Murder Between the Covers by Elaine Viets

hate it.”
    She remembered the petty humiliations, the endless forms to fill out, the interviewers who said she was overqualified, the worries about making the rent. A surge of self-pity washed over her. “I hate him,” she burst out.
    “We all hate him,” Matt said. “Man doesn’t care what he does to people.”
    Loyal Albert said nothing.
    “I’ve got to cash my paycheck before the bank closes at five,” Matt said. “I’ll be back in fifteen.” It wasn’t his break, but no one cared anymore. They stood in a small, shocked group, trying to absorb Page Turner’s announcement.
    Matt returned ten minutes later, his eyes black with rage. “My paycheck bounced.”
    “There must be some mistake,” Albert said.
    “There’s no mistake,” Matt said. “The bank said there was not enough money in the account to meet the week’s payroll. The man’s closing these stores for a reason. They’re losing too much money.”
    This didn’t sound right to Helen. She was ringing up plenty of book sales. The Las Olas store had to make money. Where did it go?
    “Page Turner and his family are worth millions,” Albert said.
    “You don’t think the payroll comes out of his personal checking account, do you? It’s the store that’s broke, and he doesn’t give a rat’s rump.” Matt took off his bookseller badge.
    “Where are you going? You have another two hours,” Albert said.
    “Good-bye. This rat is leaving the sinking ship,” Matt said.
    “You can’t just go.”
    “I’m already gone. So long, sucker. I’ll get my things out of my locker.”
    Albert looked stunned. “What will I do if my paycheck bounces? My health insurance is due this week. I have to pay Mother’s and mine.”
    Albert never understood the careless cruelties of the rich. Helen, who had once made six figures, did. If you’d always had money, you didn’t know what people like Albert suffered for three hundred dollars. Page would order a threehundred-dollar bottle of wine to impress his author friends. But he wouldn’t bother to cover a three-hundred-dollar paycheck for a faithful employee.
    Helen saw tears on Albert’s face. “Are you OK?” she said.
    “If I can’t take care of Mother, I’ll kill myself,” he said.
    “You’d be better off killing the man who did this to you,” Matt said as he headed out the door.

Chapter 5

    Helen found a solitary bagel in her fridge. It was speckled with green-black mold. She tried to scrape off the mold, then decided the bagel wasn’t worth packing and tossed it.
    The low-fat mozzarella, which was supposed to go on the speckled bagel, was worth saving. It went into the bag of groceries, along with a jar of pasta sauce, half a stick of butter with toast crumbs, and the other discouraging contents of a single woman’s kitchen. Helen had to pack up everything edible in her apartment, even Thumbs’ catnip toys. Margery had warned her not to leave any food behind when the Coronado was tented for termites.
    “All the food has to go, or it will be contaminated,” her landlady said. “Remove all your medicines, cosmetics, body scrubs, spices and herbs. The gas kills everything that breathes oxygen, so all the plants have to be out of there or they’ll die.”
    Helen’s illegal cat and Peggy’s forbidden parrot also had to go. Helen understood now why Margery was giving the Coronado residents three days at the beach. The tenting preparations were time-consuming and tedious.
    Helen checked the last cabinet. She threw out some stale graham crackers and stuck a jar of crunchy peanut butter in the bag. That was it. Her clothes were packed. Thumbs was meowing in his carrier. She lugged her suitcase, food bag, and cat carrier out to Margery’s big white Cadillac. Her own car needed eight hundred dollars in repairs. It could rust in the Coronado parking lot until she won the lottery— and Helen didn’t buy tickets.
    Margery and Helen were the last to leave the Coronado. Her landlady was about to