by Неизвестный
“Um. Your suit and tie are gray, sir. A moody sort of gray.”
He chuckled. “I know that. I was testing you.” Something rustled. “I’ll take these ones if you think they’re okay.”
“Excellent choice, sir. I’ll ring these right up.”
As she returned to the counter, I nudged a few inches further into the cupboard, next to the computer and extra rolls of receipt paper. I should have stood up as soon as they’d started talking about me, but now it was beyond awkward.
Brianna clicked away and gave him the total, adding, “That’s with the family discount, since technically you live with the store’s owner.”
“Watch yourself,” he said dramatically. “That’s how rumors get started.”
She laughed. “You’ll like Stormy,” she said. “Just don’t make her mad, and you’ll be fine. She really is funny, and smart, and generous, and kind.”
My cheeks flushed. The cupboard was getting very warm.
Objects clattered on the counter above my head, and a bag rustled. They finished the transaction, and the door chimed as he left.
Once Brianna was distracted with another customer, I opened the curtain, crept out from under the counter, and slipped away through the back door.
Chapter 20
For the second time that morning, I walked into the House of Bean for coffee. My first vanilla latte was back at Glorious Gifts, barely touched. I couldn’t have taken it with me, or Brianna would have known I’d overheard her conversation with Logan.
I approached the coffee shop’s counter with rising dread. The little bundle of evil known as Chad was working the cash register. He was my least-favorite barista, the one who insisted on using official House of Bean menu terminology.
“Good morning,” I said.
The young man replied with an aggressively cheerful, “Good morning to you, ma’am!”
I dug in my purse for my wallet, avoiding eye contact. “Vanilla latte, please. Large.”
“Sorry,” he said in a sing-song tone that was anything but apologetic. “We don’t have those. May I interest you in a Teenie Weenie Beanie Steamer?”
I glanced up with a blank expression, playing dumb. “But isn’t that just a latte with vanilla syrup?”
Evil Chad’s eyes narrowed to their most evil setting. “Our Teenie Weenie Beanie Steamer is a delicious blend of steamed milk, hot espresso, and two pumps of our signature vanilla bean flavor.”
We faced off in silence.
Evil Chad didn’t know who he was up against. I would quit drinking their specialty coffees before I ordered a Teenie Weenie Beanie Steamer.
There was nobody waiting in line behind me, and I wasn’t in any rush, so I took the opportunity to share some helpful tips with the young man. What followed was less of a discussion than an informative lecture. After about five minutes of my persuasive, reasonable, somewhat loud words, he bowed his head slightly, as though acknowledging that perhaps when a customer ordered something that he knew darn well was something they offered, albeit with their own silly name on the menu board, he could just make them their coffee without further humiliation.
Evil Chad took my money wordlessly and made my drink, letting his grumpy expression speak volumes.
“Careful you don’t burn yourself,” he said, handing it over. “It’s very hot.”
“Can I have a sleeve?”
He tossed a cardboard sleeve on the counter. “Yes you may,” he said. “You may have a sleeve for your Teenie Weenie Beanie Steamer, Mountain-Sized.”
“Thanks, Chad,” I said brightly. “I appreciate your commitment to excellence.”
On my way out of House of Bean, a dark figure, lean as an exclamation mark, caught my eye. I turned my head just as the shape disappeared around the corner. I could have sworn it was Creepy Jeepers, but it had to be my overactive imagination because Leo Jenkins had been arrested.
Chapter 21
Residents jokingly refer to the Fox and Hound as the Lost and Found, on account of the many scarves and mittens left behind in the darkened booths, as well as the spontaneous relationships that are “found” right around last call. With its many interconnected rooms and well-worn upholstery, the place was a far cry from the nightclubs in bigger cities, but in a small town like Misty Falls, it was the closest thing to a “scene.”
After a full day of normal activities, I drove to the corner of town, parked at the pub, and went in to meet an old friend, Jessica Kelly.
It was eight o’clock when I walked in. The Fox and Hound pub was about a third full, and my entrance did not go unnoticed. Many heads turned my way; I checked behind me to see if someone far more interesting had followed me in, but I was on my own.
I self-consciously wove my way around the tables, scanning for Jessica’s bright red hair. I walked slowly, dreading this reunion, though I couldn’t remember exactly why I’d been avoiding her since my return to town. I’d only sent her a message because I was playing detective, but now that the police had made an arrest, I didn’t need to ask about her coworkers. When she’d messaged back, suggesting drinks tonight at the Fox and Hound, I’d felt so guilty for my selfish intentions, I’d said yes, and now here I was, out in public, with everyone staring at me. I climbed the stairs to an upper level, spotting her near one of the pub’s three cozy fireplaces, alone at a round table for three.
She saw me and jumped up, squealing my name. We hugged, and I got a mouth full of her red hair. She squeezed me so hard I had to gasp for air. “So good to see you,” she said, finally releasing me.
I felt many eyes on us as I took a seat at the table. “Small-town life is so different,” I said. “In the city, nobody even looks up when you walk into a place.”
Jessica grinned at me over her drink, a glass mug of something amber, speared with a cinnamon stick.
