Don't Judge A Book

Murder. The murderer thinks Lanie Cole can crack the case, but how? And why her?

Prologue

Her shoes hammered against the cobblestones, a frantic rhythm that shattered the stillness of the deserted street. Shadows pooled in every doorway. The carnival’s distant music felt muted, swallowed by the silence that pressed in around her.

“Where are you running?” The voice rasped, closer now, cruel and almost amused. “No one can help you. Not tonight. Give up.”

“Help me! Somebody, please, help me!” Her scream tore through the silence of the streets as she veered around the corner.

The library. It was always open. Someone would be there. Someone had to be.

She burst through the doors—and froze.

Empty.

Maybe she could -

Her breath caught in her throat, the air suddenly thick and difficult to swallow.

Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Closer. Then, the warmth of another’s breath skimmed the back of her neck. A shiver jolted through her spine, sharp and cold as lightning.

A laugh—short, merciless, echoing unnaturally among the shelves. “I told you I’d find you, Alice. You shouldn't have left me.”

Her scream ripped through the library, echoing off the endless rows of books—echoes that seemed to multiply, as if the shelves themselves remembered every cry.

Many years later, the case file landed on Lanie Cole’s doorstep.

Chapter One

Lanie Cole

Lanie Cole moved to the quiet village of Wild Oaks eight years ago. Her grandmother’s death had left her with a cottage—and an inheritance so large it could change her life. Her grandmother always knew how badly Lanie wanted to escape London. All that endless noise. The stifling atmosphere. Her pitiful teacher’s salary could never buy the dream she longed for: a bookstore of her own.

Her grandmother had given her that chance.

Lanie fell in love with Wild Oaks. The close-knit community and fresh air felt like freedom, unlike the constant suffocating feeling back in London. Most of all, she cherished the quiet.

While others played outdoors, Lanie preferred books, building worlds in her mind. That’s where her bookstore dream began. Yet after university, her parents pushed her toward a "real" career, and she obliged—teaching English at a local primary school while setting aside her dream.

Her grandmother had been the one urging her to chase her dream. When illness struck, Lanie visited her every other weekend - wheeling her to bingo when she became too weak to walk, sorting her medication, keeping the little cottage clean.

Lanie had promised her then that she would leave her job and open her bookstore, no matter how long it took.

A few weeks later, her grandmother passed. The will’s executor told Lanie she had inherited the Wild Oaks cottage - and more money than she could comprehend - her grandmother’s final show of support towards her dream.

After her month’s notice, she packed her London life into boxes. Her parents were furious—resentful that she inherited everything, though they had never visited her grandmother, even during her illness.

She moved into the cozy cottage, where neighbors stopped by with condolences and warm food. Two in particular soon became pillars of support in her new life.

Reggie had arrived in Wild Oaks a few years earlier, after losing his wife Stella. He was a tall, muscular man with graying brown hair and spectacles too large for his face. He had always made time for Lanie’s grandmother, bringing the morning paper and making her tea. He was much younger than she had been, but she always insisted he harbored a quiet crush.

The other neighbor, Maeve, was the sweetest woman and the village gossip; she was forever insisting that Lanie meet her grandson. One day, their visits finally overlapped, and that was how Lanie met Ryan - the man she would fall madly, deeply in love with.

Ryan moved to Wild Oaks a year later, claiming it was to be nearer to his grandmother, Maeve - though truthfully, it was Lanie who had drawn him back. His job allowed him to work from home, so relocating to the village took little effort.

Soon, Ryan moved into the cottage with Lanie, and their wedding plans quickly followed. Some might have called it rushed, but their love felt certain. He encouraged her to pursue the bookstore, even pushing her toward it. One afternoon, he led her to a neglected building on the village outskirts. Lanie was confused until Lauren, the local real estate agent and B&B owner, arrived.

Lauren explained that the building had once been a library, shut down many years earlier after a tragic accident. In hindsight, Lanie should have asked more questions, but her mind was already wallpapering over the cracked walls and fixing the broken windows with beautiful, brightly colored drapes. She imagined a fireplace beaming in the corner, rows upon rows of gift-wrapped books tied with string and labeled with a brief description, soft chairs and tables where customers could relax with a good book and a cup of coffee. Later, Ryan and Lanie agreed on a name, ‘Don’t Judge A Book,’ a nod to the wrapped books forcing readers to choose their stories without the guidance of an inviting cover.

She could see it clear as day, her dream unfolding before her eyes. She told Lauren she would take it, not once asking about the “tragic accident” or why the village had allowed the building to wither away for so long. All she cared about was keeping her promise to her grandmother and bringing life to the vision she had carried since childhood.

For the next year, Lanie and Ryan busied themselves with the renovation, transforming the derelict library into a haven where like-minded people could spend time winding down with a good book and a hot drink.

But only months before the grand opening, a knock came at the cottage door late one night. A police officer stood on the step, his face pale, his words repeating - as if saying sorry enough times could hold up the world collapsing around her.

Ryan had gone out with friends to celebrate a birthday, driving three hours to the nearest town. On the way back, the car veered off the road into a ditch. The autopsy confirmed Ryan died on impact.

Lanie shattered. Her heart should be planning a wedding, not his funeral. Maeve coaxed her out of bed, but the ache of Ryan’s absence smothered her—some days she couldn’t breathe for the grief. She couldn’t imagine a future without him, let alone face the thought of running the bookstore—their dream—alone.

Reggie and Maeve vowed she wouldn’t face it alone. Reggie, a former restaurant owner, offered to run the cafe. His presence helped her continue her dream, though she could no longer share it with Ryan.

With their help, Lanie opened Don’t Judge A Book a month later. What she didn’t know was that Wild Oaks carried a dark secret, and it was about to land, uninvited, at her doorstep.

