by Mary Frame
“None of that is accurate,” Tabby says.
Mrs. Olsen continues as if Tabby hasn’t spoken at all. “Everything is done on the computer. There’s no human interaction. No wonder there are no weddings or babies.”
“Babies?” I mouth toward Tabby, but she rolls her eyes.
Everyone is silent for a few moments after that pronouncement, eating and studiously avoiding eye contact. No one wants to get Mrs. Olsen talking again.
Then Troy, brave soul that he is, clears his throat. “So is everyone going to the festival next weekend?”
And with that, there’s a burst of chatter, everyone grateful for the subject change.
When dinner ends, Mrs. Olsen mentions wanting to bring leftovers to the nursing home.
Paige and I insist on helping her pack up since we were the only ones who didn’t provide any dishes. Thankfully there isn’t too much flack or offers of help from everyone else.
We’re in the kitchen—Mrs. Olsen, Paige, and myself—when I set the plan into action and steer the conversation where we need it to go.
“Does Tabby have any of those canvas bags?” I ask Mrs. Olsen. “You know, like the big, thick ones. That would be perfect for carrying these leftovers out of here.”
She doesn’t take the bait though. She shrugs and heads toward the living room. “I can ask her.”
“Wait,” Paige says. “I think I saw some in the front hall. They were blue and white with weird letters on them.”
“Okay, I’ll go look there,” Mrs. Olsen says, turning to leave again.
“Wait.” Now it’s my turn. Mrs. Olsen is not making this very easy. “I think I saw you the other day in the store, and you had a bag just like it. Do you still have it? That would be perfect. It looked really big and roomy.”
“Oh yeah, I got that bag from the old Greek restaurant when they closed. They had a huge sale, I got eighty percent off. I bought ten of those bags.”
I exchange a look with Paige.
“It was a real shame when they all got stolen,” she adds.
“Stolen? All of them?”
“Yep. Well, all but one. It was about three weeks ago. I took Miss Viola to the boardwalk and had them in her lap because they ran out of those little carts. Pushing Miss Viola around is like having an extra cart anyway. I turned around for one second and that’s all it took. Poof. Gone.”
Paige and I make eye contact. She shrugs, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing. We didn’t have any cameras set up three weeks ago that could have caught the perp. Anyone could have taken those bags. They’re long gone at this point, unless we catch someone on camera using them besides Mrs. Olsen.
What am I supposed to tell Jared the next time he asks?
Chapter Thirteen
I spend the next few days watching video footage of Castle Cove instead of what I should be doing, which is readying the shop for the grand opening this weekend.
I still need to fix the display case that Gravy broke, but I haven’t the first idea how to do it. It’s too big, I’ll probably need to find the money to purchase an entirely new display, but . . . I don’t even have a dry bed to sleep in at this point.
There’s nothing useful on the videos, no more canvas bags. I do see Tabby making out with Ben, which I promptly turn off and delete, guilt niggling at me for even the little glimpse I got. And I see Jared paying for Mrs. Hale’s cupcakes, which also makes me feel guilty. Damn him.
I do tip him off about Mrs. Olsen being the purchaser of the canvas bags, even though I know it’s a dead end. At least I have something to offer by using my “abilities.”
We need better intel though, and soon.
When Paige gets home, we eat dinner, she does her homework, and then she takes a turn at watching the surveillance footage while I work on unloading the shipments that have come in.
“Houston, we have a problem,” Paige says, coming into the front shop.
“What’s up?”
“One of the cameras slipped. The gas station.”
I put down the box of unicorn figurines that I’d been unwrapping and face her. “They’re still open. You run distraction and I’ll fix it.”
She nods.
The wire attachment to the small video piece is faulty. Luckily, I brought a few things with me to fix any potential issues. I use a bread tie to quickly re-attach the small lens while Paige buys a pack of gum at the counter, and then we’re done.
When we get to our street, there’s a truck idling at the curb.
Tabby is at the tailgate. “Hey,” she calls out when we get closer. “I brought you something.”
We round the truck to see what she’s doing. Ben’s with her; the truck must be his. They’re hauling a large wooden object out of the back of the truck.
“Is that . . . ?” Paige asks.
“I built you a new shelf!” Tabby says, clapping her hands.
“You made this?” I’m stunned. It looks nicer than the one Gravy broke. Dark wood that matches the rest of the shelving, but with bright new glass, and the corners are carved with an elaborate wood trim.
She shrugs. “It’s no biggie. Help us carry it inside.”
Paige runs to open the door while Ben, Tabby, and I haul it up the porch steps and inside.
“I can never pay you back for this,” I say, still in shock after we set it where the old unit was.
“You don’t have to.”
“Why would you do this for me?”
She’s baffled. “Why wouldn’t I do this for you?”
Because I’m a fraud. “You barely know me.”
“Yeah, but you’re a good egg.” She pats me on the arm.
If only you knew.
“You can repay me by working our booth at the Bike, Fish, and Cookie Festival.”
“The what?” Paige and I ask in unison.