“I’m sure guys were always checking you out,” she said. “Even if you were too busy to notice.” She leaned to the side to look under the table at my boots. “Wowzers. Nice dress, bracelet, tights, and new boots, too. Stormy, did you go to Blue Enchantment and buy everything off the window mannequin?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only because I’ve been dreaming about doing the same thing. But on my salary, I have to hope the good stuff is still around for seasonal clearance sales.”
I turned quickly toward the glowing logs in the fireplace so she wouldn’t see my reaction. I remembered why Jessica and I lost touch. She’d talked about money every time I saw her, mostly about how she didn’t have any whereas I did.
Her comments about my spending always put me on the defensive, which wasn’t fair. I worked hard, and didn’t deserve to feel bad for having a nice car. Other people didn’t see the long hours I put into my career, the sacrifices I made. I missed our high school’s ten-year reunion because I was overseas on business, having the most miserable time of my life. The trip to Hong Kong had been years ago, and while I couldn’t recall details about the business, I remembered vividly how lonely I’d been in my hotel room, looking at the online photos of everyone who’d made it to the reunion.
If Jessica had ever needed a loan, I would have given it to her, but she refused both charity and debt. I’d try taking her for dinner at nice places as a way of sharing, but she was too proud to let me pay. It killed me to see her digging through the change in her purse for her share of a bill. I eventually resorted to fibbing, secretly intercepting the waitress so I could pay the bill before telling Jessica the restaurant had comped our meal because a dish had been too spicy.
“Earth to Stormy.” She waved a pale hand in front of my face. “What are you thinking about?”
I considered telling her the truth, all at once, like ripping off a bandage. If we were going to be friends, I didn’t want money coming between us.
“Just remembering that one time in Portland, when we went to the Japanese steakhouse,” I said. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something about that night.”
Her b
lue eyes widened. “The steak house? That was the best night ever! Seriously, it was the best night of my life, better than prom.”
“Really?” I shifted my chair away from the fire.
“And you’re so smart, the way you always get those freebies for us.” She used her cinnamon stick as a straw to finish the last of her mulled cider. “You know what? I ordered a hot chocolate, but Dharma brought me this cider, and I drank it anyway. I’m such a dummy.” She waved for me to lean in over the table and said, “Can you coach me in your ways, oh wise one? How do I charm my way to a free refill?”
I was still reeling from the news that our trip to the steak house had been better than prom for her, but even if I hadn’t been so stunned, I didn’t have the first clue how to get free stuff in a restaurant.
“Do you want the hot chocolate you ordered, or another cider?”
She licked her lips. “The cider was really good.”
I pushed my chair back. “That’s an easy one,” I lied. “Which one is our waitress?”
Jessica pointed out an older woman with pure white hair. She must have been in her sixties, but by the way she balanced pitchers of beer and a platter of buffalo wings for another table, I could tell she was the type of granny who dragged the other grannies out for tango lessons.
When I intercepted the woman near the bar, she apologized for not checking on our table yet. I gave her my credit card to run a tab. I finished my instructions by saying, “And if my friend asks, could you imply that the next round is on the house?”
“Let me guess,” the white-haired waitress said with a knowing smile. “Your friend’s poor and you’re rich?”
“I’m not rich.”
“Your car tells another story,” she said. “I was outside to checking that the sidewalks were salted when I saw you pull up.”
My cheeks warming, I admitted the priciest car in the parking lot was mine.
“Then you’re not rich after all,” she said. “Rich people don’t drive flashy cars. They drive old ones, so people won’t know.”
“I should trade my car for something more practical.”
“You could trade it for my old van.” She winked. “Just kidding. I wouldn’t trade my van for anything. The old gal’s hitting her prime, and we ladies need to stick together, you know? Men and everything else may come and go, but friendship is forever.”
I murmured a half-hearted agreement and returned to the table.
Jessica had her eyes closed and was swaying to the blues song playing over the pub’s speakers.
“Good song,” I said.
She startled and held her hand to her heart. “I’m the worst,” she said. “I’ve been babbling about steak dinners and hot ciders, and I haven’t even asked how you’re doing. You look great. Do you want to talk about everything that happened yesterday, or would you rather I didn’t pry?”
“Thanks for asking,” I said. “Yesterday was—”
I cut myself off when the waitress arrived with two fresh hot ciders. “On the house,” she said with a smile.
After the waitress left, I finished, “Yesterday is in the past. Let’s leave it there. We’ve got better things to catch up on. We can talk about boys, like we used to.”
I picked up my mug, but she put her hand on my arm, stopping me from taking a sip. Her expression got very serious; I braced myself for something upsetting.
“You should do a toast,” she said. “One of those fabulous Irish toasts your family does. Would that be okay?” Before I could respond, she was shaking her head, saying, “No, I’m being silly. Never mind. It’s just the two of us, and you’re only here tonight because you feel sorry for me, weird little Jessica Kelly who never left Misty Falls or even tried to make something of her life.” She turned toward the fireplace, the orange glow of the gas flames catching in the tears she blinked away.
I pushed my chair back and stood.
