The gold lettering of the bookstore shone in the light from the lamppost.

Lovely Leaves.

I dropped my bike to the ground and hurried over to the window, pressing my nose against the glass, my hands cupped on either side of my face.

I tried to see through to the back of the store, but the shop was all shadow and gloom.

I raced over to the door. I didn’t want to disturb Theo. I knew this would upset her, but it was too important to leave. I banged on the wood frame with the side of my fist and waited.

Nothing inside stirred.

I banged again.

Still nothing.

I raced around the side of the building. Theo’s car was gone. She often spent the night with her sister. Now what was I going to do?

The key!

I dug my hand into my jacket pocket and fumbled for my key chain. It only took a second to sort out the brass one I had kept from the bookstore. I shoved it in the lock and gave it a turn. When I heard the deadbolt slide back, I pressed down on the latch and stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind me.

Theo would forgive me for the intrusion. She would understand. Actually, she would be heartbroken if I was right about this, but it needed to be done.

I blinked in the darkness and took a step toward the back of the store. The edge of my boot clipped a tower of books, spilling them across the floor. I stepped over the fallen stack and headed into the narrow gap between two large shelves. With every step it felt like the walls were closing in, but the shine from the glass front of the grandfather clock standing tall against the back wall drove me forward.

For an instant, I wanted to be wrong. Yes, I wanted to prove Nora innocent. And yes, I wanted justice for Constance despite everything she had done, but as I rose my gaze to the clock’s face, my knees feeling like they might give way, I found myself wishing none of it to be true. Knowing who the killer was also meant knowing how and why it had all gone wrong.

I stared at the clock’s frozen hands.

I checked my own wristwatch to be sure, but I already knew.

The clock had stopped at nine fifty-seven.

Theo probably looked at the time before she had gone to bed. The clock stood right beside the door that led to her apartment. She would have remarked how late it was. But the clock had stopped. Maybe that morning. Or the day before. Or the day before that. Theo never took notice of those types of things. She wasn’t interested in the mundane details of life. I had been the one to wind the clock. She probably only noticed it that night because she had been taken out of her routine.

The stillness of the bookstore fell over me. It suddenly felt too quiet. Too ordinary. It was as though I couldn’t quite fathom how the earth kept on spinning when there was such tragedy playing out in the lives of everyday people.