“I’ll take it to the station. Greg can bring it to you.” Jim nodded at his brother and Greg took my arm, leading me to his truck parked in the marina’s lot.
“He can stop by the store, but not my house?” I put the tote in the bed of the truck and climbed in the passenger side.
Greg started up the engine, turning to look at me. “Don’t press your luck. He’s warming up to you. Jim’s old-fashioned in many ways. He’s respecting our relationship by not visiting you at your home, thereby avoiding any hint of scandal.”
“Wait, he thinks stopping by the house will cause me to throw myself at him?” I rolled down the window, enjoying the last rays of the beautiful day.
As Greg pulled the truck out onto the highway, he responded, “It’s happened before.”
Once he dropped me off, I spent a few minutes with Emma, who thought I smelt wonderful. I smelt my hand and gagged. Coconut-flavored dead fish and sweat. “Time for a shower, then we’ll watch some TV and eat soup? Sound good?”
Emma gave me a short bark, which either meant terrific in dog language or where’s the rotten fish? Either way, I rubbed the top of her head and went upstairs to clean up.
Before I turned the television off that night, I turned on the evening news. Not a word about Kent’s murder investigation or Conner’s arrest or even South Cove. The media had moved on and now a new problem had taken the limelight. A scandal in a local election. I smiled as I turned off the television. “Feels good to be normal again, right, girl?”
I slept the sleep of the dead that night. No dreams, no nightmares, no premonitions surrounding the friend song Esmeralda kept sending me through all-spirit-radio, the only channel her fortune-telling talent tuned in to.
I love Mondays. I’m probably the only person on the planet who does. Except for other shopkeepers like me. Mondays are my Sundays, when I relax with a book, handle chores like bank deposits or mailing packages, or shop for food. The great thing about being off work when everyone else is working is you avoid the Saturday crowds at the grocery store or the dry cleaners. The bad thing? Everyone else is working, so sometimes I craved company on my jaunts.
I’d finished my shopping in Bakerstown, put away all the groceries for the week, and even had meals planned by the time Aunt Jackie called.
“I forgot to make the deposit.” No hello, no how are you. Just what she needed.
I wasn’t playing her game, not today. I hadn’t been able to fit any reading in yesterday, so the rest of my day was devoted to finding out if the new chef in town was going to be able to make a go of her Mexican restaurant. Fictionally, I mean. I made a managerial decision. “Then go to the bank and make it.”
“Smart aleck, I would, but I’m in San Francisco and the deposit is sitting on my dining room table in South Cove. With all the craziness lately, I’m pretty sure you don’t want that amount of money just lying around, do you?”
Dreams of sitting on the porch in my swing, sipping iced tea faded. I checked the clock. I had an hour before the local branch closed to commercial business. “You owe me.”
A chuckle came over the line. “I would think you’d be grateful for such a dedicated employee who would call to correct one tiny mistake.”
“Whatever.” I hung up the phone and grabbed my purse and the shop keys. I carried an extra copy of the apartment key on my ring, mostly because my aunt kept locking herself out. Instead of walking into town, I fired up the Jeep and drove the few blocks. I swung into the back lot, left my Jeep running, and ran up the outside stairs. Whoever Jackie had gone to the city with must have driven, as her Escape sat in its normal spot. Thoughts of the last week bubbled in my brain, and I wondered if I should have been more inquisitive about her whereabouts. I shook it off. “She’s a grown woman who can do what she wants.”
I unlocked the door and saw the blue deposit bag right on top of the dining room table where she’d left it. My aunt had decorated the little apartment with high-end furniture and antiques. It looked like a miniature version of her city apartment before she’d been bought out when the building owners decided to renovate the brick structure into expensive condos. Ones that my aunt couldn’t afford due to an unfortunate investment that had robbed her of much of the money my uncle had left. No wonder she’d felt so driven to protect Mary.
Sending positive thoughts my aunt’s way, I locked the door and hurried to the bank, only slightly exceeding the speed limit. Most of the shops in South Cove were closed on Mondays, except for the bank and the tobacco shop across the street. I parked in front of the building and hurried into the bank lobby.
A portly man dressed in a security uniform held the door for me. He nodded in welcome, then went back to standing to the side, his hands crossed in front of him.