Although, with the elevated tension, I wasn’t entirely sure how true that would be.
“Thanks for coming by. So nice of you to take the time.” I found my voice more out of desperation to break the moment than anything else.
It worked. Leo drew his attention back to me, the smile more genuine again. He pulled something out of his pocket, paused, and I could see the war raging internally. Then he held out a small box. “This is for your housewarming… er… grand opening.” He cleared his throat, and I recalled Branson saying I was ravishing when I was flustered. Apparently that quality was going around. Leo shoved the box toward me. “It’s not much.”
“Thank you, Leo. You didn’t need to do that.” Impossibly, Branson stiffened even further as I took the gift. “I have no idea what the etiquette is for anything like this. Should I open it now?”
“Whenever you want.” Leo shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not much.”
More to have something to do with my hands than anything, I pulled the thin red ribbon loose and lifted the small lid. Despite my internal promise to attempt to sound both pleased and neutral, I sucked in a genuine gasp of pleasure. I glanced up at him and then back to the silver earrings before lifting them into the air. Each one had three pounded-silver corgi silhouettes connected by tiny silver hoops. They glistened in the light.
Leo shrugged again. “I’ve noticed you really like dangly silver earrings.” He motioned to the pair I had on. “I figure these are like them, except with little Watsons.”
“I love them. They’re perfect.” I put them back in the box and closed the lid. “Thank you.” I felt like I should hug him or something, but stayed where I was. Suddenly I prayed Barry would hurry over and say something ridiculous, no matter what it was. Or Percival, even if it was some horrid comment about me needing to choose between two handsome men. Or knowing Percival, telling me there was no reason to choose between two handsome men—that I should take them both.
And for crying out loud, Watson and I were here for mountains, family, and books—not men. I wasn’t supposed to care about glistening green eyes or honey-yellow brown ones either for that matter. And I most definitely was not supposed to be stuck between two men, feeling awkward and self-conscious and oddly guilty—though I’d done nothing wrong—on the opening night of the Cozy Corgi. That wasn’t the plan.
I slid the box into my pocket, then reached out with both hands and gave Leo’s and Branson’s forearms a quick squeeze simultaneously. “It is so wonderful for both of you to come. I simply can’t thank you enough. However….” I glanced down at my feet, expecting to find Watson there, then remembered that Barry was nearby so I might as well be chopped liver. I saw the two of them exactly where I’d left them. Barry was lavishing affection on Watson, while the other three members of my family had been joined by Barry’s daughters and their families.
The entire group was watching the fiasco that was my life. I slapped my thigh. “Watson. I promised you one of Katie’s treats! I completely forgot.”
At the word treat, Watson sprang to attention, and his gaze darted between Barry and me.
I might’ve smiled at Branson and Leo as I headed away, but I wasn’t sure. I slapped my thigh again, this time hard enough it stung as I angled around my family and toward the stairs. “Come on, Watson. Treat!”
Thankfully the promise of a second of Katie’s all-natural dog bones won out, and Watson headed in my direction.
Percival cocked an eyebrow as I slid past him, teasing thick in his tone. “Fred, I don’t mind getting Watson his treat. I don’t want to take you away from anything.”
“Don’t you dare.” I offered him a glare and a shake of my finger, then made a hasty escape up the stairs.
True, I’d faced two different killers since my move to Estes Park the previous November. I knew some people considered me brave. Doubtlessly, that image would be shattered if they knew I was stuffing my face not simply because Katie was a master baker but because I was waiting for a farewell text from Leo or Branson. Honestly, I didn’t care which one left. But I was certain neither would walk away without some sort of goodbye.
By the time I received Leo’s parting message and braved returning downstairs, I’d devoured a ham-and-cheese croissant of my own—this one with ham from an actual pig—and polished off one of Katie’s lemon bars for dessert. Never mind that the two of us were going to dinner in a matter of hours. Of course, Pasta Thyme had small portions, despite the expensive price tag, so I didn’t feel too guilty about it. Watson received another dog bone as payment for allowing me to use him as an escape. He opted to stay close to Katie as opposed to returning downstairs with me. I couldn’t blame him.