Chapter Two

Lanie stepped into the crisp morning air. She tugged her scarf tighter as the wind sliced through her coat like broken glass. The short walk to the store felt endless. Gusts threatened to blow her backwards.

“Morning, boss,” Reggie called out as she approached, his voice bright. As always, Reggie was already waiting, hands crammed into his pockets, his breath creating plumes in the cold air like a dragon.

"Reggie," she said with mock surprise as she searched the depths of her bag for her keys. "I gave you a spare so you wouldn’t have to wait out here and freeze."

“It’s in a safe place.” He replied, trailing after her as the lock clicked open, “In fact, it’s so safe I can’t find it.”

She chuckled softly as the alarm switched off and, with a flick of her hand, she turned on the lights, causing the shop to glow beneath her touch. Reggie took her coat and scarf and walked briskly to the tiny office at the back of the store to hang them up.

“Don’t worry,” she called after him, “I’ll pop into yours tomorrow and help you hunt for it. I’ve got to return your casserole dish anyway - delicious by the way.”

Reggie reappeared with a grin. “That was Stella’s old recipe. We could sell some in the cafe—nothing draws people in faster than a hot, home-cooked meal.”

Lanie laughed, shaking her head. “One step at a time. Books and coffee first, then we will conquer home-cooked meals.”

He gave her a playful salute before disappearing into the kitchen.

Lanie moved through the space with ease, placing chairs neatly around the low tables and straightening the cushions on the patchwork armchairs near the window. The scent of new books and espresso filled the air, two of her favorite things.

She knelt at the fireplace, stacking logs with practiced precision. A match flared, then the kindling caught, crackling softly until warmth began to seep across the room.

There it was again - that heaviness deep in her chest, an ache that showed up in her quiet moments, reminding her of what’s missing.

Reggie returned with two steaming mugs; the rich aroma of coffee clung to him. He collapsed into an armchair with a groan, sliding her cup across the table. “You look tired.” He said gently, “Are you doing okay?”

She wrapped her hands around the mug, cherishing the warmth and watching as the steam rose, “I didn’t sleep much. I miss him, Reggie, so much it hurts to breathe.”

His expression softened. He placed his cup down and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, “You don’t have to carry it alone, kid.”
Her throat tightened. “Every morning, I still roll over in bed and expect to see him. Every time the phone rings, I think it’s him. I know it’s stupid, but - ”

“It’s not stupid,” He interrupted, “It’s human.”

Tears blurred her vision. “How do you do it? You lost Stella, but somehow you turn up here every day. I feel like I’m barely surviving—like my world has caved in. Some mornings, the weight of missing Ryan drags me back into bed. How is your world not falling apart?”

He smiled faintly. “It did. I still miss her more than words can say. But I live the way she would have wanted me to. That way, when I see her again, I’ll have a story worth telling. And believe me, Stella loved a good story.”

Lanie let out a shaky laugh, wiping the tears from her eyes with the palm of her hand. “When I moved to Wild Oaks, I thought my story would finally get interesting. Instead…” Her voice faltered, “It turned tragic. Maybe it’s time I moved on from Wild Oaks. Got a fresh start somewhere else. I need a plot twist.”

Reggie’s face dropped. “You can’t leave me, I mean, not after everything you’ve built here. What about Maeve? She would be heartbroken; you’re all she has left after Ryan. And what about me? Stella and I never had kids of our own; you’re the closest thing I have to a daughter. It would just break me to see you leave.” His eyes begin to fill with tears, his expression almost one of betrayal.

Lanie crossed over to where he was sitting, perched on the armrest, and wrapped him in a hug. “Nothing’s for certain right now, Reggie, it’s just something to think about. But for what it’s worth, you’ve been a better father figure to me than even my own dad has ever been.” She pulls away and gives him a gentle smile, one hand resting on his shoulder. " I’ll tell you what, if I do leave, I’ll bring you and Maeve along with me.” She gives a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

Reggie inhales deeply and lifts his mug, gently clinking it against hers. “Then here’s to a plot twist, whatever fate may throw your way. And until it does, here’s to keeping the fire burning, readers with the perfect book, and coffee cups that never go empty.”

When the last of their coffee was gone, Reggie gathered the empty mugs and disappeared into the kitchen. Lanie moved to the front door, the little brass bell chiming gently as she turned the Closed sign to Open. The sign faced the street now, an invitation to the regulars who knew the store like a second home, and to strangers just passing through.

The day unfolded in its usual rhythm: the bell above the door chiming as customers filed in from the cold, the soft rustle of turning pages, the steady hiss of Reggie’s coffee machine.

At noon - like clockwork - Maeve and her entourage swarmed in on their way home from bingo. They sit at their usual table close to the fire, but close enough to still see behind the coffee counter. They rarely browsed the shelves; their genuine interest was watching Reggie with unapologetic bliss as he topped up their coffee cups.

Reggie usually slipped away for his break around this time - happily joining Maeve and her merry gang, basking in the attention they bestowed on him. He had barely settled into his chair, their cheeky laughter and eyelashes batting, when the bell above the door chimed once more. Lanie caught his eye before he stood and gave a slight nod; she’d handle it. He could take a moment to enjoy the spotlight with his fans.

Lanie smiled as little Freddie hurtled towards her, all clumsy legs and unending energy. His mother, Rachel, followed a few steps behind, cheeks flushed and breathless from trying to keep up.

“You look like you need to take a load off,” Lanie says with a gentle smile. “Rough day?”

Rachel caught her breath, bracing herself against the counter. “Not at all, it’s been a lovely morning at the park. But the second I mentioned we might stop by to see if you had the next Harry Potter for bedtime, Freddie bolted like a racehorse all the way here.”

