Red Hot

by Cat Johnson

  RED HOT

  A Friends-to-Lovers Small Town Romantic Comedy

  CAT JOHNSON

  It figures . . .

  I went my whole adult life with a crush on Cashel Morgan. Since before we both graduated from Mudville High—Go, Hogs! But I never got out of the friend zone with him. Until now. A decade after graduation.

  And why is Cash interested in something more now when he never was before? That’s the most annoying, frustrating, exasperating, ridiculous part. It’s all because another guy asked me out.

  No doubt about it, Cash Morgan is going to drive me insane, if I’m not already there. Because in the middle of my personal drama in what was formerly a non-existent love life, is the fact something wonky is happening at my store. Things going missing. Things being moved.

  My friend Harper thinks it’s a ghost. Our friend Bethany thinks I’m just forgetful.

  I’m not sure what I think—about any of it. The strange happenings in my shop. My date with the hot deputy investigating the oddities in my store. And especially not Cash.

  All I know is that with all the craziness that’s happened around Mudville over the past six months, starting with Harper moving to town and her discovery of all the town’s secrets stashed in Agnes’s attic, we had better start to expect the unexpected.

  RED HOT is a laugh-out-loud romp through the small town of Mudville featuring a love triangle one overworked shopkeeper never expected or wanted, a middle sibling who discovers he might possibly love someone else more than he loves himself, a mystery involving a very coveted missing cape, an estate sale full of clues, a surprise stranger—or two—who no one saw coming, more of the quirky Mudville characters you’ve come to love, and some of the most adorable baby animals ever!

  Stay tuned for more tales from Mudville

  KISSING BOOKS (Harper & Stone)

  RED HOT (Red & Cash)

  HONEY BUNS (Bethany)

  ZERO F**KS (Boone)

  MISTER NAUGHTY(A Mudville Christmas Wedding!)

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  ONE

  Red

  Something felt . . . off.

  The moment I stepped through the back door of the store, almost but not quite late, I sensed it.

  Juggling my Red’s Resale logo coffee mug in one hand, and my keys in the other, I closed the door behind me and moved farther inside.

  I did a visual sweep of the work area in the back of the consignment shop, searching for the source of my discomfort.

  It wasn’t an easy task with my eyes still slits because I had yet to actually consume the level of caffeine I required to make it through another day of retail. Although some days I felt like I needed something a little stronger than coffee to deal with the fine folks of Mudville and its surrounding towns.

  In the back office, I checked the handle on the door of the safe where I kept the cash drawer.

  Still locked.

  I set down both the keys and the coffee on my desk and moved out to the retail area.

  Things were everywhere—but that was usual for my store. For all resale shops actually. At least the busy ones.

  I’d been slammed yesterday, so I hadn’t had a chance to straighten up the sales floor before closing. And I’d been too tired and hungry to stay late just to clean. I figured I could do it this morning before it got hectic for the day.

  Still, something seemed wrong.

  Odd. I’d been the last one here last night. I’d locked up, myself, alone. No one should have been here since.

  I had to be imagining things.

  With no evidence to support the nagging feeling, I moved to the front, turned the Closed sign to Open, and flipped the deadbolt to unlock the door.

  Grabbing my mug again, I carried my much-needed coffee to the front and started to put the store back together into some semblance of neatness. An impossible task given the inconceivable mix of one-of-a-kind items I had to work with, but I attempted it, none-the-less.

  In fact, I’d had a great new idea for a display wake me up in the middle of the night. I was going to make one whole area all red since Valentine’s Day was just a few weeks away.

  The new red-soled Louboutin black heels that I'd just gotten in for consignment yesterday would make the perfect centerpiece, along with the red Birkin bag that came in last week. And I’d just gotten in a gorgeous red buffalo plaid wool cape that would complete the outfit to perfection.

  Excited, I ran to the back where I’d managed to get the cape onto a hanger last night but hadn’t had time to tag it yet.

  I stopped in front of the rack, frowning. The cape should have been hanging right in front.

  It wasn’t.

  Sliding the hangers on the rod, I checked the rest of the clothes, looking for a flash of red and finding none. I bent at the waist and checked the floor below the rack, thinking it might have fallen off the hanger.

  Nothing.

  Sighing, I straightened. Was I going crazy? Had I moved the cape somewhere and forgot?

  I was overworked, not to mention scattered and forgetful at times, but I’d lived like that since the day I’d decided to open Red’s Resale. That’s when the craziness that was my current life began. I was used to it after all these years.

  Maybe Gretchen had come in last night? The girl who sometimes opened and closed the shop for me so I could pretend I had some semblance of a life had a key to the back door.

  Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I hit the contact listing for Gretchen.

  I waited through the ringing, taking a quick glance at the time on the vintage Mickey Mouse watch on my wrist.

  It wasn’t too early to call her on her morning off. Since I’d been running a little late myself and slid in right at the shop’s scheduled time to open, the hour was late enough I didn’t have to feel at all bad.

  “Hello.”

  “Gretchen. Hey, girl. How are you?”

