No wonder she hated the man. “You said she was fired. She writes the obituaries now.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “But Gerald Jackson also has a large holding in the newspaper. He and Athena are friends. He pulled some weight and got her job back. Not the one she had or wanted, but still.”
“Did you say Gerald Jackson?” Maybe I still had corgi slobber in my ears. Gerald was friends with Barry, Percival, and Gary, and was a lawyer, but I’d been thoroughly unimpressed every time I met the man. “He stood up to Mr. Beaker and got Athena her job back?”
“He sure did.” Paulie checked on the dogs once more before turning back to me, his expression serious. “We’re friends, Fred, so I’m going to be up front. I’m going to tell Athena that I told you the story. I don’t want either one of you thinking I’d lie to my friends.”
I most definitely did not deserve Paulie labeling me as a friend, but I was determined to change that. “I admire that quality, Paulie.”
His story about Athena made sense. I could easily see Eustace acting in such a way. I couldn’t blame Athena for feeling how she did if the man had stolen her dream in such an abrupt and unfair manner. Although…
“If Athena has that history with the Beaker family, why in the world would she attend Carla’s espresso launch?”
Paulie laughed and nearly glowed with pride. “That’s Athena for you. Nobody tells her where she can or can’t go. And she doesn’t take flak from anybody. She goes into Black Bear Roaster at least once a week, sometimes with her computer to write the obituaries, just to rub it in Carla’s and Mr. Beaker’s faces.”
I barely knew the woman, but I could see her doing that.
But maybe Paulie was blinded by friendship in this case. Maybe rubbing their noses in it with her presence wasn’t revenge enough. And there wouldn’t be a more public payback than what had happened, and she’d had front row seats to the show.
Paulie clucked his tongue, pulling me back to the moment. “I can tell what you’re thinking, Fred. She didn’t do it. Athena would never do anything like that.”
There was no reason to deny my thoughts. “Like I said, Paulie, I’m not the police. I just poke around. And if Athena is the kind of woman you say she is, then me poking around won’t change that fact, will it?”
“That’s true, I suppose.”
Some of his insecurity came back into his tone. “I’m still going to tell her what I’ve said. I hope that doesn’t make you mad at me.”
“Hey, you two! Or should I say four!” Barry’s voice called out, and I turned to see him walking toward us. I gave a little wave before turning back to Paulie.
“It most definitely doesn’t make me mad. If anything, I respect you for it. You being an honorable person definitely will not hurt our friendship, Paulie.” I smiled in a way I hoped showed my genuine growing affection for him.
“Thanks.” His voice was thick, and he sniffed.
And then Barry was upon us. Flotsam and Jetsam went wild. Granted, it seemed they went into excited conniption fits over lint, but still, my stepfather proved, in at least three out of three cases, to be the equivalent of catnip for corgis.
Seeing the gaping hole in the wall of Sinful Bites only increased my feeling of guilt when Watson and I arrived back at the Cozy Corgi. Thick, opaque plastic had been secured, blocking the view inside of the shop, and yellow caution tape formed a large X, making it clear the area wasn’t safe.
Maybe I needed to come with caution tape.
Harold White refused to leave my mind on the way back into town from Aspen Grove. He’d been so depressed, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. Beautiful view or not, I couldn’t imagine having to spend my life stuck between that tiny room and Carla’s coffee shop. And then, to make matters worse for him, though I didn’t think I’d done anything to prompt it, the poor old man was worried I was trying to get his granddaughter charged with murder.
I hadn’t gone around town asking endless questions, though I’d been planning on doing that very thing. Even so, it seemed everyone assumed I was going to take it upon myself to prove that Eustace Beaker was murdered and then point out who that particular murderer was.
Was I that predictable?
Apparently.
Watson pulled on his leash, urging me to quit standing on the sidewalk and go into the bookshop, but I couldn’t tear myself away from staring at the caution tape.