I felt a little guilty but texted Leo back, thanking him again for the earrings.
He didn’t respond.
I couldn’t blame him for that either. I was the one who’d abandoned him. But it wasn’t my fault both he and Branson had decided to pursue me for some stupid reason. Nor was it my fault they were both stupidly attractive and charming in their own ways. And it most definitely wasn’t my fault my brain seemed unable to function properly when I was around either one of them.
Thankfully it was my family—and not Branson—who waited for me when I arrived on the main level. However, they were only waiting to say goodbye.
After watching them go, I glanced around, trying to spot Branson. I couldn’t. Maybe I’d been wrong and he’d left without a farewell. I was okay with that too.
Relaxing somewhat, I wandered around the bookshop, chatting with customers. Most people didn’t seem like they were there to buy anything, more to check out the grand opening of the Cozy Corgi. I knew part of the draw was coming into the place where Opal Garble was killed. That was fine. Book sales would come later. And even if they didn’t, part of the blessings of being betrayed by my ex-business partner was ending up with enough money from the buyout that I could keep the bookstore running as long as I wanted. Provided I didn’t develop some lavish lifestyle, including going to Pasta Thyme for too many dinners.
I fell more in love with my bookshop as I saw it through the eyes of those exploring it for the first time. I would change nothing about it. The lighting was perfect, the furnishings managed to strike a balance between well-crafted yet not ostentatious, and the entire environment truly was cozy. My affection for the bookshop continued to grow as I walked into my favorite section—the tiny room in the back left corner that I’d reserved for the mystery genre. It also happened to be the space with the largest river rock fireplace, which was little more than embers at the moment. And there was Branson, sitting on the ornate antique sofa, looking at a book by the light of a Victorian lamp.
The fact that I was relieved he hadn’t left without a farewell betrayed my emotions. When I spoke, I was pleased my voice was steady. “What are you reading?”
He smiled up at me and presented the cover. The New Exploits of Sherlock Holmes. “Will you hate me if I confess I can’t stand mystery novels?”
His statement took me aback, and I blinked. “You know…. Kinda, yes.” I managed to laugh. “All right, maybe not hate you, but how in the world can anyone dislike mystery novels? Especially a police officer?”
He shrugged. “It’s like being at work. Why would I want to read that? Spend all day solving cases, then come home to read about someone else doing it?” He shook the book. “Plus, Sherlock Holmes is a little bit arrogant, don’t you think?”
“Give me that. You don’t deserve to touch it.” I snatched the book from his fingers, and though I managed another laugh, part of me was a bit offended for some reason. And in truth, my estimation of Branson Wexler went down a tick. My father had been the best policeman I’d ever met, and he’d devoured mysteries by the truckload. His favorite being all things Sherlock Holmes. “Surely you’ve realized you’re in the mystery room. I’m not certain you even deserve to sit on the sofa or enjoy the fire.”
“I stumbled on a land mine, didn’t I?” He chuckled, a
nd unless I was mistaken, heat seemed to glow in his eyes. “Although, I suppose I should know better. Your dog is named Watson, for crying out loud. Obviously you like Sherlock Holmes novels.”
“Charlotte and I had done an open call for submissions for books similar to Sherlock Holmes at the publishing company right around the time Watson came into my life. It was kismet.” And though Charlotte’s and my business partnership had dissolved, Watson had lived up to his name on a couple of different occasions already.
“Well, he’s pretty cute.” He stood and lifted the book from my hand again. “I’ll put this up for you. And who knows, maybe over dinner you can convince me about the charms of reading mystery novels.” He flashed a hopeful smile, but it faded as something caught his attention over my shoulder.
I turned to see.
“Myrtle and her disciples.” His voice was cold, more so than I’d ever heard it before.
