"Well, Kingston, the shop is almost ready. I think we're going to like it here. What do you think?"
Kingston flicked the empty shells out of the dish.
"Right, I guess you'll be happy as long as there are plenty of treats."
Chapter 2
Putting to good use the free trial month yoga class I'd attended, I somehow managed to get my foot into the sink and free of its purple tattoo. Getting it back out took a little more effort. I wrangled my leg away from the basin and patted it dry with a rag.
A gasp shot from my mouth as I spun around and found Elsie standing just a few feet away.
"My gosh, Elsie, you scared me. You move like a cat wearing slippers."
"I've told you many times, you need a bell on the door." Elsie could rival my mom when it came to giving advice and opinions. She pointed her finger, which meant more advice was on its way. "Lola mentioned that her parents sent her a box of old goat bells for the antique shop. That would be perfect."
"You're right. I'll go across the street later and buy one."
Elsie spent her entire day baking and creating the kind of confections that went straight to the thighs, but she was as fit and trim as an Olympian. Even though Elsie was, as she liked to say, 'pushing sixty' (although Lola had told me Elsie'd already pushed sixty several pushes ago) every afternoon, she pulled on her shorts and athletic shoes and ran the five mile loop from Harbor Lane down to Pickford Way along the beach, and up Culpepper Road. Elsie and her husband, Hank, a traveling salesman who I had yet to meet because he was always traveling, had lived in Port Danby for thirty years. Elsie's Sugar and Spice Bakery was a local and tourist favorite. I'd grown so fond of her goodies, I worried that I, too, would have to start running the grueling five mile loop just to stay ahead of my treat consumption.
Elsie stopped at Kingston's perch to admire him, and my crow liked to be admired. "Hello, handsome."
Kingston responded by bobbing his head up and down in approval like a parrot. "He's going to have a head the size of a balloon if you keep calling him handsome. When I put him near a mirror, he'll stand there for hours just flirting with himself." I took a deep whiff. "How is the pumpkin bread turning out?"
Elsie swung around quickly, nearly dislodging the hasty bun of gray peppered hair at the nape of her neck. I hadn't noticed the streak of flour on her cheek until the sun through the window highlighted it. "How did you know I was making pumpkin bread?" She waved away the question and provided her own answer. "That's right. I forgot about you and that incredible sense of smell."
"I've been smelling a lot of cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon and yeast so I figured pumpkin bread. And to be perfectly honest, I saw Tom, from the corner market, deliver a crate of canned pumpkin."
Elsie put her finger against her lips. "Shh. I like to let people think I'm using fresh. I even leave a few pumpkin halves on the work table. I hope that doesn't make me seem terrible."
"Since your baked goods are like an elixir for happiness, I think we can let this one indiscretion go. Besides, who would fault you for using canned pumpkin? You work so hard."
"Thank you, Pink. You're a gem." The people who I'd already grown close to, like Elsie and Lola, had taken to calling me by my nickname, Pink.
"I'll bring you a sample when I have them perfected."
"Looking forward to it."
Elsie ran her fingers along the black and white tiles on the island. I'd only known her a few weeks, but it was easy to read that she had something on her mind. But before she could part her lips to speak, the door opened and a salty coastal breeze ushered in behind my neighbor on the other side, Lester. Aside from being Elsie's twin brother, Lester was a retired fireman, who had, after a year of golfing, watching television reruns and as he liked to say watching his hair turn white, decided to open up a coffee shop. He was always a fun sight to see in his snowy white hair, brightly colored Hawaiian shirt and sandals. As far as neighbors went, Lester was much quieter and less opinionated than Elsie. His wife died of cancer just ten years into their marriage and he, as Lester himself put it, never found true love again. (Yes, those men exist, but they are as rare and hard to find as the perfect fitting bra.)
Lester popped right up with a question for Elsie. "Well, did you ask her?"
"I was just about to until you came bursting in as if the devil were chasing you."
Lester took immediate offense. "I did no such thing. Should I ask her?"
