She smiled gratefully. “I was hoping you’d say that. I talked to Fred about it this morning, and he’s supposed to spread the word on that side of the street, but I thought you could help me recruit Nancy to the cause.” She smiled ruefully. “We’re not exactly on the best of terms.”

“Sure,” Kyle said. Nancy Hall owned the florist’s up the block. Last year, Trixie had accepted Nancy’s jilted daughter’s unused wedding dress on consignment and had made the mistake of showcasing it in her window. Nancy interpreted that as a humiliating slap in the face—she’d wanted it hidden in the store and sold on the QT—and she’d pulled the dress from the consignment store and stopped speaking to Trixie. Kyle and Nancy were still on good terms, though, as far as he knew, and he had no doubt that she’d be willing to side with her longtime neighbors against the interloper.

A red Nissan pulled into the empty parking space in front of Brave New World, and Trixie saw it through the window. “One of mine,” she said, and bade him goodbye, the bell above the door tinkling as she opened it and walked outside. Kyle saw her greet a tall thin woman and a shorter equally thin woman who got out of the car, walking next door with them.

Sighing, Kyle picked up the Andrew Vachss book he’d been working his way through. The days were a lot lonelier with Gary gone. And at times like this, with no one else in the store, even cranking up the music couldn’t make the place seem less empty.

And, periodically, he still heard that directionless tapping on the other side of the wall he shared with the bank.

The bell above the door rang again.

Kyle looked up. “Nick!” It was a surprise to see his son, who ordinarily stayed as far away from the store as possible. Embarrassment, he assumed. Teenagers were always ashamed of their parents. “Did I punish you and forget about it?” he joked. “Are you here to work?”

Nick smiled feebly, but there was no humor in it, and the fact that his son was willing to indulge in a sympathy smile meant that something was really bothering him; he hadn’t extended his parents that sort of courtesy since he was thirteen.

“What is it?” Kyle asked.

He wasn’t expecting a direct answer, was prepared to conversationally fish for the real response, but Nick just came out with it: “I think there might be something wrong with Victor.”

I always thought there was something wrong with Victor, Kyle was tempted to joke, but restrained himself.