Free Night Owls by Lauren M. Roy

sighed. “You’re right. I have to wait.”
    Chaz let go. “If you want to go look around later, I’ll go with you. But he loved it here, and everyone knew it. If more information’s going to come in, it’ll make its way here pretty fast.”
    Now that Val looked around, she saw that he was right. More people had trickled in, mostly shell-shocked students who stood in clusters, talking in hushed voices. One stood alone, up at the register. Justin. Val strode straight down the aisle to him. He looked frozen in place, ashen and confused. As she got closer, his dark eyes flicked to her.
    “Val, they said . . . They said—”
    She caught him as he crumpled and pulled him into a hug. Justin didn’t sob or moan, but Val felt hot tears wetting her blouse. Every now and then he’d tremble, or his thin shoulders would hitch, but he hardly made a sound. He straightened after a while, not meeting her gaze as he went for the tissues and wiped his eyes. It had to be slightly awkward to be held by your boss. “Thank you,” he said at last, pulling away from her.
    She nodded and stepped back. “Do you want to go home for the night? Back to campus?”
    “No. I think I’ll be better staying, if that’s okay.”
    “Of course.” He had to be thinking the same as Chaz: people would come here to share news as it was discovered. “Well, you don’t have to stay up here. Go talk to whoever you need to.”
    Justin took another few seconds to compose himself, then stepped down and headed for a group of students. They made a space for him as he approached. A girl Val didn’t know slung her arm around Justin’s waist and they leaned into one another, offering comfort.
     • • • 
    N IGHT O WLS FOUND itself hosting its own wake for the professor and Helen. Val sent Chaz to the bakery for a platter of pastries, and had Justin help her wrangle the monster-sized coffee urn they set up for author signings and book club nights. People stopped in and told stories about classes they’d had with Henry or Helen’s unflagging energy on various campus committees. No one knew much about the killing itself, only that the motive appeared to be robbery. Word had it the house had been ransacked.
    After midnight, the crowd began to thin. By one o’clock, they were back down to the regulars, only more subdued. Val only saw Justin a few times after she’d relieved him of duty, always standing in a small knot of people, though usually on the outside of the group. The last glimpse she’d had of him had been around eleven thirty, when he’d restocked the supply of Styrofoam coffee cups. As she looked around now, Val realized she hadn’t seen Justin at all for the last hour.
    Maybe he slipped out and went home after all.
But it wasn’t like him to leave without letting her know. Her gaze fell on the door to the rare books room, and her stomach dropped. She groped for the hook beneath the register, hoping to hear the rattle of the chain, the clatter of the silver key hanging from it hitting the wall. With the news of the Clearwaters’ murder, she’d completely forgotten to take it away.
Shit, shit, shit.
    She grabbed at empty air.
    Justin was in the back. Alone with the Jackals’ book. She couldn’t explain why—aside from
that thing creeps me out
—but she found herself sprinting toward the back of the store, determined to yank the damned thing out of Justin’s hands if she had to.
    As she passed the end of the shelves and fumbled for her own key, the door opened. Justin backed out, placing his palm flat against the edge of the door and turning the handle all the way to shut it as quietly as possible.
    He turned around and yelped when he found himself nose to nose with Val, the momentary fright on his face collapsing into guilt.
    “I thought I said that room was off-limits.” She’d said it to Chaz, but Justin had been right there. He’d damned well heard.
    His cringe intensified. “I just . . . I just wanted to sit in there