Had I caused that? By doing what Susan Green constantly accused me of—poking my nose where it didn’t belong? Had I stressed out an old man so much that it exacerbated his seizures and nearly cost my uncles their lives in the process?
On some level, I knew that was ridiculous. It was. I hadn’t accused Carla of anything, and the only questioning I’d done had been with Athena. Granted, I’d gone to the assisted-living home that morning with the intention of seeing what I could uncover from Harold, but still. I hadn’t caused this.
Though, somewhere inside me, a little voice whispered that maybe I had.
Talk about a morning full of looking in the mirror and not loving what I saw. First Harold, then Paulie. Gracious as Paulie was, I’d been nearly as guilty as the rest of the town of leaving him alienated and alone.
That was what I needed to focus on. Quit worrying about trying to solve a murder—more accurately, quit enjoying the sensation of solving them before the police—and focus on simply doing what I’d come here to do. Sell books and build a life that was comfortable and that I could be proud of. I needed to pay attention to good people who wanted to be my friend instead of looking for poison when someone choked.
Watson whimpered and finally managed to pull my attention away from the hole in the wall.
I met his pleading brown gaze and made him a promise. “All right. We’ll go in. From now on, you’ll be able to spend as much time as you want sleeping in the sunshine by the windows. I’ll quit dragging you all around town like you’re the George to my Nancy or the Lacey to my Cagney.” I ruffled the fur on the top of his head. “Or the Watson to my Holmes, for that matter. You can just be Watson—furry best friend and bottomless treat disposal.”
His fox ears pointed straight up in the air, his eyes brightened, and he gave a bunny hop.
With that he made my heart soften and managed to help me laugh. “I said the word, didn’t I? Well, come on, then. Let’s go see Katie and get you your favorite treat.”
The rest of the morning was spent making good on my promise. I had just enough time to get Watson his treats, and a dirty chai and chocolate chip scone for myself after a quick greeting with Katie, and then I was lost to the world of retail. Beautiful, beautiful book retail.
A hipster couple visiting from Portland wanted a field guide containing an exhaustive list of safe edible fungi native to Rocky Mountain National Park. I had yet to quit being surprised how many copies of that book I sold.
A woman who appeared to be in her early twenties, with so many facial piercings that I kept losing count as she spoke, found the perfect cozy mystery based on my suggestion. Though, that one took me a while. I’d assumed she was looking for the darker, supernatural variety of that genre. Instead, she was drawn to a series about an eighty-year-old church secretary who solved murders from her Meals on Wheels van.
Half an hour later, an elderly lady who appeared to be the embodiment of the Meals on Wheels sleuth herself, surprised me by asking for the steamiest romance novel I had in stock, but one with a nondescript cover and title so the other members of the church choir wouldn’t suspect.
To my surprise, Myrtle Bantam came in around lunchtime and didn’t ask for books about birds, and proved Paulie’s claim of her feelings about me were accurate when she bought a vibrant yellow hoodie with a large emblem of the Cozy Corgi logo emblazoned on the front.
That interaction alleviated my guilt somewhat. At least my snooping had made Myrtle’s life better.
By the time midafternoon rolled around, there’d been barely enough time to run back up to the bakery and ge
t a snack and a second dirty chai. Katie and I shared quick smiles but little else as she was slammed as well, even more than me.
This was the life I’d envisioned. My own little world, my own little bookshop. Better than I’d envisioned, with the soothing sounds and comforting aromas from the bakery upstairs filling my space. An endless string of patrons falling in love with the Cozy Corgi and needing my help to discover their next great escape. And in a couple more weeks, if what the locals said was true, the real wave of tourists would arrive and then I’d really be swept away.
And through it all, Watson lay by the front windows in his typical spot, surrounded by the general-fiction and new-release section—snoozing, snoring, and stretching contentedly, only shifting slightly to keep his napping place firmly centered in the sunlight.
