“No.”
“That’s because there isn’t one. No one leaves a dog in a building. It’s much more likely you heard mice next door. Or, maybe a squirrel looking for a place to build a nest. You’re just nervous about your opening. You want me to come down there? Because I can be there in ten minutes.”
“No, no.” Carly blew out a give-me-patience breath. “You’re probably right. I’m just nervous and jumping at every sound. Why don’t you wait and come by tomorrow for the soft opening? You’ll get the first pick of everything.”
“Now that’s an idea I like.” Her aunt sounded very pleased. “I got to go. I’m missing The Late Show. Call me when you are on your way home.”
Carly pocketed her phone and stood a moment longer, straining for sounds from the store behind her. Maybe it was just her nerves turning ordinary noises into ominous sounds. Of course, she could call and report that she heard weird noises coming from a vacant store. But what if Aunt Fredda was right and it was mice, or squirrels? Or rats? No, better not bother the police about rodents.
She turned back to her shop and paused, a smile spreading across her face as she gazed at the sign above the door. FLAWLESS.
Her shop represented so much. A fresh start. A new life. Flawless wasn’t just about beauty. Or bling. It was about a woman empowering other women while owning her own style.
The idea for a store had crossed her mind when she was still working as a model. Everyone lauded the designers of the beautiful, sometimes bizarre, clothing she strutted on the catwalk. But only a handful of insiders ever met the talented women who embroidered, made lace, or spent hundreds of hours sewing by hand the sequins, pearls, and crystals that made so many of the couture pieces works of art. Most worked in crowded overseas factories, or locally, from home. Paid minimum wages for their exquisite creations, they never saw a cent of the exorbitant prices their contributions ultimately demanded at the retail level. She wanted to change that. So, she’d returned home, sunk a good bit of her savings into creating a boutique where people could come and touch and examine and buy one-of-a-kind pieces.
Flawless would highlight those yet-to-be-discovered women who deserved to reach an audience. Art wasn’t just for the rich or those who didn’t have to scramble for a living. There were lots of ways of not being okay in this world. Art was a way to be okay.
Carly took a deep breath as she caught her reflection in the store windows. Her two-tone hairdo was new enough that she paused to study it. A riot of tight blonde-tipped ringlets cascaded over her brow from the crown. The naturally darker sides of her hair had been swept back and pinned to mimic the look of being cropped very close. It was an edgy urban look that turned heads on the streets of Fort Worth.
She fluffed her curls with her fingers and smiled. She’d always pulled herself together on her terms. Now she would be helping other women know the feeling of succeeding on their own terms.
Within minutes, the shop was locked up and she walking to her Mazda, parked in the large lot behind the block of stores.
Security lights on motion detectors brightened the alley like a runway. Arms full of work materials, she pushed her key fob to unlock the hatchback when she heard a noise. No, a bark. Absolutely a bark this time.
She looked back over her shoulder to see the backdoor to the shop next to hers was ajar.
The second bark was louder. A bit high and strained. As if the dog was hurt or in trouble.
“I should mind my own business.” She talked to herself when she was nervous. A habit from childhood she’d never lost.
She shoved her armload into the back of her Mazda. “Get in the car, Carly Harrington-Reese. Lock the doors. Call the cops, and go home.”
Yes. That was the plan any sensible person would follow. But the dog was whining again, a sound so pathetic she couldn’t resist the urge to check out the source. Maybe it had run into the store looking for shelter and got stuck, or something.
She hesitated. The “or something” might be the reason she should just follow plan A and leave.
She pulled out her phone. One wrong sound or weird creak and she was speed-dialing 911.
When she pushed, the door to the empty store opened inward on a space so dark it seemed matt finished in charcoal dust. “Hello?”
Her tentative question was met with silence. “Hi. I’m Carly from next door. Anybody here?”
More silence. So far, she’d kept both feet on the outside of the threshold. She wasn’t scared of the dark. She just didn’t like being alone in unfamiliar darkness.
She switched on the flashlight of her cell phone and stepped inside.