What I couldn't figure out from the social media posts, though, was the exact cause of the argument between Colt and Michael.
A few anonymous commenters had cited an incident that day at the casino, between Michael and an employee who was a niece of his. According to internet user Rainbow733, Colt had witnessed Michael playing fast and loose with the rules at the Roulette table where his niece was the dealer. He'd issued a warning through his staff, and when Michael had turned belligerent, the staff had started escorting him out. Michael had been on his way out when the kerfuffle in the atrium happened.
I'd heard Michael yell at Colt, “Isn't it enough that you and your family don't pay your fair share of taxes? You need to stay out of my business.” That didn't sound to me like a man telling off his niece's boss. But then again, Michael had never been one for words when he could use his fists.
The front door chimed. A minute later, Brianna appeared in the back office holding both the coffee she needed to deal with me plus the one I needed to deal with her.
We still had ten minutes of quiet before we opened for business. We slurped our caffeinated beverages in easy silence, as was our Monday morning ritual.
Most other weekdays, Brianna opened the store on her own. On Mondays, I came in early to deal with paperwork and put in restock orders. If I got straight to work without delay, I could be done by three o'clock. And I should have started already, not reading gossip on the internet. Our candle order truly was overdue.
I would get to it immediately... right after I finished looking at the last five years' of Colt's posts and photos. As research.
“Hey, I know that guy,” Brianna said, taking a seat to get a better view of my computer screen. I scrolled past a picture of Colt at a dressy event, wearing his usual suit and bolo tie.
“You know Colt Canuso?”
Brianna bounced on the second not-so-good office chair, making it squeak. “Not personally, but I thought he looked familiar. I just saw this guy in the coffee shop. Like five minutes ago.” She pointed at the screen excitedly. “This guy. With the bolo tie and everything.”
“He was at House of Bean?” I hadn't seen him there before, or around the downtown core for that matter.
“This guy was totally in the line in front of me,” Brianna said. “His hair's long in the back, and he had it tied with a leather strap. He was wearing a suit like that, with a bolo tie. What a character! I actually snapped a reference photo when he wasn't looking, because as soon as I saw his look, I knew I had to put him in my web comic.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a blurry picture of Colt Canuso in profile.
“Brianna, you shouldn't put real people in your comic. If your website gets popular—I mean when it gets popular—people will try to sue you. It doesn't seem like a big deal now, but you need to think about your future.” I shook my finger at her. In an exaggerated parental tone, I said, “You must think about your future, young lady. The internet is forever!”
“Whatever,” she said, just like the bratty kid she was.
Brianna had recently turned twenty-two, but in many ways she resembled a teenager. She'd never lived on her own or had a serious relationship. She even looked like a kid, with her round face and big eyes. I had “acquired” Brianna along with my purchase of the gift shop. To my relief, she was an ideal store manager. Behind that cute face was a sharp mind. Not only was she quick enough to keep up with my witty banter, but the cash drawer always balanced to the penny whenever she was on the register. I couldn't say the same for our other casual and part-time help.
Brianna leaned over and clicked the arrows on the computer keyboard to scroll through Colt's posts. Her glossy dark-brown hair swung back and forth energetically.
“What exactly are we looking for, boss?” She scrolled the page down, all the way to pictures from five years ago. “Isn't that the gymnasium at the high school?”
“Those must be pictures from my ten-year reunion. Don't get too excited about seeing me with bad hair. I wasn't there. I didn't make it home for that one.”
“I know a lot of these people,” she said. “There's my second-cousin, Chip, and his wife, Quinn. Oh, and there's the real estate lady. Samantha. Did I ever tell you about the time Gloria made her cry?”
I turned my chair around so I could face Brianna. Gloria was the original owner of Glorious Gifts. She'd listed the business for sale through Samantha Sweet's real estate office, which was how we'd originally met.
“Gloria made Samantha cry?” And here I thought I was the only difficult client who brought the nervous realtor to tears.
Brianna made a flat line with her mouth. “I shouldn't talk trash about my old boss, but Gloria could be mean.”
Mean. I frowned. Jessica had called me mean on Saturday. Was it just a word people used without considering how it might hurt someone's feelings? Or was it inevitable that any woman would get one label or the other, either nice or mean, with no middle ground?
The door chimed to let us know someone was opening the front door. We weren't supposed to be open for a few more minutes, but apparently Brianna hadn't turned the latch on her way back with our beverages.
Brianna groaned. “Someone has made it through our defenses.”
“That's what happens when you don't lock the door behind you.”
She grabbed her takeout cup of mocha and headed toward the front to greet our first customer of the day. She might groan to me in private, but she was always polite and sincere with our customers.
A minute later, I heard a man's voice. “Is the owner here? I need to speak to the store's owner. She's in big trouble.”
Chapter 11
I came out front to find a dark-haired man leaning casually against the store's front counter.
“There's that manager,” he said, smiling.
It was none other than the man I'd been cyberstalking all morning—Colt Canuso.
I let out a chortle of relief. “You had me worried for a minute,” I said. “I was about to call in my big, tough security guards to kick you out on your tush.”