Ben pipes up. “It starts tomorrow. It’s normally later in the month, but they’re demolishing the old sock building on the boardwalk and they didn’t want all the debris to block the foot traffic.”
“Bike, Fish, and Cookie Festival?” My brows lift. “That’s . . . weird.”
Tabby nods. “Yeah, we have a different festival like every month. There used to be more than one a month and it was getting way out of hand, so they started combining them. They tried to keep similar items together, like the Lobster and Eel Festival, but at the end there was a bunch of random things we have to celebrate so they just threw them together.”
“Okay,” I say, because what else can I say?
“Since your grand opening is Saturday, I figured you could help me at the booth on Friday and we can pass out more flyers to help you get some business, too.” She beams.
I don’t deserve her friendship. I still can’t quite wrap my head around why she’s so nice to me. I guess it makes sense if what Troy said is true, that she’s a bit lonely for company and I am the only other woman around under forty—other than Eleanor. But still. She doesn’t have to do all these things.
“That’s awesome!” Paige says.
“That’s great.” My voice isn’t as excited as it should be. I’m a bit blindsided, actually.
Ben and Tabby leave. Paige rambles on about school and Naomi and some project they’re working on about osmosis. I go through the motions, nodding and smiling when I should, but inside I’m brimming with guilt.
They’re helping Ruby, not me. If they only knew . . . Paige laughs at something and I try to snap out of it, if only for her sake.
“I can’t wait until Friday.” She grins at me.
“Me either.”
It’s not totally a lie.
~*~
I can’t sleep, so I keep an eye on the videos. The only store that’s open this late is the gas station, and the damn camera slips again.
“Ugh,” I tell it.
It’s pointed at an angle toward the floor, so now I can only see people’s shoes as they walk by and part of the ground next to one of the coolers in the back. Not he
lpful at all.
I play around on the internet, keeping an eye on the cameras in my periphery.
The gas station closes at ten on weeknights. The video goes dark and gray, along with the rest of the cameras. It’s hopeless. But for some reason, I stay in the office, googling things like, why does my hair suck and how to get over being raised by terrible people while watching the darkened screens. I’m contemplating where I went wrong with my life when I see motion.
“Someone’s at the gas station,” I say to the empty room.
I can still only see the ground, but something is definitely happening. Something not right at all. There are things smashing on the ground. Pieces flying everywhere, the spray of liquid. A droplet even hits the small lens, making everything blurry.
Heart racing, I pick up the phone and dial.
The activity causes the small camera to slip even further, and all I can see is the bottom corner of the shelf, but I keep watching.
Whoever is in there must run to leave because their shoelace gets caught on the corner of the shelf—the only shelf I can see. It must be a cheap shoe because the lace rips, leaving a frayed strand behind.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.
I check on Paige, who’s still fast asleep, before running to the door.
It’s Jared, and he looks grim. “There’s been a break-in.”
“I know. I called it in.”
“I know.” His lips purse slightly and then he turns to walk to his patrol car idling at the curb. “Are you coming?” he calls when he’s halfway to his car and I’m still standing at the door.
His words jerk me into motion. I lock the front door and follow him.
“Troy’s securing the scene,” he says when we’re driving down the road. “Someone did some damage.”
I nod. It should only take us a minute to get there, maybe less.
“How did you know?”
I shrug. “Same as always. Just sensed something being off there.”
I can feel the weight of his eyes on me but keep my face turned forward.
Only Troy and one other cop are there when we arrive—Anderson, according to Jared. He barks orders immediately.
This isn’t a crime scene like on TV. There’s no CSI, no lab coats; just Jared, Troy, Anderson, and a sleepy owner who must have been called in.
“Boss,” Troy calls from the front of the store, holding up a bag half full of food.
It’s the same type of canvas bag that was used in Cassie’s mugging.
I listen to them talk and move myself over to the hidden camera. I need to get it out of here before they find it and where it’s streaming to.
There’s some money missing from the register, and it looks like the perp took some food, too. Some of the displays have been ravaged, littering chips and candy on the floor.
The main destruction is at the back, part of which my camera captured.
The perp opened up the back fridge where the beer was stored and broke a crap ton of bottles on the ground. It reeks of stale beer.
I survey the damage while hiding the small device at my back so I can surreptitiously shove it into the pocket of my sweater when no one is looking.
I bend down, like I’m examining the floor, and pick up the frayed piece of shoelace as well, hiding it along with the camera. It might come in handy later when I need information to share.
“Someone wasted a lot of beer,” Troy says, shaking his head. “Damn shame.”
“They were angry,” I say.
Eyes swing toward me.
“What makes you say that?” the cop named Anderson asks. He’s older than Troy and Jared, maybe midforties. Gray around the temples, thin, with a slight beer belly.
I look around at the broken glass spread around the floor. “It takes a lot of rage to slam this many bottles to the ground hard enough to break most of them.”
Only a few bottles slid around and escaped unscathed.
Jared’s gaze focuses on the owner, a portly man with a receding hairline. “Anyone angry at you, Billy?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Anyone strange loitering around lately?”