"No, I'll get to it. Stop being pushy." Elsie shook her head my direction. "He was even pushy in the womb."
"What I should have done was push you right out of it," Lester quipped.
I leaned against the center island and crossed my ankles waiting for them to stop arguing about who should do the asking. I had no idea what the burning question was, but I'd found, with Lester and Elsie, it was easier to let them finish their round of sibling rivalry first. Eventually, they'd get to the point. It was usually entertaining to watch, and it made me, all at once, thankful and disappointed that I'd never had a sibling. Of course Elsie always came out the victor because Lester usually just got tired and gave up.
"We were wondering if we could put my three tables out in front of your shop," Elsie blurted so quickly I hadn't realized her statement was directed at me until I noticed they were both looking expectantly at me.
I pushed off the counter. "Oh, you're talking to me. But why would you need to put the tables in front of my shop? Lester already has three tables, and you have plenty of room in front of the bakery."
Lester rolled his eyes at his sister's clumsy approach to the topic. Lester shuffled forward on his sandals. "Here's the thing, Lacey. Since the bakery used to be here in the flower shop—" He cast his blue-gray eyes around. "Nice work in here, by the way."
"Thank you."
"Anyhow, the customers enjoy getting baked goods and then picking up a coffee inside the Hutch to go with their pastry. As it stands now, if they want to finish their breakfast and if my tables are full, they have to walk past your shop to Elsie's tables."
Elsie put her little fists on her slim hips. "Actually, my tables are almost always full first. You get the spillover customers." Elsie leaned her head toward me. "My tables have a nicer paint finish."
"Your chairs wobble," Lester noted.
"There's nothing wrong with my chairs," Elsie insisted. "It's your big head that wobbles. Just look at him. He's always had an oversized head. He's like one of those bobble headed Hawaiian dolls only instead of a grass skirt, he's wearing a flowery shirt. But back to the tables." She returned her attention to me. "You have plenty of space in front of your shop, and Lester and I will make sure the customers pick up after themselves."
"But there won't be much free space." I walked to the back corner where my rolling carts were waiting to be filled with potted flowers. "Once I open up for business, I plan to use these carts to lure people into the shop. I'll be rolling them out onto the sidewalk on nice days. As you can see, they are quite cumbersome. There just won't be room for any tables. Otherwise, I'd be happy to help." I was new to Harbor Lane, the main street for shops and businesses, and I knew I needed to tread lightly and keep up good relationships with the other shop owners. But I couldn't change my business plan just to accommodate my neighbors.
I could see the disappointment in their faces. It seemed Lester was the first to agree that it just wouldn't work. He nodded. "Of course, you need the front of the store for your own wares, Lacey. It was silly and greedy of us to ask." He looked questioningly at Elsie, who reluctantly nodded in agreement.
"Yes, my brother is right. We'll make do with the table space we have. The customers will get used to it. They'll just have to choose which side to sit on."
"Thanks for understanding," I said as I walked toward the door, hoping they'd get the idea and head out. I had much more to do before my opening.
Elsie's face softened and she smiled. "Of course, Pink. And let us know if there's anything we can do to help."
"
Thanks." I opened the door for them and watched them walk out. Lester shuffled on his loose fitting sandals back to the Coffee Hutch, and Elsie walked in her usual confident, surefooted manner back to the Sugar and Spice Bakery. Little did I know that the last few moments had been the start of the Great Port Danby Table War. And my little flower shop was situated right between the battle lines.
Chapter 3
I finished hanging a few pictures on the back wall and decided to head across the street to see if Lola was interested in getting some lunch. With my shop sandwiched between a bakery and a coffee shop and my extra sensitive olfactory neurons, I seemed to be in a constant state of hunger. I'd hoped for a sample of Elsie's pumpkin bread to get me through the morning, but I hadn't seen or heard from either neighbor since I'd put a crimp in their outdoor seating plan.