Brianna, who stood behind the counter, struck a pose, flexing her biceps. “Boss, do you want me to toss this fella out?” She looked extra comical with her red Librarian Chic cardigan still buttoned crookedly.
“I'll deal with this surly customer personally,” I told her. “Go finish drinking your mocha and open all that mail on my desk. You can even use the pointy mail opener.”
She saluted me and went back to the office. We had several running jokes at the store, and one of them was about the hierarchy of staff members and which ones were allowed to use the pointy mail opener and the good scissors.
After she'd left, Colt asked, “Has she been working for you long? And by working for you, I mean spying on people.”
“She's my manager here at the store, but she doesn't work for the investigation agency. Any spying Brianna does is strictly personal.”
He raised his dark eyebrows and fixed me with his deep-brown eyes, just like he had in my dreams.
“Come on, Stormy. It's just us.” We were alone in the store. Monday mornings weren't usually busy, which made it a good day to do orders and take deliveries. But after the dreams I'd had, I found myself hoping for an interruption.
“You sent your employee to do surveillance on me,” Colt said. “She's not very subtle. I heard her phone click when she took my picture.” His forehead wrinkled with worry. “What's going on? Has Michael hired your boyfriend the lawyer to sue me for giving him what he deserves? We carry insurance, but you should know, we've got some real tough-as-nails lawyers of our own.”
I smiled to set him at ease. “Colt, I swear Brianna wasn't acting on my orders. You're not being sued—as far as I know. Brianna was taking your picture for her own nefarious purposes.”
“Nefarious? You and your big words.”
“You'll see what I mean when a dark-haired man with a bolo tie suddenly shows up in her web comic.”
“Oh? That girl is Brie
the Distractor? She works for you?” He blinked rapidly. “If that girl in the red sweater is Brie the Distractor, and you're her boss, that means you're... her.” He laughed. “You're Whirlwind. I can't believe I didn't put that together before now. Stormy is Whirlwind.”
I shook my head. “I'm not Whirlwind, trust me. Any resemblance to real people in her web comic is strictly coincidental.” I tried to strike a casual, non-Whirlwind-like pose with my elbows resting on the counter. “And since when did Brianna's web comic get so popular?”
“I've been reading it for a few years now.”
“Great,” I said. “I'll get you an autographed calendar for Christmas.”
He stared at me and sent me a warm feeling without saying a word.
I felt the urge to rearrange the stapler and other items on the counter. “So, what brings you here, anyway? Can I help you pick out a gift for someone?”
“I was just running some errands in town when I noticed your lackey taking my picture, so I thought I'd pop in and say hello.” He cleared his throat. “Stormy, I'd like to apologize for my behavior on Saturday.”
“Which part? Kissing a married lady? Flirting with me? Or punching a guy in the stomach, right in front of a whole bunch of families?”
“I'm a lover, not a fighter, so I'm only apologizing for the last one.”
“I read the press release. It was pretty vague.”
His dark-brown eyes glistened. “I'm a pacifist. It was wrong of me to punch Michael Sweet. Even if he did deserve it.”
“What was he even doing? Did he confront you about”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“kissing his wife?”
Colt's head jerked up, and he gave me a startled look. “Did you tell him about that?”
“No. I believed you that it was a one-time thing. But you promised me you were going to back off.” I poked my finger at him. “But you did the opposite of backing off. So, if it wasn't Samantha that you two were fighting over, what was it?”
Colt rubbed his temples. “This and that. Did you know he used to date my sister, Trigger?”
“Ew.”
“Mikey's not that well-liked by my family, but I don't think his own family likes him much better.”
“Is it true his niece works at the casino?”
“Apparently. I didn't know, until I caught him pushing the rules at the roulette table. Plus he was soliciting. He's been asked repeatedly to stop hustling my customers, but we still catch him handing out business cards for his real estate business. I always tell him, people come to the casino to relax, not get a sales pitch.”
“That's all there was to it? You wanted him to stop placing late bets and handing out business cards?”
“That's all, I swear. Stormy, I'd never lie to you.” He bit his lower lip suggestively. “I admire you way too much.” He lifted his chin and looked down at me with interest. I didn't need to have read three books on body language to understand what he was thinking about, much less admiring.
I checked the top buttons on my blouse and took a step back. The previous night's dreams had been vivid, but reality was even more intense.
The door chimed, and another customer entered. I breathed an actual sigh of relief.
It was a petite blonde with a familiar face. At first, I thought it was Samantha, but this woman was wearing a sexy black cocktail dress, and Samantha always wore bright colors and white blazers. But I did know this woman. I'd been so focused on Colt that it took a few seconds for my brain to switch gears and cough up a name.
“Quinn!” My arms flew up in the air girlishly. The arms-in-the-air move had to be a muscle memory from high school and the enthusiastic way we cheerleaders always greeted each other in public.
“Stormy-poo!” Quinn threw her arms in the air as well. She ran toward me, saw Colt, and did a double take. “Colty-poo!”