  “Good. Really good, actually.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, intrigued enough to sideline the question about the missing cape for a minute. “I hear a smile in your voice.”

  “Oh, my God, Red. It’s so amazing. You won’t believe it.”

  I stayed quiet and let her talk. Knowing the pause in the words was because she was sucking in a breath, not because she was actually done speaking.

  “He asked me,” Gretchen squealed.

  My eyes widened. “To the dance?”

  “Yes!”

  For a moment I got to forget I had a heating oil bill sitting on my desk that needed paying, and that I had to do payroll today. I could pretend I didn’t have to be a responsible adult and instead could channel Gretchen’s high school senior enthusiasm at having the boy she liked ask her to the dance.

  “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’m hoping that pink dress I liked is still on the rack upstairs.” Gretchen’s comment brought me immediately back to the reason I’d called. The store. Namely, the missing stock.

  “Um, Gretchen, any chance you stopped in the shop last night and moved the red and black buffalo plaid cape that was hanging in the back waiting to be tagged?”

  “What? No. I went right home from practice to eat and shower. Then he called and asked me, and I spent the rest of the night on video chat with my friends.”

  That sounded about right. It wasn’t that many years ago I was her age. Okay, more than a decade, but still, I could remember.

  “Okay. Thanks. And I’ll run upstairs right now and pull that dress off sale and put it in back for you.”

  “Thank you! I’ll be in this afternoon to work.”

  “Yup. See you then. Bye.”

  She said goodbye and I disconnected the call, still as baffled as I
’d been before.

  Grabbing my coffee mug, I cradled it and glanced around me. Things didn’t walk away on their own.

  Okay, I had found those couple of mouse turds in the back office last year, but that was my own fault for leaving food out. That situation had been remedied and since then I’d seen no evidence of the scurrying rodent variety.

  Besides, that would have to be one heck of a huge mouse to carry away a wool cape.

  We’d all have bigger problems than a missing piece of merchandise if the rodents of Mudville grew apocalyptically big . . . although I have wondered on occasion what horrors had been dumped into the Muddy River over the centuries.

  Pushing my science fiction fantasies aside, I decided to walk through the entire shop and see if anything else looked out of place. Or more out of place than usual, I amended as I almost tripped over a tricycle that I needed to carry downstairs to the toy area.

  The basement level of the store was as good a place as any to start. I downed the remainder of the coffee and moved in back to set the cup in the sink . . . and noticed it was wet. Water drops beaded on the porcelain bowl. I ran my fingers over the drops, to make sure it wasn’t an optical illusion, and rubbed my thumb over my wet forefinger.

  Even if I had run the water last night right before I’d closed at six, water wouldn’t remain in the sink for sixteen hours with the heat running in the shop. It would have been dry by now.

  Maybe the faucett was dripping. It might need tightening or a new gasket or something. I’d have to keep an eye on it and fix it right away if it was leaking. My water bill was already high enough.

  Adding one more thing on my mental To Do list, I spun back to the front, grabbed the tricycle by the handlebar and headed downstairs, flipping on the wall switches for the lights as I walked past them.

  I set the bike down and stared at the corner display. Something looked different there too, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  The basement housed sporting goods, children’s toys, pet supplies and men’s clothing. I didn’t spend a whole lot of time down here, but I remembered the table being fuller than it was now.

  Letting out a sigh, I shook my head. I was losing my mind—or I had a thief.

  A thief who didn’t touch the fine jewelry display but had grabbed something from the basement and a ladies’ cape? That seemed odd. But this was Mudville. Odd was our middle name.

  I smiled and considered having some T-shirts printed up. Welcome to Mudville, New York. Odd is our middle name.

  I’d have to work on that wording a bit.

  Maybe Harper could help me with a good slogan. She was the local writer. She should be able to figure out something great.

  Happy with that plan, I climbed the stairs, all the way up to the second floor. I immediately spotted the pink dress Gretchen wanted. At least that was where it was supposed to be.

  Maybe I wasn’t ready for the looney bin quite yet. But something was definitely up and I was going to get to the bottom of it. Hopefully.

  Holding the pink dress out in front of me, I remembered seeing a vintage clutch that would go perfectly with it. It was downstairs in the purse room . . . or at least I hoped it was still there.

  I held the dress up and saw what might be a stain on the bodice as it caught the sunlight streaming in the window. I hadn’t noticed it before.

  Crud. I really needed to get that electrician to come back and install better lighting downstairs where I took in the consignments so I could see what I was really getting. And I’d have to get this dry cleaned for Gretchen. I didn’t want her wearing a stained dress to the dance and telling everyone it came from here.

  Spinning, while still eying the possible stain, I took one step and smashed into something or someone blocking my way.

  And, of course, I screamed. Not that there’d be anyone to hear me in this big old Victorian turned storefront.

  “Red! It’s us.”

  I lowered the dress, which I’d been holding up in front of me like a shield. Because tulle made such good protection. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at myself and tried to recover from the fright when I saw my two girlfriends standing there.