Lanie stepped around the counter and crouched to Freddie’s level, her smile softening. “Don’t tell me you’ve finished the last one already.”
He beamed up at her, missing front tooth and all. “Yes! Mummy read the last chapter to me last night before bed. Do you have the next one? Please!”

Lanie chuckled and straightened. “Here’s the deal, you and Mummy go take a seat, and I’ll check behind the counter to see if I’ve got it for you.”

Rachel and Freddie settled at a table beside Maeve and Reggie, and Lanie moved behind the counter, opening a drawer to retrieve the book she had wrapped in advance for him—a small tradition she loved.

At just six, Freddie had already developed a true love of books. When he first showed interest in the Harry Potter series, introduced to it by his dad, she’d made sure to order every volume for the shop - and wrapped each one in bright Spider-Man paper instead of the usual brown, just for him.

After handing off the book - much to Freddie’s delight - the rest of the day slipped by until closing at 7 pm. Lanie gathered the discarded cups and carried them into the kitchen.

“I’ll wash these and then walk you home; it’s getting dark much earlier now,” Reggie said, stifling a yawn.

“I’ve got it, Reggie. You go on home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She appreciated his help, but she relished the quiet ritual of closing up the shop. It calms her nerves after the day's rush.

Reggie hesitated, then shrugged into his coat, “If you’re sure. See you tomorrow, kiddo.”

Lanie waved him off and then returned to tidying.

As she tucked the last chairs under the table, something caught her eye: a crumpled piece of brown paper by the bookshelves. She walked over, crouched down, and picked it up, realizing that someone must have unwrapped a book and left the paper behind.

But then she saw the book lying face down on the floor, its pages torn and bent, next to another piece of brown paper. Annoyance prickled at her skin. She picked up the damaged book, preparing to throw away the paper, when she noticed even more scraps near the back shelves.

Seriously? How hard is it to find a bin? she thought, irritation mounting. As she bent down for another scrap, she froze when she noticed a movement in the shadows beneath the shelf. There, another book—its pages ripped out—was stuffed halfway under the bottom shelf, abandoned. Her annoyance shifted to anger as she collected the ruined books and carried them to the office, making a mental note to order replacements the next day.

Lanie reached for her coat - then stopped. Footsteps. Faint. From the second row of shelves.

“Reggie?” Her voice trembled, “Reggie, if that’s you, I told you I could lock up alone.”

She forced herself towards the shelves. The aisle was empty.

The bell above the door jingled suddenly. She spun - heart hammering, but no one stood there.

"Just the wind," she whispered, though her voice betrayed her. She checked the store one more time, found nothing, and decided to call it a night.

The air was still. Too still. The hair on her neck prickled. Her hands shook inside her pockets as she turned, scanning the shadows.
Nothing.

She exhaled and continued, each footstep echoing too loudly against the cobblestones.

Finally, she reached the cottage. Home was quiet, as it always was. She moved from room to room with ease, muscle memory guiding her. She struck a match and coaxed the fire to life, sending shadows dancing into the darkest corners of the room. Ryan’s photo sat in its usual place on the mantle, smiling at her like nothing could go wrong.

She picked it up, wrapping herself in his old, worn blanket that she still sprayed with the scent of his favorite aftershave, then walked sleepily to her bedroom and curled into her bed.

Lanie closed her eyes, the weight of a busy day pressing down on her.

Just as she slipped under, a sound reached her. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Outside her window.

Her body stirred, half ready to rise. But sleep dragged her deeper, smothering her thoughts until the world around her dissolved into black.

Chapter Three

Lanie stirred beneath the old blanket, her eyes still fogged with sleep as she reached blindly for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up - 8 A.M. An hour—more than enough time to get ready.

She exhaled and pushed aside the blanket, morning air cool on her skin as she sat up. The faint crackle from the dying fire drifted in from the living room. She crossed the room barefoot, the floor cold, and paused by the fire, embers still glowing. With quiet sadness, she returned Ryan’s photo to the mantle.

She stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light, squinting in the glare. The tiles were cold. She twisted the shower knob, listening to the water as steam filled the room.

As the warm stream poured over her, loosening the knots in her tense shoulders, her thoughts drifted - again - to Ryan. She could almost see him sitting on the toilet lid across from her, that familiar radiant smile on his face like he had nowhere else he’d rather be. He used to do that every time she showered, as if even a few minutes apart was too long.

She’d always roll her eyes, mutter that he was annoying - but deep down, she’d never wanted him anywhere else.

Now she’d give anything - everything - to see him there just once more.

The ache crept in before she could stop it. Her eyes began to blur. Tears mixed with the shower water streamed down her face. Her breath caught in her throat. She reached for the tiled wall, her body trembling as the sobs broke free. Her knees buckled slightly, the weight of everything threatening to pull her down.

“How could you get into that car? How could you be so stupid?” she cried, her voice cracking as she gasped for breath. “He was drunk. You knew better than that! And now I’m alone! You promised you’d always be by my side - and now I’m alone!”

Her voice echoed off the tiled walls, but the silence that followed was louder still. She turned her head toward the empty space where he used to sit - half expecting, half hoping for a reply that would never come.

After a long moment, she drew in a few breaths and reached for the tap, twisting the water off. The sudden quiet was almost jarring. She stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel tightly around herself, the steam clinging to her skin.

As she continued getting dressed, she felt a faint, unexpected sense of relief - like something heavy had finally shifted inside of her.

Once ready, she grabbed her coat, scarf, and bag and stepped out of the cottage and back into the cold streets. By the time Lanie reached the store, the door was already unlocked. She froze as last night’s unease returned, but inside, Reggie was bustling between tables, setting up. Relief loosened her shoulders.

