“What are you trying to say? I am living my best life. I love the store. I have Aunt Jackie with Harrold. I have great, if nosy, friends. And I have Greg and Emma. What else do I need?” I picked up the piece of deadwood. Mine wasn’t pretty, like the one Amy was working on. In fact, it looked like it had been burned and thrown away. Maybe if I covered up that section with some moss, it might look a little presentable.

  Amy took the moss and placed it away from the blemishes. I frowned at her but went ahead and glued it there. It was her wedding.

  “You need to settle down. You and Greg need to make this official. Maybe even start a family?” She handed me the sand to shake over the wood. “We could raise our babies together.”

  Something about that just made me shudder. It wasn’t that I didn’t want kids; I did. But not now. Somehow, I knew that the marriage conversations were just going to get stickier as our friends became “official” couples. I didn’t meet her eyes when I answered, focusing instead on the little glue lines I was making on the driftwood to add the glitter. “I don’t know if I’m ready for kids yet.”

  Chapter 5

  Dinner conversation at Diamond Lille’s with Amy ranged from why I was crazy to not want kids now, when I was young enough to keep up the energy level, to an in-depth discussion on who was sitting next to who at the reception. It felt like this conversation was on a repeat loop for Amy. The big problem was who she was going to make sit by Marvin and Tina. She had to invite the mayor, mostly because she worked for him, but no one we knew would be looking forward to sitting for a meal, not to mention a reception, with Marvin.

  I longingly remembered the times we’d met in the past and not talked about the wedding. I know it wasn’t charitable or kind, but I was just about fed up.

  As we left, I paused at Diamond Lille’s Celebrity Wall of Fame. The newest addition to the wall grinned out at me from his photo, not like the man I’d met on the beach. “He cleans up pretty nice.”

  Amy glanced around the room. “Who? I don’t see anyone we know.”

  I pointed to the picture. “That’s the author I met on the beach. Didn’t I tell you? He wants to write about the Mission Wall in one of those tour guide books. I’m kind of worried that it will bring people to hang around my backyard. Emma would go crazy.”

  “What does Greg say?” Amy held the door open and we walked out into the soft evening air.

  “Well, after we got the letter saying the project had been kicked out of the funding pool and we could reapply, I think he was all for getting some press on the area. Then Frank told me to ignore the letter, but now he’s gone, so I’m not sure what I’m going to do.” I narrowed my eyes as I watched my friend adjust her tote for the walk back home. “Why did you ask about Greg’s feelings?”

  “If you guys are a long-term couple, eventually, that’s his home too. In fact, it’s his home now anyway because he’s living there. He should have a say.” She grinned at me as we headed down the sidewalk toward her apartment over the bike rental shop. “Of course, if you got married, it would be his house too.”

  “No, it’s mine. It came into the relationship before the marriage so it’s separate property.” I rolled my shoulders, because I was getting pretty tight talking about all this marriage stuff. “You forget, I used to do California family law.”

  “But you’d want to share, wouldn’t you?”

  Amy’s question haunted me as I walked home. Would I want to share? Would I put Greg’s name on a house I inherited free and clear and cash flowed to any repairs or remodeling? I’d been married before; actually, both of us had. I didn’t want the finances to get in the way of the relationship. And, with the Miss Emily Fund—my personal name for the large inheritance my friend had left me when she passed—I didn’t need Greg’s financial assistance.

  When I looked at Amy and Justin, and even Aunt Jackie and Harrold’s upcoming wedding plans, I saw the planning for the event, not the mingling of financial lives. Did this mean I was no longer my aunt’s beneficiary? Had we added her to the ownership documents last year like we’d talked about? I’d wanted to protect her at the time, but now, I was wondering if doing that had threatened my own situation. If Aunt Jackie passed first, would Harrold be my new partner? I needed to talk to both Greg and Aunt Jackie to see what the expectations were. I didn’t care about the money per se, but I needed to know where I stood, and protect my future self’s nest egg.