  Harper cringed. “Sorry we scared you.”

  “She’ll recover.” Bethany held out a paper bag. “I brought honey buns, fresh and hot, right out of the oven.”

  “In that case, I forgive you.” I snatched the offering from the town baker.

  Opening the bag, I stuck my nose inside, inhaling the amazing aroma that hit me in a sweet cloud of steamy air. “Come on downstairs so we can talk and I can watch the front door at the same time.”

  Actually, I wanted to talk and eat, while I watched for customers. No hot honey bun was going to get cold on my watch. And I could brew another cup of coffee while I was there, to go along with my confections.

  But fresh baked goods and more caffeine aside, that my two friends had snuck up on me proved I really was in a complete bubble on the second floor. Anything at all could be happening downstairs and I wouldn’t know.

  That’s probably why things were going missing.

  This whole place really needed a good security system. More than just those couple of cameras I’d bought and never actually gotten around to hooking up. Something else for the To Do list.

  We reached the first floor and, thankfully, it looked like nothing had changed since I’d gone upstairs. I led the way to the coffee maker and popped in a pod.

  “What has you two out and about so early?” I asked.

  Bethany frowned. “Ten isn’t early. I was at the bakery at six.”

  “Fine,” I conceded. “But I don’t keep baker’s hours. And neither does Harper.”

  “Actually, I was up writing at five. But I got my wordcount done for the day and decided to celebrate by walking down to get a treat at Bethany’s. And since she could sneak away for a minute while her assistant is there, we decided to come see you.”

  My friends were obviously crazy. Not for wanting to visit with me—I was an absolute delight so of course they’d want to visit. But to be at work before sunrise? Pfft. Forget about that lunacy.

  Apparently, I was the only one among us who actually liked to sleep. Having the shop open at ten daily was early enough for me.

  This was clearly a no-win debate, so I moved on. “So, weird stuff is happening.”

  “Weird how?” Harper drew back, her dark brows drawn low over her eyes.

  “Why do you look so scared?” Bethany asked Harper.

  “Because it could be her ghost. Is it your ghost?” Harper spun to ask me, looking ready to bolt as her gaze cut to the side where the basement door was located.

  I let out a snort. “Unless the ghost has a penchant for buffalo plaid wool capes, I think I’m good.”

  Harper’s mouth formed a perfect O to match her widened eyes. “Ooo. That sounds cute. Red and black?”

  “Yup. And it would look so good on you with black leggings and boots.” I nodded.

  “It sounds adorable. But what does this cape have to do with ghosts?” Bethany asked.

  “It doesn’t. I hope. But the cape is missing. I put it right there on the rack last night and it’s gone this morning. And other stuff feels . . . off. I called Gretchen. She wasn’t here.”

  “It seems odd for someone to break in and only take one thing,” Bethany commented.

  “Exactly.” I nodded. “That’s what I thought. Especially since there are far more valuable things around here to take.”

  “You sure you didn’t stash it away somewhere and forget?” Bethany suggested. “You have been known to forget things.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head, refusing to admit she was right and I had, in past, forgotten a thing or two. “I know because it came in right before closing and I still had to tag it and enter it into inventory. I was going to do that first thing this morning.”

  Harper shook her head, lips compressed into an unhappy line. “I think you need to go over and report it to
that hot deputy at the sheriff’s department.”

  “Hot deputy?” I shot Harper a meaningful glance, knowing without asking she meant Carson Bekker, who was the only one at the sheriff’s department who would fit that description. I lifted a brow. “Does your boyfriend know you think Carson is hot?”

  Harper waved off my concern. “Stone knows it’s purely a professional interest I have in the deputy.”

  Bethany let out a burst of a laugh. “Professional interest? How’s that?”

  “I’m writing a hero who’s a deputy. Carson is my inspiration. That’s all.” Harper lifted one shoulder innocently.

  I shook my head. “You get away with a lot by using that ‘I’m a writer’ excuse.”

  Harper smiled. “I really do. But it’s the truth. Besides, I’m head over heels for Stone. You know that. He knows that. Mary Brimley, the town gossip, knows that.”

  “Aunt Agnes, who told you to build a soundproof sex room in the attic so she won’t have to hear you two going at it, knows that.” I smirked.

  Harper cringed. “Don’t remind me. Talking about that stuff with my septuagenarian great aunt is not high on my list of things to do.”

  Bethany leaned close to me. “There she goes using those big words again.”

  “I know. Right? I installed a dictionary app on my phone because of her.” I eyed Harper with a cocked brow.

  Harper rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’m serious. You should at least have an official report filed and on record. That way if you do catch the person, or more stuff is missing, there’s a paper trail and you have some legal recourse.”

  “I know. I should.” I knew Harper was right, even if I didn’t like it. I sighed and glanced at Bethany. “You have any more of these honey buns at the shop?”

  “I sure do. Can’t run out of my signature item.”

  “I’ll take a box full.” I figured if I was going to send the sheriff’s department on a wild goose chase for a misplaced cape, which might or might not have been stolen, I should at least sweeten the deal.