“So, you found your key?” She asked, moving towards the coat rack by the office.

“I did! It was in the drawer with all the batteries. My telly remote died, and when I went to grab replacements - there it was!” Reggie trailed after her.

“Reggie, did you come back after you left last night? I could have sworn I heard footsteps while I was closing up.” That anxious twinge returned, prickling under her skin.

Reggie frowned, "No. Not me. Maybe it was a ghost. We could start charging for after-hours ghost tours." He smirked, trying to make light of it.

Lanie forced a chuckle. “Right. Maybe the ghost of the old librarian. This place was a library once, wasn’t it?”

“Oh - speaking of surprises,” Reggie added, “there was a package on your doorstep this morning. I stuck it in the bottom desk drawer. Please tell me you didn’t order more coffee mugs. I’m running out of shelf space.”

“A package?” Lanie frowned, “I haven’t ordered anything… unless I did it in my sleep.”

She crossed to the desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out the package. Her name was printed clearly across the label. Tearing it open, she felt a knot form in her stomach.

Inside lay a brown file, the cover stamped with a single word: Confidential.

Her mind flashed back to last night - the slow, deliberate footsteps outside her cottage.

Had it been them who left this?

“What the hell, what is this?” She asked, frowning as she handed the file to Reggie, confusion clouding her thoughts.

“Lanie…” Reggie’s brow furrowed as he flipped it open. “This is a confidential police file. It’s about the woman who was murdered here, back when this place was a library—fifteen years ago. Alice Carter.” His face drained of color. “Who sent you this?”

Lanie’s stomach lurched. “Murdered? I knew someone died here, but—how did I not know it was a murder? What the hell is going on?” She collapsed into the office chair, her legs trembling beneath her.

Reggie slid the file back toward her, then reached into the envelope again. He unfolded a piece of paper, scanned it, and froze. His voice hitched in his throat before he finally whispered:

“Lanie… this note’s for you. And whoever sent it—they’re claiming to be the murderer.”

Her face grew pale.

The note was jaggedly assembled from words cut out of books. It read:

“I killed Alice Carter. Find me. Or you’re next!”

The room tilted around her, a pounding headache rising behind her eyes.

Wait.

Books.

Last night—the unwrapped books, pages cut apart.

“Reggie, call the police. Now. Whoever sent this—they were here, in the shop, last night.” She shoved the torn books into his hands.

Reggie dropped them onto the desk with a heavy thud. “Don’t touch another thing. They’ll want fingerprints. Quick, lock the front door and put up a ‘Closed for Today’ sign. I’ll call them now.”

Lanie’s legs wobbled, unsteady beneath her, as she hurried to the door. Scrawling a quick note of apology, she taped it to the glass and turned the lock with shaking fingers.

When she returned, Reggie stood pale in the office doorway. “Police are on their way. Should be here within half an hour.” He forced a thin smile. “How about a coffee while we wait? Hell, maybe even a whiskey.”

Lanie shook her head, disbelief knotting in her chest. “Reggie, how was she murdered? And why didn’t I know? I bought the damn building she was killed in.”

Reggie moved into the main shop and sank into a chair. “It was before I came here. But from what Maeve told me—and your grandmother—it was bad. Brutal enough that the village demanded the library be shut down afterward.”

Lanie dropped into the chair opposite him, clasping her trembling hands tight. “I don’t understand. How was it never solved? It’s not exactly a massive village—someone must have seen something.”

Reggie shook his head slowly. “Maeve said it happened during the summer carnival, out in the farmers’ field. Everyone was already gone from the village. Apparently, she was just passing through, staying at Lauren and Jake’s B&B. Still, it terrified everyone who lived here, enough so that people didn’t dare step out once it started to get dark.”

Lanie stared into the distance, her hands trembling, heart hammering against her ribs. Why her? Why had this file been sent to her? Fifteen years ago, she was still in London—how could she possibly uncover a killer the police themselves had failed to catch?
But one thought rose above the rest, cold and suffocating.

If she didn’t find him… she would be his next victim.

Reggie laid a steady hand over hers. “It’s going to be okay. The police will help. This could just be some sick joke—we don’t even know if the file’s real yet.”

Bile burned in Lanie’s throat. “The police didn’t solve her murder the first time. What makes you think they’ll do better now that my life is on the line?”

Reggie hesitated, then pushed to his feet and disappeared into the office. Moments later, the low whir of a machine hummed through the air. When he returned, he carried a stack of papers.

“I copied the file and the note,” he said, pressing the pages into her hands. “If the police don’t help, we’ll look into it ourselves. Maeve might know people who were here when it happened. Just… keep it hidden. Confidential and all.”

Lanie gave a quick nod and slipped into the office, tucking the copies into her bag.

A sharp knock rattled the front door.

“It’s the police,” Reggie called. “I’ll let them in.”

Lanie exhaled and stepped into the main shop.

“Miss Cole?” The taller officer stepped forward, his voice calm but stern. “I’m Officer Monroe, and this is my partner, Officer Gates.” Monroe, lanky and well-spoken, gestured toward Gates—a shorter, rounder man with watchful eyes. “I’ll need you to give your statement to Gates while I speak with Mr. Wilson,” Monroe continued. “We’ll also need to examine the evidence you received and take fingerprints, since both of you handled it.”

Reggie led Monroe into the office while Lanie settled into the armchair across from Gates.

“I need you to walk me through how you ended up with the file this morning,” Gates said, wetting the tip of his pen before flipping open his notebook.

