Page 11 of Murder on the Page

“Get out. He’s a guy friend.”

Tegan smirked. “You and your ‘guy’ friends.” She mimed quotation marks. “Do you know how many of them wanted to make an honest woman of you?”

“None.”

“All.” She thwacked her chest with her palm. “I was the shoulder they cried on.”

“Get out of here.”

“No lie.” She crossed her heart. “But this one. Zach? You have the hots for him. He’s a keeper.”

I glanced toward the door, thinking he truly might be. He was direct yet warm, authoritative yet conversational, but ever since my breakup with my fiancé, I’d been gun-shy on relationships, so I wasn’t pressing for more with Zach.Yet.I pushed thoughts of him aside and said, “Enough about me. Let’s discuss your jerk of a husband.”

“Uh-uh. I don’t want to talk about him.” She washed and dried her hands. “I’m too worried about Aunt Marigold.”

“She’s fine.”

“She was mumbling something about her neighbor yesterday. She wishes he’d get his act together.”

“That says a lot about her. She cares.”

“She seems concerned about something else, too. Sales have been down.”

“That’s true for every business in early spring. Let it go. She’ll get her much-needed rest, and all will be right with the world in the morning.”

While I tootled around the kitchen, decorating cookies and packing them into white pastry boxes with sage-green labels—sage green was my signature color—Tegan perched on the stool by the island and, to distract herself, chatted about the theater foundation people coming to the tea. She was keen on what each liked to read.Mrs. So and So preferred romance. Mr. So and So relished sports and nonfiction.In college, after giving up on becoming a computer geek because she’d fallen in love with literature, Tegan considered becoming a librarian. She earned her undergraduate degree in library arts, but when she started working for her aunt at Feast for the Eyes, on a temporary basis until she found a librarian position, she fell in love with book selling and scrapped the career as a librarian.

When I was cleaning up, Tegan said, “How about I treat you to a burger and a beer at the Brewery?”

“Sounds good.” The Brewery was one of my favorite haunts. Tegan’s and her aunt’s, too. Like many restaurants in Bramblewood, it served craft beer, as well as cider, and it had an extensive burger list, as well as hearty mountain food, like potatoesverdedrenched inchile verdesauce and cotija cheese.Drinking food,I called it. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” I checked Darcy’s food bowl—he’d eaten every bite—made sure his water was fresh, and off we went. “Shall we invite your aunt?”

“Yes.” Tegan texted her and received an instant response. She showed it to me. “She wrote, ‘Not up to it. Next time.’ ”

“Staying home is smart,” I said. “She has to be sharp for the fund-raising event tomorrow.”

Whenever Tegan and I went to the Brewery, we liked to belly up to the bar. Not only did it have six comfortable swivel chairs, but Katrina Carlson, the main bartender, was good to people of the female persuasion. Pretty and freckly, with long curls that she tied off her face, she had a curvy body, a full-bodied laugh, and a saucy sense of humor. All the waitstaff wore crisp white shirts tucked into black pants. However, each was allowed to wear one piece of jewelry. Katrina always chose bracelets. On a previous visit, I’d admired a thick silver bangle studded with fake gems. She said she couldn’t resist buying it when she’d seen it in the window at Fair Exchange, the pawnshop on Holly Street. It was a one-of-a-kind beauty.

“What’ll it be?” Katrina asked, slipping a cocktail napkin onto the bar in front of each of us. Tonight’s bracelet, one I hadn’t seen before, made a jangling sound. “Spruce Goose? Buzz Lightbeer? Audrey Hopburn?”

Behind the bar, a dozen taps were affixed to the wall. Like a flight of wines, the variety of beers went from dark to light, left to right. Most had ridiculously silly names.

As much as I wanted to eat something super salty, I knew I’d regret it in the morning, seeing as I had to be up bright and early. I shrugged out of my coat, slung it over the back of theswivel chair, ordered a simple burger and Oly’s pale ale—Oliver “Oly” Olsen was the owner of the Brewery and the craftsman. He didn’t show up often. When he did, he made sure he said hello to everyone. Tegan requested a cheeseburger and an Ugly Pig, which was a dark ale with an edge.

While we waited, I spun in my chair to see if I recognized anyone. The place wasn’t big. There were only three rectangular bar-style tables fitted with stools, each sitting eight, and two more for diners who liked to stand, but the noise was loud. High ceilings plus stone floors amplified the acoustics. A couple of TVs hanging on poles attached to the rafters were broadcasting basketball games. I caught sight of Lillian, who was seated with a twenty-something actress I recognized from a theater production I’d attended. I waved and Lillian responded in kind. The petite blond waitress named Wallis was tending to them.

“Where’s your aunt?” Katrina asked Tegan as she set our beers on the counter.

“She’s under the weather. She’ll join us next time.”

“That’s too bad. I was hoping to pick her brain about what I should read next.”

Because she worked nights, Katrina didn’t attend book club events, but I’d seen her name on numerous stacks of sold books at the bookshop. She had a penchant for historical romance and the occasional mystery.

“New jewelry?” I asked, nodding to the bracelet.

“You like?” Katrina lifted her wrist. “They’re charms shaped like cocktails. Isn’t it adorbs? Sounds like bells, right?” She wiggled her arm.

“Adorbs,” I repeated. To be honest, the constantclink-clinkwould drive me nuts, but it was noisy enough in the bar that most customers wouldn’t notice.

---