I was so caught up in helping customers and willfully devoting myself to this, and only this, aspect of my life that it took me a second to recognize the boy when he came in. I was halfway through my greeting when I did a double take and realized who I was speaking to. And once more, guilt filtered back in. This time, I didn’t have to seek his name.
“Nick. Hi. What can I do for you?” I was certain the teenage barista from Black Bear Roaster had never been in before. Maybe Carla had sent him down to spy on me to see if I was snooping, giving her grandfather more reasons to be stressed out and sick. Or maybe to serve me with papers because she was going to sue me for damages to her car.
Could that even be a thing?
The speculations tumbled so fast that I barely caught Nick’s first words as he shook his head. “I’m not Nick. I’m Ben.” He pointed to his bottom lip. “I have a scar here on the left. Nick has a scar on his right eyebrow.” He then tapped his head, his voice so quiet that it was barely audible over the soft piped-in music and background noise from the bakery. “And my hair’s a little longer.”
I stared at the barista, trying to make sense of his words. As I was doing so, Watson pattered over and nudged the boy’s shin with his forehead.
The kid startled, looked down, then smiled, seeming to relax for the first time as he bent and stroked Watson’s back.
I marveled at the two of them. Well, really I marveled at Watson. I had yet to figure out what made him attracted to someone. He wasn’t a people person, or a people pup rather. He tolerated them if he had to or they were offering him treats, but every once in a while, there was one he seemed to want to know. Or, in the case of Leo and Barry, worship.
The barista folded his lanky body as he crouched to really give Watson affection, and he smiled up at me. His dark eyes were shadowed, maybe a little pained, but he brightened in Watson’s presence. “I like your dog.”
“His name is Watson, and he likes you. That’s pretty rare, Nick.” At the crease that formed between the boy’s brows, I realized my mistake and had to think back for a second to recall his name. “Sorry, Ben, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, scar on my lip and longer hair, remember?”
There was only one explanation, the obvious one. “You must be Nick’s twin brother. I didn’t even know he was a twin.” What a stupid thing to say. Up until a hot second ago, I hadn’t even bothered to know the barista’s name, let alone inquire about his familial situation.
“Yep.” Again, he was barely audible as he nodded, and then Ben refocused on Watson, and I swore the two of them gazed into each other’s eyes and had some sort of conversation. Then, to my utter shock, he pressed his forehead to Watson’s, gave a final pat, and stood.
Not only had Watson allowed it to happen, but he continued to sit, comfortably, at Ben’s feet, not even begging for a snack or demanding more attention.
I was completely thrown off and bewildered. Finally, I refocused on Ben, who was watching me expectantly. His gaze was so intense that it was slightly uncomfortable, like maybe he could see the guilt I’d been battling with that morning. Although if he could, he didn’t seem to be condemning me for it.
Good grief, what was my problem?
Demanding my brain to think sensibly, I gave him my best shopkeeper smile. “Well, Ben, what can I do for you? You searching for a particular book?”
He shook his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a second his tongue darted out and licked his lips. Poor kid was nervous, which in turn, made me nervous once more.
Watson scooted a little closer, resting his flank against Ben’s leg.
It was all the encouragement he needed. His dark brown eyes lasered directly into mine, and though his voice wavered, his gaze didn’t. “My folks said I either need to apply to colleges or get a job. Don’t really want to do either. I want to write books. But… in the meantime… I figure working at a bookstore would be second best.”
Once more I felt a little slow on the uptake. “Katie and I”—I pointed upstairs as if he couldn’t figure it out—“are doing interviews for the bakery. Is that what you are thinking?”
He grimaced. “No. I didn’t know about that. But I’m more curious about the bookshop. I don’t like to cook. That’s Nick’s thing, not mine.”
We’d planned on getting the bakery squared away first. Interviewing employees for the bakery and the bookshop at the same time seemed like too much, but when I envisioned who I wanted to work here, it most definitely hadn’t been a kid who was barely loud enough to be heard over soft jazz.