“I’m not sure. Reggie said he found it on my doorstep. He’s my neighbor, so he brought it to the shop for me. We didn’t realize what it was until we opened it—the police file on the woman murdered here years ago. Alice Carter.” Lanie shuddered, the images from the file still crawling at the edges of her thoughts.

“And you have no idea who delivered it?” Gates asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“No. But… last night, just as I was drifting off, I heard footsteps outside. And while I was cleaning up after closing, I could’ve sworn I heard someone moving behind the shelves. Then the bell above the door rang. But when I checked, no one was there—just torn-up books scattered under the shelves.” She laced her fingers tightly, a chill coiling down her spine.

Lanie couldn’t stop picturing her own body sprawled across the store floor, her neck slashed so deep it was nearly severed—just like in the crime scene photos of Alice Carter. Questions crowded her mind, but one loomed above the rest: why her? Why had the killer dragged her into this twisted game? Why place the file on her doorstep with the warning that she would be next if she didn’t stop them?

“Miss Cole.” Gates’ voice cut through the haze of her thoughts. “I know you’re in shock, but I need you to focus. Does your shop have cameras? Anything that might have caught whoever you believe was here last night? And at your home—any cameras that could’ve recorded someone leaving the file on your doorstep?”

Lanie shook her head, frustration rising like a pressure valve about to burst. “Cameras? No, not out front. There’s one in the office, but nothing covering this area. I never thought we’d need one—it’s a bookshop. Who’s going to break in and steal a couple of paperbacks? Let alone rip up books to craft some twisted murder note!”

The officer’s pen hovered for a beat too long before scratching across the page again. “How did you know the victim, Alice Carter?” His tone carried a faint edge—almost accusatory.

Lanie shot to her feet, pacing, her steps sharp and restless. “I didn’t know her! I was still in London when that poor woman was murdered. I don’t know—and have never known—anyone called Alice Carter.”

Gates’ gaze followed her. “Please, sit. Getting worked up won’t help. I’m trying to understand why someone would think you could solve what my colleagues couldn’t in fifteen years.” He flipped to a clean page in his notebook. “Now—who opened the file?”

“I did,” she snapped. “I opened it and handed it to Reggie.”

Just then, Reggie and Officer Monroe emerged from the office. Reggie’s worried eyes flicked to Lanie, taking in her frayed composure.
“And for your information, Officer Gates,” Lanie snapped, her voice trembling more with fury than fear, “I don’t think I can solve what your colleagues couldn’t in fifteen years. But I’m sure you can understand why I’d be concerned - since it’s my life on the line if you don’t figure it out.”

Her patience had snapped. The weight of Gates’ quiet suspicion and his thinly veiled attitude was more than she could take.

“Gates…” Officer Monroe stepped forward carefully, his tone measured. “Why don’t we give Miss Cole and Mr. Wilson a break? They’ve been through enough this morning. Call the station—let them know we’ll need a forensics team down here to dust for prints.”

Gates gave a curt nod and left the shop. Monroe turned back to Lanie, his voice gentler but cautious. “I’m sorry if Officer Gates upset you. Take a breather, maybe grab a coffee. We’ll pick this up again later. But I will need a key to your store—our forensics team and detectives will be coming and going over the next few days.”

Reggie fished in his pocket and pulled out his key. “Here, take this one. Officer Monroe, do we need to stay here, or can we head home? We live just a few streets away, and I think it’d do us both some good to get out of here for a while.”

Monroe accepted the key with a nod. “No, you can go. If the detectives need to speak with you, they’ll come to your homes. Again, I’m truly sorry this is happening, and I can assure you, Miss Cole—we’ll do everything in our power to make sure this sicko doesn’t lay a hand on you.” He clasped her hand firmly, his grip steady but cool.

Lanie murmured under her breath, “A lot of good that did Alice.”

Reggie collected her bag and coat from the office, draping them over her arm before wrapping a steadying arm across her shoulders. He guided her gently out of the shop.

On the walk home, Lanie stayed silent, the weight of the morning pressing heavier with each step. When they reached her cottage, she paused at the doorway, unease rippling through her. “Wait, Reggie. I… I don’t think I want to be in there today. Could I come to yours? Maybe crash on your couch tonight?”

Reggie gave her a small, reassuring smile. “No, kiddo—you’re not sleeping on the couch. I’ll make up the spare bed for you instead. Come on.”

They had barely settled into Reggie’s cottage when the doorbell rang. Reggie rose from the sofa, vanished into the hall, and returned with Maeve at his side.

“Lanie, darling, I was worried sick. I walked by the store—it’s crawling with police. What on earth happened?” Maeve rushed to the sofa and wrapped Lanie in a hug that was as crushing as it was comforting.

“I’ll let you catch Maeve up and get the kettle on,” Reggie said, retreating to the kitchen.

“Two sugars for me, please, Reggie darling,” Maeve called after him before turning back to Lanie. “Now, tell me everything.”

“Well… you know that woman who was killed in the library—you never told me it was a murder, by the way—well, it seems her case has come back to bite me. Or at least her killer has.” Lanie rubbed her eyes, exhaustion pulling at her voice.

The afternoon passed in explanations, the three of them circling over every detail until a knock at the door brought the detectives to take their statements. By the time they left, darkness had swallowed the street, and the glow of the lamps outside cast long, uneasy shadows across Reggie’s living room.

Two officers remained stationed out front, meant to reassure them. But to Lanie, it didn’t matter. The thought of a killer watching her from the dark—waiting—made the idea of sleep feel like a dangerous luxury.

Maeve finally departed with a promise: she’d dig into Alice Carter’s past herself. Like Lanie, she had little faith in the police to succeed where they’d already failed.

