my business.
The interior of the store was racked out with metal shelving crammed with brightly-colored game boxes, paperback fantasy books, and action figures of fantasy and science fiction characters. Inside a glass-topped display case in the center of the store, two armies of metal miniatures faced each other across a battlefield of fake grass and plastic ruins.
The counter was a long glass cabinet that displayed more figurines, games, and dice. Standing behind it, his nose buried in a Warhammer paperback, was Timothy Ellsworth, a young man who had recently become a werewolf and asked for my help in keeping him restrained during the full moon.
“Hey, Timothy,” I said.
He looked up from the book and his face brightened. “Alec! How are you?” Then he frowned and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What are you doing here? It isn’t the full moon yet.”
“No, I’m not here for that,” I said, taking his cue to drop my voice to a whisper even though there were no customers in the store. “I came to see Wesley Jones. Is he here?”
He hesitated. “Ummm…”
“I know he’s here,” I told him.
Timothy’s eyes widened. “How do you know that? Some sort of magic?”
I grinned and shook my head. “If nobody else is here, then why are we whispering?”
He let out a sigh and pointed to a door at the rear of the store marked Staff Only. “He’s in the alley having a smoke. He sits on the dumpster out there. He told me that if you came by, I was to tell you he wasn’t here.”
So, Wesley had guessed that I’d be paying him a visit after reading his article and now he was in hiding. In a small town like this, how long did he hope to avoid me?
“I was going to tell you he was here, even if you hadn’t deduced it,” Timothy said. “You’re my friend, Alec, and I trust you with my biggest secret.”
“Speaking of which,” I said as I walked toward the rear door, “just make sure your boss never finds out or it’ll be all over the Dearmont Observer .”
“I know that,” he said, giving me a little wave as I opened the door and went out into the alley.
Wesley was sitting on a blue dumpster smoking a cigarette. When he saw me come out of his store and walk toward him, his mouth dropped open and the cigarette fell to the ground, where it sparked for a brief second before dying.
Wesley followed it, sliding off the dumpster with an agility borne of fear, and I thought he was going to run but he stumbled backward and found himself trapped between the dumpster and me. “Before you say anything, the people of Dearmont have a right to know what’s happening in their town,” he said, his eyes wide with fear behind his glasses.
“You’ve been spying on me, Wesley,” I said calmly. I was angry but there was no need to shout. Sometimes, cool detachment is scarier.
“Not spying. I just happened to be at the cemetery at the same time as you and I put two and two together.”
“And came up with five,” I said. “There’s no problem at the cemetery. I’m not investigating anything there.”
“Even after what happened last night?” he asked.
“What happened last night?” I gave nothing away, unsure of how much he knew about the zombies on Main Street. There hadn’t been many witnesses.
Wesley shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure and nobody will officially talk to me about it but there were rumors flying around town this morning that some residents of the old South Cemetery were seen walking through town. That must be connected to you, am I right?”
I said nothing.
“Would you give me an exclusive interview?” he asked hopefully.
“Don’t push it, Wesley.”
“Okay, fine. But I haven’t been spying on you, I swear. I’m just observant.”
“So that’s how you knew Amy Cantrell had been to my office? Because you were being observant?”
“I can see your office from my store window,” he said. “I don’t even have to go out onto the sidewalk. I saw the deputy go to your
Learning to Kill: Stories