No big deal. It would be easy enough, just tell him I wasn’t hiring quite yet. But let him know he could interview later.
Watson shifted again and chuffed, bringing my attention to him as if he could read my mind.
Maybe he could.
In that moment I was certain I could read his.
How strange. Although, not really. For his grumpy disposition and seemingly only caring about snacks and naps, Watson occasionally displayed nearly mystical awareness of someone’s pain and need. That was how he came into my life, after all. Wandered up to me at my darkest, lowest moment, then changed my world.
I looked at the barista’s twin once more. “How old are you, Ben?”
“Eighteen.” He cleared his throat. “I graduate high school in two weeks. But for this last semester, I only go half days anyway. I could work afternoons as soon as tomorrow if you want.”
A million questions flitted through my mind. Did his parents know he was applying here? What about his brother? Did Carla know?
That last one gave me pause. There was so much conflict between the two of us. Surely having her barista’s brother work for me would somehow be twisted into me sinking my claws into her in some new way.
But that wasn’t Ben’s fault. And the kid was eighteen. Well… that wasn’t right either. If he was eighteen, he wasn’t a kid.
“What kind of books do you want to write?”
His eyes widened, and though his volume got no louder, his passion was clearly evident in his words. “I’ve been mapping out a series for years. About a detective named Coyote.” He hesitated, but just for a second. “In my culture… in the Ute culture, there are stories about Coyote, wolf’s younger brother. He’s a trickster, but I’m rewriting him to be in present day, and he’s going to be a thief who solves murders.”
I nearly fell over. “You want to write mysteries?”
He nodded, clearly wondering if he’d said too much.
My suspicious thoughts brought back my guilt from earlier, but I went with them anyway. “Do you know what job I did before I moved to Estes Park?” Maybe he’d researched and found out that I’d owned Mystery Incorporated, a publishing company focused solely on various subgroups of the mystery genre.
He grimaced and gave me a reproachful stare. I could almost hear him think, All right then, creepy old lady.
I nearly laughed. “Okay, apparently not. Mystery novels happen to be my favorite, that’s all.”
Ben relaxed somewhat. “Oh. Mine too.”
I glanced back at Watson, who stared up at me with his “See? I know what I’m doing” expression.
Maybe I�
�d regret it; maybe I wouldn’t, but I didn’t see how things could get much clearer. “Well, Ben, I wasn’t quite prepared to hire anyone at this very moment, but why don’t you come back in tomorrow, and I’ll have all the paperwork figured out and printed off, and we’ll go from there.”
His eyes widened once more, and when he smiled, the scar on his lower lip grew more visible. “Really? I can work here?”
“Yes.” Even as I spoke, a sense of calm came over me, that gut feeling that I’d come, lately, to trust. “As long as all the paperwork checks out and everything, you can probably start in a couple of days.”
He practically glowed. “Thanks, lady!”
“You can call me Fred.”
He cast me a puzzled expression, nodded, and then squatted down again. “Nice to meet you, Watson. I’ll see you soon.” He rubbed Watson’s head again, stood, gave me a nervous wave and left the shop.
Watson watched him go, then grinned up at me before trotting off to his napping place.
“Oh no you don’t. This was partially your fault.”
He looked back at me over his shoulder.
“Actually, entirely your fault.” I reached for his leash under the counter. “So you’re coming with me.”
Maybe I was insane… probably no maybe about it, but at the thought of hiring Ben, the guilt I’d felt the entire day officially bubbled over. Even as I led Watson down the street toward Black Bear Roaster, my better senses tried to talk me out of it. And by better senses, I meant the lecture I’d gotten from Katie when I told her where I was going replayed in my mind.
I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t accused Carla of murdering her father-in-law. I hadn’t caused her grandfather’s seizures and couldn’t be held responsible for his increased stress around the fear that I was going to. And it was utterly asinine to think I owed her any explanation for hiring her barista’s twin brother.
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