  Staring out on the ocean as I walked home, I wondered if I was just being my usual literal self. Did I need to trust that the people in my life had my best intentions at heart? Or should I actually talk to them about my fears? This would be a most uncomfortable discussion, so I wanted to choose the former and just trust.

  Trust, but verify. It had been my boss’s favorite saying at the law office.

  I resigned myself to having the conversations. It would be foolish not to, and I would be kicking myself if I didn’t do it and something went wrong. I put away the fears and worries until tomorrow. But before I relaxed, I put two notes in my planner: Talk to Greg. Talk to Jackie.

  Then I called Emma, and we went out to the back porch with a book and a bottle of beer. The wedding decorations were off my to-do list, thanks to Amy, and it was time to celebrate.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Greg had come and gone without me even noticing. Which meant the investigation was keeping him busy. I made a note to take him coffee and muffins when Deek came in for his shift. It was Toby’s day to work, but with the murder, I knew he’d probably have called Deek in to cover because he would have gotten additional hours from Greg. I knew where I stood in Toby’s eyes. Coffee, Books, and More was definitely his second job.

  I took Emma for a run, then filled my travel mug and headed into town. There weren’t a lot of people up and about at a few minutes before six. Most of the businesses, besides Diamond Lille’s, wouldn’t open until ten. But as I passed by a small gallery owned by a group of artists, there was one woman out on the small café table sketching in her pad. I’d met her at one of the Business-to-Business meetings. Tia something. She drank coffee from a Diamond Lille’s travel mug and frowned as I walked up. “Good morning. Lovely day to sketch.”

  “It would be if I wasn’t arguing with all the coop members. They’re not very happy about the increase in the Council dues. We may not join up next year. And we’re not the only ones thinking about quitting.” Tia shook her head at me, like I was the problem.

  “Look, it’s not our fault the dues are going up. When Bill Sullivan gets back in town, he’s going to fix this. I’m only charging what the catering costs me. I don’t get any bump from having you all in my shop except for my salary for running the meetings. And I’m getting exactly what the woman who ran it before me got.” I knew it was stupid to argue. The artist had her mind made up on who was the bad guy. And in this case, it was the hand that fed her. Literally. “I’m sure this will get corrected soon. I’m not the enemy.”

  “I want to believe you. But until we get something else from the Council, it appears that you were the reason our dues went up. I’m not the only one who’s saying it.”

  “I guess I could walk door-to-door and explain my side of things, but honestly? I’ve got a business to run. I can’t stop rumors. All I can do is go to the source and tell them they’re wrong. Which I did. Think what you want.” I left her watching my back as I made the way up past City Hall and then crossed over the street to my shop. Seriously, people needed to get a life. I couldn’t believe there was nothing going on in town that the rumor mill couldn’t play with besides the increase in the Council fees and our fictional part in the raise.

  Irritated with the whole thing, I sat at my desk and typed an email to Bill. I hated bothering him while he was with his dad, but I was tired of being looked at as a money grubber. Maybe he could send out a retraction now and follow up when he got back.

  My email showed a quick response. Too quick. I opened the email from Bill, which kindly explained he was out of the area and unable to accept emails. He’d respond when he returned, in a few days. So much for my quick fix. According to Mary, he’d already been gone a few days, I wondered what his anticipated return date really was and if I could hold off blowing a fuse at people until then.

  I poured another cup of coffee and added a lemon bar to my plate, along with the brownie I’d already chosen for breakfast. Then my first customer arrived and I was too busy to worry for over two hours.

  By the time the last customer left, I was in a better mood. I opened my notebook and started a list of all the things on my mind. Last week, this would have only been those decorations Amy and I finished up last night. Well, and when Nick was coming home from school so I could put him on the schedule and cut some of my hours. But he wouldn’t finish up classes for a couple of weeks, so I shot him a quick email, telling him to do great at finals and to reach out when he knew what day he wanted to start his summer shift.

