radio, or glimpse those words being spoken by a television newscaster. Get me the murderer straightaway. Heâll never see the light of day again, and then we will close this case. Good day, Alexandra.â The line disconnected in her ear.
âDamn,â she swore while replacing the receiver in the hook.
Before she could recuperate from her call with the mayor, her assistant, Maya, stuck her head in the door. âI just thought youâd like to know that Ms. Virginia was found dead in her shop this morning.â
Maya knew that Alexandra was paranoid about Harlem and wanted to know every little tidbit of information, even if it didnât relate to anything in particular. She just wanted to be up on things. Maya was competent as well as nosy, so generally she had no trouble accommodating what she considered Alexandraâs fetish.
Alexandra frowned in puzzlement, wondering what Maya was talking about.
âMs. Virginia, the old woman who owned Visionaries, the bookstore over on 125 th Street,â Maya said.
âOh, yeah,â Alexandra tuned in. âShe was a very sweet lady. What happened to her?â
âLooks like she died of a heart attack,â Maya hesitated. âBut there was one strange thing.â
Alexandraâs eyes turned to slits. She glared at Maya. âI donât want to hear any strange things. She died of a heart attack; thatâs a very natural way to go.â
âYeah, I know, but thatâs not really it. Well . . . I donât know how to say this . . .â
âJust say it,â Alexandra spat the words at her. If there was one thing she hated, it was procrastination, and Maya well knew that. It was a waste of valuable time. What the hell was wrong with her?
âIt was the books in her store.â
âWhat about the books, Maya?â
âWell, all the books in the store are missing the words.â
Alexandra began to laugh; she couldnât help herself.
âIs this a joke? Thereâs never been a book printed without words in it, Maya. Thatâs what makes up the booksâthe words, get it?â
âYeah. Thatâs why itâs strange. The covers of the books are all there, only the words are missing on the pages of every book in the store. Every page, inside every book, is blank. There are no words on the pages,â Maya enunciated every word for emphasis.
Alexandra, for once in her life, was speechless. Maya took full advantage of this. She actually enjoyed it, even though she was unhappy about the circumstances. Ms. Virginia would be missed. She was like the heart of Harlem.
âI bought a book from her just yesterday morning, Alexandra. My book has all the words in it.â
Maya took a last look at the shocked disbelief on Alexandraâs face and backed out of the office, closing the door behind her.
For the second time that morning, Alexandra ran a hand through her blond curls. How the hell could the words be missing on every page of every book, in a bookstore that sold books for a living?
That was impossible.
19
T he unmarked car flew over the roadway of the Hudson River Parkway. Monicaâs hands gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles were turning a dull pink.
Lonzo looked at her face, which looked as though it were carved out of stone, and decided he might as well kick off the tantrum that was brewing. No sense in wasting time.
âWhat the hell was that all about at Tracie Burlingameâs house?â
âWhat?â Monica asked through clenched teeth.
âDonât play me, Monica. I ainât seen you playing hardball with a dead boyâs mother before.â
The car raced over a ramp, and Monicaâs eyes flashed dangerously.
âThatâs because I havenât seen that many dead boys asphyxiated, with their throats stuffed with sunflower seeds, and the blood drained from their bodies before.â She pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
âGunshot wounds and
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