“I’ve put fresh bedding on the spare bed,” Reggie said, hugging her tight. “One of the officers grabbed some of your things—pyjamas, toiletries. There’s hot chocolate on the nightstand, and a splash of whiskey too, if you need something stronger. Goodnight, kiddo. I’ll be right next door. Shout if you need me.” He squeezed her shoulder before slipping away to his room.

Lanie stepped into the guest room and found her bag waiting on the bed. The layout mirrored her own cottage, yet it felt somehow warmer and safer. The bedside lamp cast a golden glow across the orange sunset wallpaper, softening the edges of the night. A fluffy rug waited by the bed, inviting her tired feet.

She changed into her pyjamas, sank her tired feet into the rug for a moment, then climbed beneath the covers. Reaching for the whiskey, she downed it in a single swallow. The burn in her throat did little to chase away the cold dread pooling in her stomach.

As she switched off the lamp and closed her eyes, the darkness filled with images of Alice Carter—her body crumpled, her throat savaged. Lanie pulled the blankets tight around her, her heart drumming against the silence. She wished she had Ryan’s photo off her mantle at home. She wanted, no, needed him now more than ever.

It was going to be a very long night.

Chapter Four

Lanie had spent most of the night in the most backbreaking wooden chair by the bedroom window, a blanket draped over her shoulders. The bed sat barely touched behind her; it made more sense to stay in the chair. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind against the glass in the night had pulled her back to the window anyway.

A soft knock at the bedroom door pulled her back to reality. “Come in.” She called, though her voice barely rose above a whisper. Her fingers tightened on the blanket draped around her shoulders, and her pulse quickened, a faint tremor running through her as she waited for the door to open.

Reggie stepped in, balancing a tray with a steaming mug of coffee, a stack of pancakes, and a bowl of fresh fruit. “It’s just me,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want for breakfast, so I went with pancakes - my comfort food - and added fruit to balance it out. And the biggest cup of coffee I could find. Figured if you slept as little as I did, you’d need all the caffeine you could get.” He set the tray on the bedside table, the rich aroma of coffee filling the room. Perched on the edge of the bed, he offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes.

“Thank you, Reggie. Not just for breakfast, but for letting me stay. I don’t think I could’ve managed a night alone at mine.” She tried for a smile, but couldn’t hold it. “I’m buying cameras today - a few for the shop, and one for each of our front doors. Maybe then we’ll both sleep a little easier.”

Reggie took a long sip of coffee, nodding. “The officers were outside all night. I kept checking, and I still couldn’t rest. I keep thinking Maeve’s right - we should look into this ourselves. If they didn’t catch the killer back then, why trust they’ll manage it now? They failed once, and with your life on the line…” His voice trailed off, despair clouding his expression.

“I don’t know, Reggie.” Lanie let out a weary sigh. “I think we have to let the police do their job. I’m just a bookshop owner, you make incredible coffee, and Maeve - well, she’s got the village gossip nailed - but we’re not detectives. What could we possibly uncover that the police couldn’t?”

A knock at the front door cut through their conversation. Reggie rose from the bed and started toward the hall, then paused, his hand braced against the door frame. “Maybe we won’t find anything the police missed back then,” he said, his voice low but urgent, “But doing nothing? Sitting around hoping they’ll suddenly get it right? That’s just waiting for you to end up like Alice Carter. And I can’t live with that possibility.” His jaw tightened before he turned away and disappeared down the hall.

A moment later, his voice carried back. “Lanie, it’s the detectives.”

Lanie hesitated, caught in the doorway, dread prickling at her skin. If the detectives brought answers, perhaps the nightmare would finally come to an end. If not—she imagined the faceless person who wanted her gone, still out there, watching. She pressed her lips together against a fresh wave of fear. No leads. No safety. Just waiting for something terrible she couldn’t predict.

Maybe Reggie was right. Who had more reason to care about catching the killer than her? She couldn’t expect the police to treat this like their own lives depended on it. Hers did. Was she really supposed to trust Officer Gates with her fate? The odds felt slim—frighteningly so.
She pulled a hoodie from the oak wardrobe, slid her feet into her slippers, and drew in a slow, steadying breath. “Please… let this be good news,” she whispered to the empty room, her hand trembling as it closed around the brass doorknob. Then she turned it and stepped toward the living room.

A man not much older than Lanie, mid-thirties, maybe, rose from the sofa and extended his hand. “Miss Cole, I’m Detective Rowlan. Please, sit with Mr Wilson.” He gestured to the space beside Reggie.

Lanie slid into the seat, casting a glance at Reggie. His expression held equal parts irritation and sadness. Turning back to the detective, she forced her voice steady, though the tremor betrayed her. “So… have you found anything? Anything that tells you who sent me that file - or who sent me a death threat?”

Detective Rowlan cleared his throat before answering. “I’m afraid not, Miss Cole. Our forensics team thoroughly swept the shop—no fingerprints besides both of yours, and no usable trace evidence. The note was dusted as well - the paper and the envelope both came up clean.”

A hard lump rose in Lanie’s throat, and before she could hold it back, hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “So what does that mean? You have no idea who sent me the murder file? No idea who threatened my life? What the hell happens now?” She dragged her sleeve across her face, shaking her head as silent defeat settled over her.

The detective leaned forward, folding his hands. “I’m afraid there’s not much more we can do. Other than the fact that someone managed to get hold of a confidential police file, we have no evidence that the threat to your life is credible. Could this be a cruel prank? Maybe someone is unhappy about you opening your shop in the old library?”

Reggie let out a sharp snort. “A prank? Someone accessed your confidential files, sent a death threat, and your best guess is a practical joke?” He shot to his feet, anger flashing hot. “Unbelievable. You failed Alice Carter, and now you’re going to fail Lanie, too. I think it’s best you leave—we’ll handle this ourselves.” He jabbed a finger toward the door, venom in his glare.