"King, did you want to go out for a bit?" My crow hadn't left his perch all morning. I was sure he'd be extra antsy tonight if he didn't get some wing time. Harbor Lane, the two lane street that ran along the front of the shops and led eventually to the beach, was lined with deep purple flowering plum trees, providing rich color, shade and a place for Kingston to perch when he wanted to behave like a real crow. Of course, his unexpected visit always sent the local sparrows and smaller songbirds into a frenzy, but Kingston paid them no attention.
The crow ruffled and shook his feathers and eyed the open door. I leaned back waiting for him to swoop past. Instead, he turned away from the door and huddled down for another nap.
I stepped outside and instantly regretted forgetting my sunglasses at home. The early morning coastal fog had long since been replaced by a crisp breeze that carried with it just enough hint of autumn to make me immediately think about pulling my plush throw blankets out of storage. Even with the lovely summer weather long gone, the sun was sparkling out over the water. The view sure beat tall buildings and streets filled with car fumes.
I headed across to Lola's Antiques. Lola was just a year younger than me and she ran the antique store for her world traveling parents. She was funny and clever and sometimes, when she was excited or nervous, she talked fast, so fast her words didn't always come out in the right sequence. I enjoyed her company, and she seemed to enjoy mine. We had become fast friends.
Lola was wearing one of her many rock and roll t-shirts, a Janis Joplin relic, coupled with faded jeans and a black felt fedora. Her curly red hair popped out on all sides from beneath the tight hat. She was busy adjusting two massive fairy tale style pumpkins on a bale of straw, a rustic touch that looked oddly out of place in front of her quaint shop. Lola told me that once her parents had given her the go ahead to update the store, she'd hired a painter to cover what she had termed as the 'gray pallor of death' on the shop's exterior with a pale, smoky blue. The color looked chic and especially lovely with the wide top to bottom windows. The traditional paneled front door, the wide trim running above the windows and the sheer white curtains made the shop look as if it had been plucked up from some Paris street corner and delivered neatly to Port Danby.
Lola leaned back to admire her holiday display. "What do you think? Too hee haw?"
"Not at all. I think it's perfect."
"Good thing you like it." Her brown eyes were the color of cocoa in the midday sun as she turned to look at me. "Since you're right across the street, you'll be looking at it for the rest of October."
"I had not thought about that. But my opinion stays firm. It's festive and it reminds me that I'm going to need to add some little baubles or something to my shop. I've been so busy getting the shop ready for business, I forgot that it would be opening just before Halloween. Maybe some orange and black garland or something across the window. By the way, Elsie mentioned you had some goat bells. I need something for my door."
"Thank goodness. That'll be one bell down. Sometimes I think my parents are losing their minds from spending so much time at thirty thousand feet." Lola reached for the door. "They sent an entire box of rusty old bells. Even the goats were probably happy to see them go."
Lola's dog, a Boxer, lifted his heavy head from the pillow long enough for me to pet him. He was small for a Boxer, the runt of the litter, apparently. His diminutive size had earned him the name Late Bloomer. Fortunately, for the dog, most people just called him Bloomer.
Lola dipped into the back room to retrieve the box of bells. I wandered around the shop. I'd been in it more than a dozen times, but I was sure I still hadn't seen all the hidden treasures tucked in every nook and corner.
As badly as Lola had wanted to update the antique shop, the interior had, for the most part, remained dark and dated, a sharp contrast to the chic exterior. But moving century old glass cabinets, curios and book shelves would have taken more time and money than Lola had for a remodel. Every inch of the shop was brimming with relics and treasures of the past. Floor space was limited to just enough passage for two people to walk side by side, which was probably for the best. According to Lola, the forest green carpeting that covered the entire floor was better left hidden beneath the antiques.
The clang of several bells was followed by the click clack of Lola's boots. She held up a bell with impressive patina and a colorfully fringed leather strap. "This one has the best sound." She rang it again and yelled out in a long, southern drawl. "Come to supper, y'all!"
"Hey speaking of supper, I'm starved. Are you interested in lunch?"
