Stephen and Walter came in about eleven looking well-rested and ready to work, and since Mart was handling alarm repairs and the insurance and Marcus was going to do the clean-up and painting on the door, I asked if they could help me by sorting the stock room. It had been creeping me out that everything was still in the same place as when Stevensmith had been killed, and the sheriff said I could go ahead and move things.
The guys were oddly enthused by the idea. Walter asked, “So do you want everything organized by color or alphabet?”
I cringed. “By alphabet. I’ve never understood bookshelves organized by color. I mean they look pretty, but I would never be able to find anything.”
Stephen nodded, but Walter said, “You verbal people will never get us visual folks. I never remember who w
