Page 94 of Fresh Old Bounties

Ian went to the bed and began checking under the mattress. “It was registered under Johnathan Smithe.”

“Points for originality. Not,” she muttered. She approached the chest of drawers and pulled open the top one. Empty.

I stared at the beige carpet, my spirits sinking. “He came here right after he tried to break into your house and decided to cut his losses.”

“Yes.”

“He knew you’d find him eventually.”

“Yes.”

“Now we’re never going to find him.”

Ian didn’t reply, but I heard his “yes” all the same.

TWENTY-THREE

Saturday dawned rainy and depressingly gloomy. The world was tinted in hues of gray, not in the least helped by the black Halloween decorations taped to the windows.

Time to invest in some brighter orange garlands.

But even adding that to my to-do list felt like a chore.

So many chances, so many opportunities, so many plans. And I’d still found out nothing. Had fixed nothing.

Whoever wanted Grandma’s imaginary alchemy spellbook, Mystery Man or not, was still out there, and they might try again. Grandma’s reputation and legacy were still actively being tainted, I hadn’t found Bagley’s money, and Dru and I still hadn’t uncovered a better reason to stop Preston from taking over the Corner Rose beyond shop local and because he’s an ass.

It made one want to take a nap and not wake up for a week.

The bell tinkled as a new customer entered the shop, and I forced a smile. It was an older couple, and I served them some cocoa and a muffin each. I’d made a run for fresh muffins before opening, and having to stand twenty minutes in line at Fairy Circle Cakes hadn’t improved my mood, no matter how much I reminded myself that good things come to those who wait.

Investigating had gotten me nowhere, so might as well try waiting.

Not the best affirmation out there, but I was grasping at straws.

After the couple left, the same young man as yesterday entered the shop and settled on the window table. He ordered a coffee and a muffin and opened his laptop.

The presence of what could be a new repeat customer should’ve filled me with pride, but all I could manage was a small twinge of something. More like a bug bite rather than genuine sentiment.

Oh, Mother.

I snuck into the small downstairs bathroom and stared intently at my reflection. At the sad eyes, the drooping mouth, the cloud of gloom hovering above my head.

“Good things come to those who wait.”

Nothing. No burst of hope or even the smallest twinkling of anticipation.

“When investigation fails, wait for inspiration.”

Nada.

This was not good.

The door’s bell tinkled again, and I was forced to abandon my quest to improve my spirits to attend the newcomers—a young couple carrying several bags full of purchases.

They sat at the counter and chatted animatedly. At one point they asked me for recommendations for creepy places, and I dutifully told them about John B. Fieldman Park, the Three Sisters, the Modern Cabinet of Curiosities, and added Veva’s shop—not exactly creepy, but they looked the kind who would love a tarot reading to get in the mood.

Once they left, I gave Veva a call. Maybe planning things for the shop would improve my mood.

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