I hadn’t been sure what I was looking for, but at his words, I saw Myrtle Bantam. I was about to ask what he meant by disciples, and then figured it out. Maybe I didn’t have my sidekick Watson with me, but I could put two and two together on my own at times. A crowd of people stood around Myrtle, each of them wearing rather hideous army green vests covered in various patches. I returned my attention to Branson. “You call the members of Myrtle’s bird-watching club her disciples?”
He didn’t look at me when he responded, keeping his narrowed eyes on the small group. “Yeah. They do her bidding. Drive the police force crazy, constantly accusing someone of poaching. It’s every other week that there’s a new suspect they’re convinced has the police hoodwinked. Sometimes they turn in each other.” He looked at me then, a partial smile returning. “She even has twelve of them. I’m not kidding.”
Okay, even I had to admit that was a little funny. And I wasn’t entirely surprised at Branson’s reaction. Part of the conflict between him and Leo was because of Leo’s insistence that the previous owner of my shop had been a poacher. Branson hadn’t given his claims any credence, and Leo had been right.
“Do you mind if I leave this with you?” Branson handed the Sherlock Holmes book back to me. “And will you call me a coward if I request to escape through the back door? I don’t have it in me to deal with that lot this evening.”
Despite being relieved to see him, after our conversation about mystery novels, I was ready to see him go. It probably said horrible things about me that I would find someone wanting because they weren’t in love with my favorite genre of literature. “Of course not. You know that Myrtle and I don’t see eye to eye on everything either. And I appreciate you coming to the opening night. It is very sweet of you.”
“Thanks for understanding.” This time his smile was genuine, and he gave me another brief hug and a quick kiss on my cheek. “Congratulations, Fred. The Cozy Corgi is truly spectacular. See you soon.” And with that, he was gone.
Time to focus on my bookshop and the potential customers instead of a love life that I didn’t want to have anyway. Even so, at any other time, I would’ve had a similar reaction to Branson’s at the sight of the bird club and go out of my way to check on other customers before going to Myrtle. It wasn’t exactly bad blood between us, but she hadn’t taken to me questioning the shop owners about murder when my stepfather had been accused. I’d kept my distance since then.
The group wasn’t hard to find, nor were they in an unexpected place. There was another small nook, half of which was devoted to books about nature and wildlife, and the other half to photography. Steeling myself, I crossed the bookshop, smiling as I passed customers who caught my eye, and approached the group. Though not as tall as me, Myrtle was crane-like. She had a willowy figure, bordering on bony, and her white spiked hair was reminiscent of feathers. To top it off, she had a tendency to flap her arms when she spoke, and unfortunately also had a propensity to sound like she was squawking. She truly was bird in human form. The fact that she owned Wings of the Rockies, a wild-bird store, and led a bird-watching club, seemed the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi, Myrtle.” I gave a little wave, feeling awkward as I drew closer. “And everyone else. So glad you all could come by the grand opening tonight.” Two familiar faces caught my eye among her disciples—Branson’s term of Myrtle and her ornithological friends truly did seem apt. “Carl, Paulie, I didn’t know you two were members of the Feathered Friends Brigade.” I scanned the other faces that turned in my direction. “Is Anna here?”
Carl grinned and hurried over to hug me. We’d never hugged before, but it seemed it was the thing to do at grand openings. I hadn’t been aware of that fact. “No, she uses my time at the club as her girls’ nights. She said to send her regards”—he pulled out a dog bone—“and to give Watson one of these.” Carl and Anna owned the home furnishing store right across from the bookshop, and Anna was obsessed with Watson.
I took the dog bone. “Thank you. I’ll make sure he gets it. Right now he’s upstairs hoping to get more of Katie’s baking, I’m sure.”
“I’m the newest member. I joined recently.” Paulie, who owned the pet shop, also gave me a hug. “Congratulations, Fred. The store is beautiful.”
Carl gave me a knowing glance over Paulie’s shoulder. “One of our members moved away, so we had an opening.”
Paulie was relatively new to Estes Park and not very well liked. I was glad he was starting to find his place, maybe.