“Nope.”
Jared sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Great. Half the town shops here, so prints won’t be real useful. Again. Troy, bag the items you have. They should lift easier from there than from the bag.” His gaze lasers on me. “Any other feelings you want to share? Maybe something including a description of our suspect?”
I shake my head. “No.”
We don’t stay long. I wait around while Troy and Anderson bag up items to be sent out for prints.
Jared talks to the owner to get information on what happened up until closing. Nothing unusual; he locked up at ten and went home, then got the call about thirty minutes later.
When they’re all done, Jared drives me home.
It’s a silent ride.
I should be happier. I finally, actually contributed to the investigation. Sort of. They still don’t have any leads, but at least I have something more concrete to help convince Jared I’m not a fraud.
Then why do I feel so terrible?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help more,” I offer when the silence starts to get to me.
“No, you don’t need to apologize. Thanks for calling it in. It’s not your fault, and I . . .” He clears his throat and pulls over in front of the house, puts the car in park, and turns to face me. “I should be the one apologizing.”
Well now he’s done it. He’s struck me speechless.
“I haven’t been fair to you,” he says. “I have no excuse other than being obnoxiously protective of the people who live here, but you’ve done nothing to deserve the way I’ve been treating you.”
If only he knew.
I wonder if familiarity has bred affection. It’s a common ploy that my parents use to a certain extent, with long cons especially. But even with quick ones, it can be effective. If a mark sees the same person at a coffee shop every morning, even just for a few days, eventually they become somewhat familiar. That person can then approach the mark, and simple recognition will make the mark more trusting.
Inadvertently using one of my parents’ tricks makes my stomach churn.
“It’s fine, you’re forgiven.” I try to smile, but the motion feels clumsy and my face is inexplicably flushed and I’m more uncomfortable in his presence now than I was when he was being straight-up rude.
I open the door to leave.
“Wait.” He reaches out, putting his hand over mine.
I stare at his hand, swallow, and then meet his eyes.
I’m used to seeing Jared frowning at me with dark eyes and an icy expression. What I’m not used to is apologetic, warm eyes and a slight smile.
“Let me give you my number,” he says, his hand still on mine. “That way if you have anything else to share, you can call me directly and don’t have to go through dispatch.”
I nod.
He pulls out a small notepad and writes his number on it before handing me the paper.
I take it and race into the house without saying good night.
I stare down at his number. There’s no way I’m calling him.
Chapter Fourteen
The Bike, Fish, and Cookie Festival starts on Thursday and lasts through the weekend. It’s being held at the fairgrounds, which are located just north of the boardwalk—a broad expanse of space that’s been filled with booths and a Ferris wheel.
“How does the hardware store fit in with this festival?” I ask when I arrive early Friday morning to set up the booth, a tray of cookies in hand and a stack of flyers in my purse.
Tabby begged me to bake cookies, even brought over the ingredients, thankfully, since my cupboards are woefully bare.
“We have some fishing gear and some replacement bike parts at the shop. And now, cookies. Bike, fish, cookies.” She ticks each item off on her fingers.
I put the tray on a table and
she immediately sneaks her hand under the plastic wrapping and grabs one.
She takes a bite and makes a face. “Is this oatmeal?”
“I made chocolate chip, too.”
She puts the half-eaten oatmeal cookie back on the tray and inspects the cookies closely before picking out a chocolate chip one instead.
“What exactly do you want me to do here?” I ask.
Everything has already been set up. Various items are displayed on shelves and cases in the booth, and I brought the cookies that she’s currently eating.
“You’re going to help me attract customers to the booth. And pass out your flyers. I can put some over here by the register, too.”
“How am I going to attract customers?”
“Come on.” She stuffs the rest of the cookie in her mouth and jumps off the table, wiping her hands on her pants. “I got something for you,” she says around her mouthful of food.
She takes me around to the back of the booth where there’s a flap in the tent and a small private area. She points out some additional supplies, a cooler with waters and sandwiches, and some clothes hanging on a portable clothes rack.
“Here.” She pulls an item wrapped in plastic off the rack and hands it to me.
“What is this?”
“Your uniform.” She grins. “Get dressed and come out when you’re ready. You should probably take off your pants and shirt. It gets hot in there.”
She disappears back into the front, dropping the tent flap behind her so I’m left alone.
I sit on a metal folding chair and unwrap the item in my hands.
“Tabby.” I stick my head out of the tent flap after putting on the outfit she gave me. “I’m not wearing this.”
“You have to.”
“I do not.”
“You promised to help me.”
“I promised to help, not wear . . . whatever this is.”
She laughs.
“What, exactly, is this?”
“It’s our Bike, Fish, and Cookie Festival costume.”
“I look like a mermaid on crack.”
“Oh, come on, let me see. It’s not that bad.”
After a quick glance around—only a few people are milling about since it’s still early—I step out from behind the curtain so she can see the whole outfit. I have to hold the back in place because there’s some kind of tie that I couldn’t reach while stepping into the monstrosity.
