Софи Райан - Buy А Whisker

“I don’t see how that would work,” I said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Me neither,” Jess said. “And even if it did. It would be so ugly.” She dipped the end of her breadstick in her soup and took a bite. “The weird thing is there was a proposal for the waterfront almost five years ago, right after Lily opened, and she didn’t have a problem with that.”

“People change,” I said. “She’s being hassled at the bakery, you know.”

“How do you know?” Jess asked.

“I stopped for coffee this morning. Someone had egged the big front window.”

Jess just shook her head.

“I wish there were some way to change Lily’s mind.” I pushed my empty bowl away. I couldn’t read the expression in Jess’s eyes—frustration, maybe, mixed with a little sadness.

“It’s not going to happen,” she said flatly. “As far as Lily is concerned, the development will destroy the charm of the waterfront. I think she’s wrong, but . . .” She shrugged. “On the one hand, I kind of admire her for sticking to her principles. On the other hand, I think the development would be good for business, and it’s not like I have a money tree in my backyard.”

I reached for my cup. “Vince said pretty much the same thing to me yesterday.” Vince Kennedy played in The Hairy Bananas with Sam Newman, who owned The Black Bear pub and who had been a second father to me since my own dad died when I was five.

Jess ate the last spoonful of her chili and nodded. “Lily holding out is a lot worse for him. He’d be able to unload that old building his father still owns. He’d be free of the taxes, and I’m guessing with his father in that nursing home, they could use the money.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think the development offer on that old warehouse is pretty much the only offer Vince has had in the last four years.”

“I have a feeling this is just going to get uglier than it already is,” Jess said. “I wish Lily could see what holding out is doing to the town. People are desperate to make North Landing happen.” Her mouth twisted to one side. “And when people get desperate, they do stupid things.”

Chapter 2

I checked my watch. I needed to get back to the shop. I got Mac’s soup and sandwich, plus a cinnamon-cranberry muffin for myself. Jess wrapped herself in her chocolate truffle coat and wrapped me in a hug.

“We’re still on for Thursday-night jam?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“If you get a better offer and you need to bow out, that’s okay,” she said as she pulled out of the hug, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

I put a hand on one hip and gave her a wide-eyed look of mock surprise. “What could be better than spending the evening with you?”

She laughed and shook her head. “You’re such a suck-up,” she said. “I’ll see you Thursday night.”

Thursday-night jam was a musical jam session Sam hosted every Thursday night in the off-season at The Black Bear. You could count on Sam and the guys from The Hairy Bananas being there, and from time to time other people would show up with a guitar or bass and sit in for a few songs.

Mac was in the main workroom/storage area when I got back to Second Chance.

“You’ll probably need to warm up that soup in the microwave,” I said, handing him the brown paper takeout bag.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, setting down the screwdriver he’d been holding.

I could hear voices, agitated voices, coming from the store.

“Do I want to know what’s going on in there?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question,” Mac said with a smile. “So far the answer is no.” He hooked a nearby wooden stool that I’d just primed the day before and sat down, lifting the container of soup from the bag and pulling off the lid.

I leaned against the dresser he’d been working on. “You don’t have a spoon,” I pointed out.

“Not a problem.” He lifted the waxed cardboard cup to his lips as though it were a cup of coffee.

I glanced over toward the door that led to the main part of the building. I could still hear the voices. I couldn’t really make out more than a few odd words, but I recognized Rose’s voice along with Avery’s and Liz’s.

Rose was a tiny white-haired dynamo, barely five feet tall in her sensible shoes. She—along with Charlotte—worked part-time for me, mainly because they were both reliable and hardworking, and I wasn’t good at saying no to Gram.

Mac leaned over and set his soup down on the floor. “I’ll go see what’s going on, Sarah,” he said.

I put out a hand to stop him. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll go.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“This is not my first rodeo,” I said, straightening up and pushing back the sleeves of my sweater.

“Okay. Yell if you need backup.”

There were no customers in the store. Charlotte was behind the cash desk with a cloth in her hand and a set of sherry glasses on the counter in front of her. She still had the bearing and eagle-eyed gaze of the high school principal she’d been. Even in flats she was taller than I was. She had soft white hair and warm brown eyes behind her glasses. Right now those dark eyes looked troubled.

When I’d left for lunch, Charlotte had told me that she was going to dust and polish all the glassware in the store. Now she was frowning and her glasses had slid halfway down her nose. Rose had her apron in one hand. The other hand was on her hip, and she was looking up at Liz, who had several inches on petite Rose.

I knew by her stance and the way her chin was jutting out that Rose was arguing about something with Liz. Liz was standing in the middle of the room. She was wearing a vivid cardinal-red coat and a soft, butter-colored hat. As always, she looked polished and elegant. Her nails were manicured and her blond hair curled around her face. Unlike Rose and Charlotte, Liz refused to let her hair go gray.

“If the Good Lord hadn’t intended me to be blond, he wouldn’t have created Light Golden Blonde, number thirty-eight,” she’d said emphatically to Rose when the latter had suggested Liz let her hair “go natural.”

Beside Liz, Avery was engulfed in an oversize black parka I knew she’d bought for eight dollars at Goodwill.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Liz said, waving one hand as though she were shooing away a bug. “Just call him.”

“No,” Rose said. I knew that tone and that body language. Liz should have as well. The two of them had been friends for most of their lives even though they were very different. Rose dressed for comfort; Liz was all about style. Rose favored sensible shoes, and Liz had never met a pair of heels she didn’t like.

“Call who?” I asked.

Rose turned to look at me over her shoulder. “No one,” she said.

“Josh Evans,” Liz countered.

I looked at Rose. “Why do you need a lawyer?”

When Arthur Fenety had been murdered back in the fall and their friend Maddie Hamilton was arrested for the crime, Rose, Liz and Charlotte—unhappy with the way the police were handling the case—had investigated, with some help from Alfred Peterson, who had to be the world’s oldest computer hacker, and, well, me. Nick had argued vehemently with his mother about it. I’d tried my best to rein them in, but somehow I’d gotten pulled into the investigation myself. Josh had taken on Maddie’s case when I’d asked, and Liz had quietly covered the bill.

“I don’t need a lawyer, dear,” Rose said. “As usual, Liz is overreacting.”

“What would be the harm in at least talking to him?” Charlotte asked. As a former school principal, she was often the voice of reason.

Rose pointed a finger from Liz to Charlotte. “Both of you need to have your hearing checked because I’ve told you twice now. Josh is a very nice young man, but I don’t need a lawyer.”