Michael Malone - Weebly

Luke's sister read them. (So did Prudence Lattice and
Evelyn Troyes; Sarah MacDerrnott had started one last
Christmas, but had never found time to finish it.) Slowly
turning the stand, Luke looked to see if the new Ben
Rough was in: Heather Should Have Died Hereafter.
There it was, with Heather dangling stiffly over a water
bed, a pair of panty hose tied tightly around her neck.
Luke skimmed the blurb on the back; sometimes
they put new jackets on books he'd already read.
Political graft, mob syndicates, police corruption, brutal
beatings; fast sex, cars, and guns—that was all familiar.
But the private eye, Roderick Steady, jilted by a quiet
librarian? That was new.
Suddenly from behind the counter Sammy Smalter
appeared with a quick jerk at his yellow bow tie. You
always thought you were alone in the pharmacy until the
diminutive owner came out at you.
Strangers sometimes jumped, but Luke was used to
Mr. Smalter, and to the yellow tie and the three-piece
suit the midget always wore, summer or winter, and to
the baby-fine yellow hair circling his bald crown like a
wreath of duckling feathers.