I couldn’t help but chuckle, giving his arm a squeeze at the mention of Forrest. “It’s okay, Mr. Sherwood. I’ve got this. But thanks for the offer.”
Chester clucked his tongue, his eyes dancing as he jammed his thumbs under his red suspenders. “Heard you bought that dump at the edge of town. Gonna have your hands full fixin’ that up, I bet. Could have some nice gardens though, if someone were to take the time.”
I wondered if I should tell anyone I didn’t buy the house but rather I’d hit the afterlife lottery. I hadn’t asked Win his feelings on it yet. “You garden?”
“You bet. Not so much nowadays, seein’ as I live in an apartment above the store here, but I used to have a garden out back at my old place that was the talk of the town.”
Gardening was my second passion after thrift store bargain hunting. If there was dirt, I wanted to be deep into it with a spade and some fertilizer. From there, an idea sprang forth.
“Do you think when we get closer to spring you might come out and consult with me? I’m an avid gardener, too, but I’ve never owned something so big with so much space to fill. I’d be so honored if you’d offer your opinion on landscaping.”
Chester’s cheeks went red. “You like hydrangeas?”
I grinned and nodded, excited by the prospect of growing the flowers I loved so much. “Lacecaps are my favorite. But I’m also partial to blue mopheads. I love them.”
Somehow, I’d managed to impress Chester. It showed in his expression. “How ’bout roses?”
“Are you harassing Stevie, Gramps?” Forrest asked from behind, his warm voice sending a chill up along the nape of my neck as he cupped my elbow. “What did I tell you yesterday?”
Chester flapped a pudgy hand at him. “We were talkin’ gardens, Slick. Relax already. I made nice just like I said I would.”
Patting Chester’s arm, I winked at him. “It’s okay, Forrest. Your grandpa and I were just talking about the gardens I hope to create out at my new place.”
“She bought that creepy dive out at the edge of town. Remember the one that lady—what was her name? Melissa Somethin’?—bought a few years back? Fell off the cliff a few days after she bought it. Daggone shame, that was. House on the market for years since.”
That was the second mention of a woman owning the house before Win. My spine tingled with awareness. It was time for me to find out what happened to her and who she was.
“You bought that house? You like work, huh?” Forrest joked with a wink. “C’mon, I’ll get your coffee for you pronto. You’re gonna need it fast if you’re taking on that project.”
Win interrupting on the subject of the house only made me more curious. “Could we move this along, Stevie? We have suspects to interview.”
Forrest attempted to usher me toward the front of the line, but I stopped him cold and muttered, “No way. I don’t have enough trouble already? If I cut in this line, I’ll be branded not only a murderer, but a cheat. I’ll wait right here for my turn, thank you very much.”
He grinned, his handsome face open and warm. “It’s part of the perks of knowing the owner.”
“But not such a perk if everyone hates my guts even harder than they already do. Now go make lattes. I’ll see you at seven tonight. Meet you there.” I smiled up at him and waved him off.
As he made his way toward the front of the store, I admired his broad back in a sky-blue knit shirt that hugged his lean but muscular frame.
I must have girly-sighed because Win was suddenly in my ear. “Aren’t you the giver,” he taunted.
My lips thinned into a line, but I’d forgotten my Bluetooth earpiece so I couldn’t fight back, and Win knew as much.
“The perks of knowing the owner? Of a coffee shop? It’s coffee, not diamonds, for bloody sake.”
Tightening my grip on my purse, I balled my fist, hoping he’d see it. “Knock it off, Win…”
The woman in front of me in line turned and gave me the stink-eye. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh! Not you… I’m mean, I said—”
“Aren’t you the gal they’re saying killed our Madam Zoltar?” Her squinty brown eyes lit up with fire and she squared her shoulders as though preparing for a fight. “What’s the world coming to when a murderer walks free—and gets coffee on the house to boot?” she asked in a loud, nasally voice.
But my shoulders slumped when I gazed down at her. “I did not kill Madam Zoltar, and I am not getting free coffee. I’m perfectly happy to pay for my coffee.”
But she wasn’t done with me. Tightening the belt of her winter-white coat around her thick waist, she narrowed her gaze and wagged a finger under my nose, the ends of her flip hairdo bouncing in time with her finger point of shame.
“Don’t you have a shred of decency? How could you wander around this town, parading all over the place in front of that poor child, Liza, like you’re not a cold-blooded killer?”
Just as I was about to lose my temper, someone shouted from behind us, “Leave her alone! You’re all so judgmental and mean! Stevie didn’t kill my nana, Chicken-Opolis did!”
“Cluck-cluck,” Win whispered.