  Then I put a follow-up for two weeks on my calendar and drew a nice black line through his name on the to-do list. I wrote down Amy’s decorations and did the same. I wrote “reach out to Bill” and did a thicker line through that, and put a reminder in my online calendar for late next week. Glancing at the clock, I saw it wasn’t even nine and I’d already crossed three things off my worry list for the day. I deserved a treat. I dug into the lemon bar and sighed at the sweet/sour goodness. Then I continued my list.

  The wall was a major confusion. Frank had told me not to worry or reapply, that he’d handle it. But that wasn’t going to happen now. I put a note on my calendar to talk to Greg as soon as I had a chance and refile the paperwork. I paused after I wrote that. Had Amy been right? Was it a good sign for my growth as a person that I was taking his input into my future plans? Or was I giving up control?

  I ate half the brownie while I mused on these questions, then decided to just let it be for a while.

  Next on the list was Amy’s party. I sent out emails for party quotes and availability. I wrote down my top three choices, then kept a spot open for costs and availability.

  I had just gotten back to Frank’s murder, which really shouldn’t have been on my worry list in the first place, when Deek came in.

  “Hey, Boss Lady.” He poured some coffee, then sat down next to me at the counter. “You okay? Your aura’s all mixed up, with a rainbow of colors.”

  “Well, that’s exactly how I feel.” I smiled at my barista, who claimed not to be a psychic like his mother, but he read people better than anyone I knew. Including our town’s fortune-teller and my neighbor, Esmeralda. “How is your day going? The words coming well?”

  Deek groaned and flipped his blond dreadlocks out of his face. Today they had a spattering of multicolored beads weaved into them. “The story doesn’t want to follow the outline. Every time I sit down to write, the muse takes me somewhere else. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a great idea, but it’s not what I had on the outline. I keep having to rewrite my outline to fit the new plot points.”

  “Do you?”

  He looked at me strangely, sipping his coffee. “Maybe you didn’t understand. What I’m writing isn’t on the outline. The characters, they’re taking on this whole life of their own. If this keeps up, the book won’t be anything near what I planned it to be.”

  “And the problem is?” I finished the last of the brownie, knowing I was going to have a killer sugar headache if I didn’t get some real food in my stomach to counteract eating dessert first.

  “Sorry, I forget you’re not a writer. Maybe I can go back to the beginning. I write out the outline of what the book is going to be about. Then I write the story.” He spoke slowly, like I was in elementary school and hearing about sentence structure for the first time.

  “No, I get what you’re saying. I’ve sat in on enough author talks that I know you’re following the plotter method of outlining your story down to the last detail. Then you write the book. But have you considered you’re a pantser? Maybe your subconscious knows what the book is going to be, but you have to write the chapters before you do?” I sipped my coffee, watching his reaction.

  “I thought I had to write an outline? My creative writing professor told us we had to start there or the story wouldn’t ever get done. The way I’m going, the story’s not going to be done for years.” He got up and got himself a brownie. Which made me smile. If my employees weren’t emotional eaters before they joined the staff, I tended to train them to become one by modeling the behavior.

  “Look, this process might work for your professor, but I bet if you went online to any writer’s group and asked who plotted and who pantsed, you might find a lot of people who write like you do and still produce books.” I glanced at the clock and stood to fill a couple of travel carafes of coffee, then packed up a box of treats, making sure I charged them under “Jill’s account.” It could have been marketing, but my aunt took a dim view of me charging the marketing budget for treats I took to my boyfriend’s workplace.

  Sometimes she ruined all the fun.

  “Think about it. Maybe your outline is a working document and you don’t have to rewrite it every time you add to the story. Or, if this is for a grade, write the outline when you’re done with the book. I promise you no one, except maybe your publisher, will ask for your synopsis once you’re out of school.” I grabbed my tote and loaded up the goodies. “I’m out of here. Going to City Hall for a quick chat with Greg.”