Colty-poo? I'd completely forgotten about the head cheerleader's diminutive nicknames for everyone.
I'd circled around the counter to give her a hug. Colt had his arms outstretched as well.
Quinn laughed and hugged both of us at the same time. Her arms weren't very long, so it felt less like a group hug and more like I was being purposely crushed against the front of Colt Canuso, like a child's Ken and Barbie dolls being forced to kiss.
This is life in your hometown, I told myself. Every day was an opportunity to reunite with high school friends, for better or worse.
Quinn must have been thinking a similar thing. She squealed, “It's like a miniature high school reunion happening right here.”
I broke away from the squishy embrace and looked my old girlfriend up and down. She was smaller than I remembered. Even in spiky black heels, her eyes were barely the same level as mine. Quinn Baudelaire had seemed larger than life when we were teenagers. The bossy head cheerleaders in teen movies had seemingly been inspired by our own Quinn, a true queen bee to the rest of the squad.
Her blond hair was now styled in a sensible mom haircut, but her enviable figure remained unchanged by time and motherhood. Beneath the hem of her short black cocktail dress were the legs that couldn't possibly be as long as they seemed.
“Look at you,” I said with genuine admiration. “Nothing but legs and boobs and a smile.”
She squealed in delight and kicked up a heel. “Pilates five times a week!”
“I believe it,” I said.
“You should come, Stormy! I do a cardio funk class twice a week as well. It's like cheerleading, but for older gals like us.”
“Older gals.” I snorted. “Speaking of cheerleading,” I waved at Colt, who'd been standing by patiently, “Colt was just telling me on Saturday morning that he should have been on the squad with us.”
“Saturday morning? You were together in the morning, as in...?” She glanced between the two of us and let out a bubbly squeal. “I knew it!” She made the shame-shame finger gesture. “Shame, shame. Stormy, now I know your new boyfriend's name.” She stopped the gesture and put her hands on her petite waist. “It's about time you ditched the weird lawyer with the hipster beard and got yourself a real man.”
A real man?
Colt grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Actually, I'm still dating the lawyer with the hipster beard,” I told Quinn. “I just happened to bump into Colt the other day at—”
“Did you see him punching Michael in the guts at the casino?” She shook her head but kept smiling. “You boys and your scuffles. You're so silly.” She reached up and bopped Colt on the nose. “Silly Colty-poo. You know Michael's harmless.”
“He's not harmless,” Colt growled. “And don't call me that.” He straightened his bolo tie and gave me a formal bow as he took a step back, toward the exit. “Stormy, I'll be seeing you around. Next time you want to go for a swim, try the pool.”
“Ha ha,” I said.
He winked at me and then left.
Now I was alone with Quinn. What other unwanted surprises did that Monday have in store for me? I glanced over at the back hallway, hoping for Brianna to emerge and save me before Quinn signed me up for Pilates and cardio funk, whatever that was.
Quinn gave me an openmouthed smile. We both looked each other over once more.
She said, “At least your bearded guy's a lawyer. I hear they make good money.”
“They can,” I said. “And you married a mailman. I hear that's secure.”
“Chip?” She covered her mouth and giggled. “I did always love a man in uniform.”
“Congratulations,” I said. “I met your daughter, Quinby, on Saturday. Very charming, just like her mother. So confident.”
“And ambitious,” Quinn added. “She's going to be a big star.”
“Did the talent scouts at the casino give her some encouragement?”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed as she leaned forward and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet with excitement.
“Quinn, I don't mean to be a killjoy, but promise me you'll be careful around those entertain
ment people. They're only in it for themselves. They want nothing more than for every proud parent to drop a thousand bucks on professional styling and photographs, from their approved vendor list, of course.”
The smile fell off her face. “Jessica's right. You have changed. You've become so jaded and cynical.”
“Come on, Quinn. We're all a few years older now. We've both changed.” I leaned forward and sniffed her. “You don't smell like watermelon lip gloss anymore.” I sniffed again. “Are you wearing perfume? It smells expensive. And nice.”
She giggled. “It should smell nice, because yes, it is expensive.” She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized me. “And you've let your hair go... natural?”
I fluffed my pixie cut self-consciously. “I'm a low-maintenance kinda gal.”
“Sure you are,” she said. “Just keep telling yourself that, Stormy. Never mind that low maintenance is just another word for lazy.”
And there it is, I thought. The note of condescension. The Quinn bossiness that was more than simple enthusiastic support. Back in high school, we secretly called her the Queen of another B-word. Nothing was ever good enough. If we did five perfect cartwheels, she insisted we do six. If we stayed an hour late for cheer practice, she demanded we skip dinner and stay for two.
I let her veiled insult of my hair hang in the air and didn't respond.
Brianna walked past us, back from her break in the nick of time.
“Hey, cousin,” Brianna said to Quinn. “I mean cousin-in-law.”
“That's right! You're related,” I said. “We're all related.”
“Not really,” Quinn said. “My husband, Chip, is second-cousins with your employee.”
I gave her a big smile. “But we're all one big, happy family here in Glorious Gifts.”
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