Lanie stayed slumped in her chair, her head buried in her hands, struggling to comprehend that the police could dismiss her life so easily.
At the door, the detective paused, glancing back at her. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more help. Without evidence, we don’t know where to start. However, if you receive anything else—whether threatening or not—please call us. We’ll be here as soon as possible. Oh - I’ve left the store key you gave us on the coffee table.” With that, he slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him.

For a long moment, silence settled over the room, heavy and raw. Then Lanie lifted her gaze to Reggie. “You were right. They don’t care about me—they only care about a case they botched years ago. We need to look into this ourselves. I’m not waiting around for the murderer to make good on his promise. So… where do we start?”

Reggie’s nod was almost fierce. “Maybe the detective wasn’t entirely useless. He said it might be someone who didn’t want the shop reopened. And we both know exactly who’s been vocal about keeping the library shut.”

A grim smile touched Lanie’s lips. “Grumpy Garret.”

Reggie’s mouth curved into a matching smile. “Grumpy Garret. You call Maeve—see what she can dig up on him. I’ll put the kettle on. Nothing like a strong brew to kick off a murder investigation.”

Lanie sank onto the sofa, phone pressed tight to her ear. Maeve picked up after a few rings. “Reggie’s. How fast can you get here?” Lanie’s voice was low, urgent. She provided the briefest outline of what had happened.
A pause. Then Maeve: “I’ll be there. Five minutes.”

Lanie ended the call just as Reggie returned, balancing three steaming mugs.

“I made one for Maeve, too.” His laugh was quick, anxious. “Let’s be honest - those detectives couldn’t sneeze without Maeve clocking it from her window.” He thrust a cup into her hands.

The porcelain burned her hands. She welcomed the warmth. “You’re right. The first thing she asked was why they left so fast. She’s already digging into Garret - through her…contacts.”

Reggie forced a chuckle. “Of course she is. Mysterious Maeve. Thinks she’s Sherlock Holmes.” The sound caught in his throat, thin and uneasy.

Lanie leaned forward, unable to settle. “Reggie, can I use your computer? I need to order cameras and get them delivered here. Later, we’ll go back to the shop, clean up whatever the detectives left, and set them up.” The words spilled out, urgent.

Reggie crossed the room to his desk in the corner, where his laptop waited in the shadows. He flipped it open, the screen’s glow spilling across his face before he handed it over to Lanie. She took it with trembling hands and began tapping frantically at the keys, her urgency bordering on desperation.

Reggie eased into the chair opposite, his eyes fixed on her in a silence that seemed to stretch too long. Finally, he spoke, his voice measured. “You can stay here again tonight, if you’d like. Especially since the police unit won’t be outside anymore.”

She lifted her eyes from the computer screen, the faintest smile tugging at her lips — a hint of gratitude and ease. “Thanks, Reggie. I’m hoping these cameras will help us both feel safer. I’ll probably stay one more night, if that’s okay? I know I can’t avoid going home forever, but… one more night not being alone might be nice.”

Reggie’s smile met hers; it carried a flicker of relief for him. “Of course. Stay tonight, see how you feel tomorrow. Hopefully, Maeve will turn up something useful about Garret.” His gaze lingered a moment before he added, softer, “Nothing matters more to me than keeping you safe, Lanie.”

“I appreciate it, Reggie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She breathed out a small sigh, comforted by the thought that at least he was looking out for her.

With the order placed, she closed the laptop lid with a decisive click. “Done. The cameras will be delivered here at three. We can set them up here first, then at mine, and after that head to the store. Hopefully the detectives didn’t leave too much of a mess.”

Reggie gave a short nod. “That gives us a few hours to look into Garret with Maeve. Before she gets here, do you still have any of those leaflets he printed when we first opened the store? The ones he used when he was petitioning to shut you down?”

Lanie thought for a moment. “Yes. I think I put one in the junk drawer in my office at home. I can pop over and grab it.” She started to rise, but the thought of stepping back into her empty house made her stomach twist.

Reggie noticed the hesitation. Setting his mug down on the table, he stood. “Finish your coffee and wait for Maeve. I’ll take the rubbish out and fetch the flyer from your office while I’m at it. Give me your key. You said the junk drawer in your desk — which one is it?”

Relieved, Lanie handed him the key with a shaky smile. “Thanks, Reggie. Second drawer down. It’ll probably be buried at the bottom.”
He accepted the key, his expression calm and careful, before he grabbed the rubbish bag from the kitchen and slipped outside toward her cottage.

Left alone, Lanie sat in the silence, the weight of the past few days pressing hard against her chest. She let her thoughts wander to escape routes, to towns where she might disappear if the killer was never caught. But even in that fragile daydream, one truth pulled at her — she would miss Maeve and Reggie most of all. Life away from Wild Oaks meant losing the only people who still felt like home.

“Hello? I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so I’m letting myself in.” Maeve’s voice broke through Lanie’s haze. A moment later, Maeve stepped into the room, her usual bright smile fading at the sight of her friend. “Lanie, darling, you look exhausted. I haven’t seen you this worn down since… well, since Ryan passed. Tell me everything. What did the detectives say?”

Lanie felt the sting of tears building behind her eyes. “Well, they were pretty much useless. They dusted the shop and the package for prints, for DNA, anything — and came up empty. Since they don’t think the threat against me is credible, they’re treating it like some cruel prank. They won’t do more unless something else happens.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t know what to do, Maeve. Knowing someone out there wants me dead… it’s pulling me under.”

Reggie stepped quietly into the hallway, stopping short of the living room. He lingered in the doorway, listening, not wanting to break the moment.

