Looking out of her used bookstore window at the gray drizzle that cloaked the morning, she thought it gave the old main street a forlorn Dickensian lo...k. On a day like today,?she could see herself curled up in her armchair with a Kay Hooper mystery and a glass of wine. Too bad nobody else this morning felt that same way. The drizzle seemed to keep everyone inside. Erika was not what one would picture as a book dealer. Most pictured her as a quiet, librarian type with her hair up in a bun. The music hadn’t been terrible, it was just a bit too modern – no real timbre, just a typical pop-rock beat under acceptable vocals. It was just the sort of thing your bosses would love, something they could pump out over the airwaves ad nauseam; eventually, though, everyone and their mother would have the lyrics memorized. “A-Minor” would be sporting air-brushed smiles, and a hundred thousand screaming teens would piss themselves just to throw money at the merch. You smirk thinking about the. More

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