Still facing the fire, she said, darkly, “We’ll save that toast for your going-away party when you get to leave again.”
I grabbed my mug and raised it. People were watching, but I didn’t care.
Jessica turned to me, tilting her head in confusion.
“You gotta stand,” I said.
She got to her feet and held up her mug with a shaking hand.
In a pale imitation of my father’s brogue, I intoned, “There are good ships, and there are wood ships, the ships that sail the sea. But the best ships are friendships, and may they always be.”
We clinked glasses and took a sip. The mulled hot cider was perfect.
The next hour passed quickly as we talked about old friends, our wacky families, and next month’s plans for Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
“You should come here to the Fox and Hound,” she said. “It’s the best place in town because they do a masquerade party. It’s fabulous. You should come with me, and you’ll meet my friends Marcy and Marvin.”
I coughed and shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “If the costume shop is closed due to the owner being behind bars, that might put a wet blanket on everyone’s masquerade plans.”
“Behind bars?” She looked confused. “I hear Creepy Jeepers made some sort of deal, and he won’t even serve time for the break-in.”
“But what about the murder?”
She tipped her head to the side. “I’m guessing by the look on your face, you didn’t hear the news. He was out of town at the time the police figured the you-know-what happened.”
I folded my hands in my lap looked down, making my face neutral, acutely aware of the sensation I was being watched.
Jessica jumped up, waving her hand and calling to someone. She asked if I would mind if someone joined our small table, and I mumbled something, barely able to hear my words over the buzzing in my head.
The third chair pulled out, and slender legs in tight jeans came into view.
Chapter 22
Jessica said to the newcomer, “This is Stormy Day. She’s basically my best friend, so you might be seeing a lot of her.”
“Yes,” I agreed, looking up with a pleasant smile for the newcomer. “You must be… Marcy?”
“Not even close,” she said. “My name is Harper, like the author, Harper Lee.”
I shook her hand and repeated, “Harper Lee.” Her fingers were very cold.
“Minus the Lee,” she said. “Just Harper.” She turned to Jessica and complimented her lipstick as well as her hair, worn down and unbraided for a change from how she had to wear it at work.
Harper wore the same too-dark lipstick she’d applied in front of me the day before when she’d fixed her makeup in the one-way mirror at Ruby’s. She’d been standing next to Mr. Jenkins, the man who’d broken into the victim’s house, but was apparently not being charged in the mysterious death. Was Harper connected somehow? She’d seemed rattled by the news yesterday, but then again, who wouldn’t be? I was still reeling from Jessica’s bombshell about Creepy Jeepers. When I’d seen the skinny guy outside House of Bean, it must have been him after all. I would do well to trust my instincts more, and right now they were telling me something wasn’t quite right with Harper.
I watched her with interest. She scanned the pub again and again, twisting the jewelry in her nose piercing with fingernails that had been bitten to the quick.
Jessica continued the introductions, telling me she worked with Harper and telling the blonde, “Stormy’s father is a cop.”
“A retired police officer,” I said, watching Harper for any signs of discomfort. She sat up straighter and blinked repeatedly.
Jessica said to her, “Don’t worry. Stormy’s not a stick-in-the-mud just because her dad’s a cop. In fact, she’s the one you want to get in trouble with because she can talk her way out of anything.”
“Cool,” Harper said with a head bob. “What kind of trouble?” She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear with one hand while she twisted the jewelry in her nose piercing with the other.
Jessica answered on m
y behalf. “In high school, Stormy used to go after the bullies. She’d teach them a lesson.”
I held my hands up. “Guilty as charged. I dumped mashed potatoes and gravy on a few guys in the cafeteria, and now I have a reputation for being nuts.”
Harper gave me a sly smile. “Cool. All the best people are crazy.”
“I’m not crazy,” I said. “I can get a little emotional about things.”
“She’s passionate,” Jessica said with a knowing smirk. “For example, if Stormy wants a vanilla latte, that’s what she wants, and not something with a silly name. Once she picks a battle, she’ll die on that hill.”
I crossed my arms and gave her a pretend-scathing look. “What did you hear?”
She gave me an innocent expression.
Our snowy-haired waitress appeared with three ciders. We hadn’t ordered another round yet, as I still had most of my original cider remaining.
“On the house,” she said.
“Dharma, no way,” Jessica said, rummaging in her purse. “I’ll get this round.”
The waitress winked at me before saying, “The bearded gentleman at the bar has already paid.”
All three of us turned at once to see who she meant. There were three men with beards sitting around the bar, but only one looked back at us with a smile and a wave. Logan Sanderson. He’d changed out of the gray suit he’d worn into my store earlier that day, but he looked every bit as suave in a casual denim shirt.
“What’s he drinking?” I asked the waitress.
“Whiskey,” she said.
I asked her to list their top-shelf whiskeys and returned his gesture by sending over a glass of twenty-one-year-old Bushmills that my father would have approved of.
After the waitress had left, Jessica wanted to chip in on the drink. I practically had to arm wrestle her to get her to put her purse away.
Harper asked me, “Is that guy a friend of yours? He’s cute.”
“Cute?” I pretended I hadn’t noticed.