Maeve slipped an arm around Lanie’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Then you have to do whatever makes you feel safe, darling. If that means we dig into this ourselves, we do it. If it means disappearing for a while, you can. And if it means leaving Wild Oaks altogether — even though Reggie and I would miss you more than words — then that’s what you must do. Your safety comes first.”

At the mention of leaving, Reggie’s breath caught. His face drained of color, and he lifted a hand to his mouth as if to steady himself. Without a word, he backed out the front door.

“I don’t know what I want yet,” Lanie whispered. “Moving on makes sense — after Ryan, and now this. But the thought of leaving you and Reggie…” She shook her head, tears slipping free. “You’re my family. And the bookstore… all the work we’ve poured into it… Walking away would break me. I’m hoping we’ll find answers on our own. But if not…” Her voice faltered. “If not, I don’t think I’ll have a choice.”
Lanie bent forward, burying her face in her hands as sorrow swept through her, heavy and unrelenting.

Maeve straightened suddenly, slapping her knee with resolve. “Right then, let’s get on with it. You asked me to dig into Garret’s life — but why him?”

Lanie brushed her sleeve across damp eyes. “When the detective said it might be a prank, he asked if anyone could have a grudge about me opening the store in the old library. And… well, that would be Garret.”

Maeve gave a knowing nod. “Of course. That grumpy old git has tried to shut you down more than once. All those petitions, and never a single signature. Still, the question is — why is he so against it?”

Lanie leaned forward, wrapping both hands around her mug of tea like it was an anchor. “So what did you manage to find out? Or… your people? Who are your people, anyway? You make it sound so mysterious.”

Maeve chuckled softly, her eyes glinting. “Best you don’t ask about my people, darling. But they did manage to dig up a few interesting things.”

At that moment, Reggie stepped back into the room. “Sorry I took so long. I found the flyer in your desk drawer, and then…” He hesitated, his hand tightening on the folded paper. “I just needed a few minutes of fresh air.”

Lanie’s face softened. She smiled up at him, her voice warm. “It’s okay, Reggie. It’s been a lot for you, too. Maeve was just about to tell me what her… people… found out about Garret. Come sit.” She patted the space beside her, utterly at ease in his company.

Reggie eased into the seat beside her, giving Lanie’s knee a reassuring squeeze. She leaned into the comfort without hesitation.

Maeve rose, energy shifting as she paced the length of the room. “Well, it turns out our dear grump Garret isn’t as harmless as he looks. He’s got a record — arrested twenty years ago for stalking and breaking into someone’s home. My people are digging to find out who the victim was, and I’ll know more soon.” She turned sharply, eyes flicking to Reggie. “But, darling, why bother fetching that flyer? If the detectives didn’t find prints at the scene, they won’t have anything to compare his to anyway.”

Reggie cleared his throat, his grip tightening faintly on the folded paper in his hand. “Maybe not. But if we send it to the police, it shows Garret’s history of harassing Lanie, trying to bully her into shutting the store down. It might give them enough to question him, at least.”

“Reggie’s right,” Lanie said quickly. “If the police know he has a record for stalking, they’ll have to take him seriously. We could be onto something here.”

Reggie turned to Maeve, narrowing his eyes. “But how the hell did you even get that information, Maeve? Who are your people — MI5?”

Lanie let out a small laugh, and Maeve joined in with a sly grin. “As I told Lanie earlier, best not to ask, dear boy.” She winked, then her tone sharpened. “Now. Enough about how I got it. The real question is whether Garret was the one who broke into the store the night those books were shredded.”

From her pocket, she pulled out her phone.

Lanie and Reggie exchanged a puzzled glance. “And how exactly are we going to find that out? Who are you calling?” Lanie asked.
Maeve lifted a finger for silence. “Hello, darling, it’s Maeve. Two nights ago, did you happen to notice Garret leaving his place? Around eight-thirty?” She listened intently, nodding once or twice, then ended the call.

For a moment, she stood in silence, as though forgetting they hadn’t heard the other end. Finally, she looked up. “He was seen leaving just after eight that evening, and didn’t come back until twelve in the morning. That’s more than enough time to break into the store, destroy those books, write that note, and leave it on your doorstep, Lanie.”

A spark of hope broke through Lanie’s exhaustion. “Then we tell the police everything — the flyers he shoved around town, his record, his absence that night. They’ll have to question him, won’t they?”

Reggie leaned forward, a smile curving at his mouth. “Right. It has to be him. We’ve got the bastard.”

Maeve’s phone buzzed again. She excused herself, stepping into the hall for a brief call, then returned to them, her face drained of color. Without a word, she sank into the chair opposite.

Her voice was hushed, almost brittle. “We may need to tread very carefully with Garret. My people confirmed who he was arrested for stalking all those years ago. It was his younger sister’s best friend. Her name…” Maeve’s eyes met theirs. “…Alice Carter. I think we’ve found our killer.”

Lanie and Reggie froze, the hope they’d shared collapsing in an instant.

Lanie’s voice trembled. “Surely it can’t be that easy. If we uncovered all of this in a single day, how was he never a suspect in her murder investigation?”

Maeve exhaled slowly, her expression darkening. “He was, darling. The police questioned him once they tied him to Alice. But nothing at the crime scene pointed to him — no prints, no DNA, nothing they could use to hold him. So they let him walk.”
“Perfect. Just perfect.” Reggie shot to his feet, pacing the length of the room with sharp strides, his hand raking through his hair. He shook his head, a mix of disbelief and frustration. “Then we can’t go to the police with this, not without evidence. They’ll just let him slip away again. And this time, he’d know we were onto him. God knows what he’d do if he thought we were close to cracking it — to finally getting him locked up.”