  “Hey, Jill?” The emotion in Deek’s voice made me turn around to face him.

  I took a step forward, but paused. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re kind of wonderful, you know that?” Deek’s back was turned to me, so I had to strain to hear the words. “I can’t believe you knew exactly what to say.”

  “I’ve been serving coffee and suggesting books for a long time. Getting into the heads of the authors we invite into the store is kind of a hobby. You would have gotten there. I just pointed the way.” I turned and pushed open the door, then held it open for a group of Toby’s girls from the cosmetology school. I knew they wouldn’t be disappointed with Deek, but I was glad I hadn’t had to take over Toby’s shift. They didn’t like finding out they drove fifteen minutes for just coffee. Now, coffee and flirting time was fine. My lips curved into a smile as I headed across the street to City Hall to get my own daily dose of flirt on.

  Esmeralda shook her head when I walked in. “He just left for Bakerstown. Some interview for this new case.”

  I held up the treats. “Okay if I put this in the break room, then? I hate to have Sadie’s treats go to waste.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Those will be gone in less than thirty minutes.” Esmeralda took off the wireless headset that made her look a little like Cher in concert. “Of course, whatever I eat will go to waste, but my waist, not the trash can.”

  “You look amazing.” I followed her into the break room, where she cleared a table that had been covered with newspapers, magazines, and one lone, empty soda bottle. “How have you been?”

  She stacked the newspapers and magazines on another table, then tossed the bottle toward the recycling bin. “These guys are slobs. And for some reason, they think they can get away with it here. I’m going to have to have a talk with Tim again about throwing his bottles away.”

  “How did you know it was Tim’s? Did it have his aura?” I wasn’t sure how this worked, but I was impressed.

  “Tim’s the only one who drinks lemon lime soda. The others are either Pepsi or Coke people. Tim’s been saving his money, so it’s a no-name brand as well.” She laughed as I put down the coffee and treat box. “No woo-woo here, just observations and putting together the clues. You do the same thing.”

  I shrugged and opened the box, offering it to Esmeralda. “Maybe. But like Greg always tells me, I’m not an investigator.”

  Esmeralda took a cookie, then nodded to the box. “You have time for a short break with me? I haven’t talked to you in weeks. And I heard you were the one who found Frank.”

  I sank into the chair and glanced out at the empty reception station. “You sure you have time?”

  She pointed to the earphones. “Not only will they forward calls to me, it also chimes when the door opens. We’re fine back here. But stop stalling. Are you good?”

  I took a cookie. I needed real food, but it was an oatmeal cookie, so that should have some nutrition. I’d stop at Lille’s on the way home and get a huge salad to go. “I guess. I mean, it was a shock to see him there. I’d just talked to him, and then he was gone. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that before.”

  “That abrupt a leaving may cause his spirit to hang around. I could try to reach out to him for you if you want. No charge, just a favor for my neighbor,” she said, focusing on the cookie instead of watching my face. Although she probably was still watching me. “I can schedule a session at my house tonight. Are you ready to accept your gifts and reach out to the other side?”

  Chapter 6

  Being part of another séance scared the crap out of me. Esmeralda had spearheaded one on Halloween, when we’d all gotten together to visit a haunted house before it was torn down for a development of high-end condos. Even though it was supposed to be all fun and games, things had happened that had led us to finding a killer we didn’t even know was around. Talk about a cold case. The thought of trying it again, without all my friends around and to reach a guy who’d I’d just talked to in real life, made me shiver.

  “That’s really nice of you, but maybe we can leave that for now. I’m not sure what I’d ask him if we did try to reach him.” It wasn’t that I believed in Esmeralda’s gift, but after the Halloween incident, I had to believe there was some type of power there. Besides, I didn’t like hurting anyone’s feelings, especially someone I considered a friend.