The bell sounded, indicating that someone had entered the store. “Do you mind seeing if someone needs help?” John asked, and Harry went out front, stood behind the cash register. The customer was an elderly woman, dressed in a long winter coat and a wooly hat even though it was nearly seventy degrees outside.

“Can I help you with anything?” Harry asked, and she looked up, startled.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there. I’ve been here before, of course, but I’ve forgotten . . . Can you tell me where the mystery stories are?”

Harry stepped out from behind the counter and brought the woman to the mystery section. It was, except for plain fiction, the largest in the store. Crime had been his father’s favorite genre, both to read and to collect. He’d had a sizable personal collection of first editions, plus what he claimed might be the only entire collection of “mapbacks”—midcentury paperbacks issued by Dell, almost all crime novels, each with an illustrated map on its back cover. It had been his pride and joy. “They’re not worth a lot of money,” he told Harry once, “but the day I got the final one in the series was one of my top, top days. Silly, I know.”

“Oh, so many,” said the woman looking at the mystery shelves.

“There are more in the back,” Harry said. “If you’re interested in collectibles and first editions.”

“I don’t think so. What I like is a murder story but I don’t like violence.”

Harry was about to go get John for a recommendation, but decided he could handle this himself. He was not a fanatic like his father had been, but Harry did read a lot. He found three books for the woman—two by Jacqueline Winspear based on their covers alone, and an M. C. Beaton that she thought she hadn’t read yet. He brought the books back to the register and rang up the sale himself, relieved that she was paying in cash so he wouldn’t have to use the credit card reader. Afterward, he told John he’d just managed his first customer interaction. John put one of his large hands on Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you, Harry. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do right now without you.”

The words made Harry feel wanted but were also discomfiting. How long would he be expected to help out? Was there a future plan for the store now that Bill had died? He assumed Alice now owned it, including all its stock. She’d occasionally worked in the store, although Harry didn’t know how much she actually knew, or cared, about the business.