"Yes. Let's go to Franki's Diner. She made some of her corn bread yesterday. It goes great with her chili."
"Sounds yummy." I leaned against the front glass counter and absently fingered the pile of flyers sitting on top of it. "Elsie's been baking pumpkin bread all morning, and my mouth hasn't stopped watering. I thought she'd bring me a taste sample, but I think I upset her."
"Why is Elsie upset? Not that I really care because she's always upset about something. I thought runners were always supposed to be high on those endolphins. She must not be catching many on her run."
"It's endorphins and you don't actually catch them."
Lola walked behind the counter to grab her purse. "Either way, Elsie needs some. What's she upset about?"
"It's nothing really. She and Lester wanted to use some of the space in front of my shop for their tables." I quickly changed subjects not really wanting to talk about Lester and Elsie behind their backs. They had been truly supportive neighbors, and I knew Lola could gnaw away at something if I let her. I picked up a flyer from the stack. "The Port Danby Pumpkin Contest. Biggest pumpkin wins a hundred dollars."
"Yep, welcome to Hokey Town, U.S.A."
"Then call me hokey because I love that I am now living in a town that has a pumpkin growing contest. Do a lot of people enter?"
Lola straightened up her sales receipts. "No, mostly it's just a contest between Beverly Kent and Virginia Hopkins, two elderly widows who live out on Culpepper Road. They're longtime neighbors, but things get pretty un-neighborly between them during pumpkin growing season." She pulled out a receipt. "Speaking of Beverly. I hate to gossip—" she began.
I raised a brow at her to silently question that statement.
“O.K., right. I love to gossip. This morning Willy Jones, the fisherman—" She looked at me for affirmation, but I shrugged my shoulders. "Anyhow, he's an old guy who has a fishing boat down in the marina. He's married to Theresa Jones. They've been married for about a hundred years."
I blinked at her. "Did I mention the starving thing?"
"Right." She put the receipt back on the pile and grabbed her 'closed for lunch' sign. She continued with her story as she hung it. "Well, about a week ago, Theresa brought in a box of old things, and there was a class ring from nineteen tickety two or some other long ago era. It was a nice one with a big blue stone, and it was strung from a thin, feminine chain."
We walked out onto the sidewalk, and I silently hoped her story was going to get more interesting.
"Not sure what school because Port Danby High has a green stone in their senior class ring. Not t
hat I bought one. I mean who wants to wear a big old ring like that on their finger?"
We walked along Harbor Lane. As long as we were heading closer to food, I decided there was no harm in hearing the rest of her story, meaningless details and all.
"Anyhow, Theresa brought in the box of goods, but I didn't have time to go through it all. There were a few old porcelain vases and a framed sampler she said she'd found at an estate sale but nothing too exciting. So I gave her a hundred bucks for the lot, and she left saying she was going to get a manicure and some new face cream with the money."
We walked past the Port Danby Police Station, although it was more just a tiny building with two front windows and two reserved parking spots out front. The Port Danby black and white patrol car rarely left its reserved spot. The second car was a blue sedan with one of those specially marked license plates that an undercover police officer might drive, only they weren't so undercover due to the specially marked plates.
"Let's cross here." Lola interrupted her story long enough to glance back and forth for traffic.
I followed behind her. "Probably not the best idea to jaywalk right in front of the police station."
Lola blew air through her lips. "They don't care unless it's tourist season." We crossed the street and reached the sidewalk in front of the diner.
The outside of Franki's Diner reminded me of an old fashioned train station with a big clock stuck in the center of a stumpy tower that jutted up from a charcoal gray metal roof. White multi-paned doors finished off a long line of symmetrical yellow trimmed windows. Yellow and purple pansies had been haphazardly planted along a thin flower box running the length of the building. They were an odd contrast to the exterior colors. I would have suggested something taller and more pastel like snapdragons. Although snapdragons might not have survived the coastal fog.
Killer Bridal Party Page 18
