Books and More, in front of her easel, and at the graveyard.
    All of which probably made her crazier than any of the other crazy stuff about her.
    Still, Books was like a second home. A first home, really, because here she could talk about her art or be moody and quiet and no one bothered her about it. No one looked at her with worried eyes.
    She made her way around the shelves of books and reading tables, lifting a hand to Joe, already at the front counter. No one was working the cafe when she got there, which wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t unusual for Samuel to work the cafe, become bored when there were no customers for five minutes, and wander to the storeroom to unpack or to the office to run numbers, leaving the cafe totally unattended. No one really cared. Books was a small town store. If someone wanted coffee and no one was there, they’d give a shout and someone would show up. Eventually.
    Jenny plucked a clean apron off one of the hooks on the cafe wall. She was wiping down the counters and refilling the sugar and cream containers when Tiffany rushed in.
    “Oh, my God!” she said, grabbing an apron. “My mom is killing me. I told her I needed the car today, like I always do when I’m on the schedule, but she swore I didn’t. I had to wait for her to get back from Acton and then practically risk my life getting here on time.”
    “You should have called me,” Jenny said, putting the bag of sugar back on the shelf. “I could have picked you up on my way in.”
    “She said she’d be back at one. You know how she is.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “By the time I knew she was going to be late, I figured you’d already left.” She put her hands on her hips. “So what are we doing?”
    “I’m refilling. Samuel says there’s going to be a crowd later for some signing. You want to wipe down the tables and stuff?”
    “Sure.”
    Tiffany picked up a rag and took it to the sink, rinsing it out before moving to the counter. She wiped it down while Jenny refilled the cream, their silence changing into one of the weird ones where Jenny knew Tiffany was trying to decide whether or not to say something. It didn’t happen very often. Tiffany was pretty much the only person Jenny considered a friend. But there were still things Tiffany didn’t know. Still things Jenny kept close and secret.
    It was an improvement. Until she’d gotten to know Tiffany at Books, Jenny’s best friend had been her art. She’d been surprised to find out that she and Tiffany had that in common, though Tiffany was more into digital media than fine art. A lot of stuff had surprised her about Tiffany. The more Jenny got to know her, the more she