Myrtle cut off the greeting by thrusting a large hardback book in my direction. “Care to explain this?”
I took the heavy book out of her hand, instantly regretting my decision to come over. It seemed I was destined to make a bad impression on Myrtle, no matter what I did. I glanced at the cover. “Oh, yes. I remember ordering this one. Have you looked through it? The photographs are stunning. The birdcages span the past two centuries. My favorites are the ones from the Victorian times.” I pointed to the cover, which showed an example of just that. I caught Carl give a quick shake of his head, couldn’t understand his meaning, and kept speaking. “There are some that look like entire homes, complete with rooms. Like genuine houses for birds.”
“A genuine house for birds is a nest in a tree, Miss Page.” As Myrtle’s voice rose in volume, so did her propensity for sounding birdlike. A rather stunning pin of a swallow glinted on the scarf at her neck. “Unless, of course, you’re talking about a belted kingfisher who uses holes in the ground, or the gyrfalcon that nests in the cliffs of the Arctic.” She thumped the book with a bony finger. “I can promise you that none of them live in wire birdcages, especially ones designed to look like evil little houses. It’s bad enough in regular cages, but in a contraption like that, there’s not even a speck of room for a bird to spread its wings and fly more than an inch. Tell me, Fred, how would you like to live in such a torture device?”
I couldn’t bring myself to look away from Myrtle, though I could feel the attention of the entire lower level of the shop staring at us. “I… honestly never thought of it like that. I suppose from that perspective, these cages aren’t all that charming.”
Myrtle stomped over to the shelf and pulled out another book. She readjusted her peacock-feathered purse on her shoulder. “Now this one is appropriate. A bird-watcher’s guide. If you manage to read it, it talks in length about the cruelty of domesticating birds.” She smacked it on top of the other book. “Maybe you could take the time to read the books in your own store.”
My temper flared, not entirely uncommon, but I managed to rein in my tongue before I said something I’d regret. That was unusual. I had to take a shaky deep breath before I allowed myself to respond. I’d promised myself I was going to do everything possible to make a good impression on the other storeowners of Estes Park; it seemed important we support one another. And if I had to eat crow to do it, I would. At least a little. “I don’t have time right now, obviously, but if you’d like to arrange something later, maybe you could come down one evening and we could go through all the books on birds toget
her. Let me know if there are some that might be harmful to birds, or make suggestions about others you think should be in here.”
Once more I noticed Carl’s eyes widen, and he gave an appreciative nod.
For her part, Myrtle’s mouth fell open, and despite the tension of the moment, I couldn’t help but think she looked like a young featherless bird in the nest hoping its mother would drop a worm in her gaping beak. Clearly she hadn’t expected such a response.
Well, that made two of us.
“I will most definitely make time for that.” Myrtle’s voice had come back to a more reserved tone. “I very much appreciate your willingness to be educated on the subject.” She smiled, the first one I’d ever seen from her. “Will tomorrow evening work?”
I started to shake my head, then envisioned another outburst. I wanted the town talking about the charm of my bookstore, and the perfection of Katie’s delicacies when they mentioned the grand opening of the Cozy Corgi, not a screaming match between Myrtle Bantam and Winifred Page. And I supposed I might as well get the torture over with. “Tomorrow would be perfect.”
Once again, surprise flitted across Myrtle’s features, but she caught herself quicker this time. “Wonderful. See you then.” Her gaze flicked to the door and then upstairs. “You know, it smells wonderful in here. Maybe the Feathered Friends Brigade should sample what little Katie is offering. Maybe we could start having pastries at our meetings.”
There was a murmur of agreement from her disciples. And once more, proving I had a long way to go before I finally acted my age, they sounded like little chicks chirping after their mother hen. Even so, I appreciated the gesture. “That would be lovely.” My grandmother’s voice echoed in my mind, reminding me to kill my adversaries with kindness. “Please tell Katie when you go upstairs that everything your group has tonight is on the house.”
Bickering Birds (Cozy Corgi Mysteries Book 3) Page 2