Page 50 of The Nook for Brooks
Brooks inhaled excitedly. “Fix that, and you really will be my knight in shining armor.”
I pushed open the front door of the BnB and found Benji wobbling on a stepladder in the foyer, holding a framed painting of Mulligan’s Mill at sunset. Bastian stood below, holding theladder, tilting his head back and forth like he was judging a gallery exhibition.
“A little higher,” Bastian said.
“It can’t be above eye level, not if anyone wants to truly appreciate the artist’s vision!” Benji snapped, trying to balance the frame with one hand while waving the other in frustration.
“The artist beingyou,” Bastian replied.
“And what’s wrong with that? Every hotel in Paris hangs a Monet. This town should hang a Benji.”
I laughed at how bloody cute they were and my knapsack dropped off my left shoulder and hit the floor with a thud, making Benji wobble. “Whoa, careful there,” I said. “Don’t break your neck over interior decorating.”
Both of them looked at me in unison—Benji red-faced on the ladder, Bastian smirking at the base.
Benji wobbled on the step, clutching the frame like it might save him. “You’re alive!”
Bastian cut in. “He means, how was camping in the beautiful, serene, postcard-perfect surrounds of Mulligan’s Mill?”
I grinned. “Memorable.”
“How so?” Benji asked, clambering down from his not-so-lofty heights, giving up his hanging task and still clutching the frame against his chest like a shield.
“Well, for one thing, we met Obadiah Crane.”
The frame tilted dangerously in Benji’s hands. “What? Youmet him?”
“Face to face,” I said. “Tea, clocks, the whole bit.”
Bastian let out a low whistle. “Not many people in town can say that.”
“I think the only person who has any contact at all is my mother,” Benji offered. “She sends him a Christmas card every year.”
“Lonnie sendseveryonein Mulligan’s Mill a Christmas card,” Bastian reminded him. “But she’s never once heard back from him.”
I gave a casual shrug. “Well, he seemed nice enough to me. Offered us tea, made a few odd remarks, but the whole conversation got steamrolled by his nephew.”
“You met his nephew too?” Benji and Bastian said together.
“Uh-huh. He seemed pretty defensive. Or maybe ‘protective’ is a better word. Said he’s moving here permanently to look after his uncle, so I guess he’s not all bad.”
Benji hugged the painting tighter against his chest, eyes shining like I’d just delivered gossip hotter than fresh pie. “Defensive or not, that’s still remarkable. You’ve met more Cranes in one day than most of us have in a lifetime.”
Bastian nodded slowly, though his expression was more measured. “If he’s moving here, people will notice. A Crane showing up in town isn’t exactly an everyday event.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, picking up my knapsack again. “I’ll leave the Crane family mysteries to the locals. I’ve got other missions.”
Benji leaned forward eagerly. “Such as?”
I dug into the bag and held up the culprit between two fingers—Brooks’s battered old bath plug, its edges warped and swollen.
“This,” I declared. “Is Brooks Beresford’s enemy number one. The poor guy’s been soaking in a bathtub with a plug that sounds like it’s choking on a mint. It has to go.”
Bastian chuckled. “Does Brooks know that bath plugs are replaceable? When one dies, you go to Harry’s and buy a new one.”
Benji leaned in, eyes bright. “More to the point, how doyouknow it makes that noise?” He glanced from the plug to my face like he’d caught me stealing cookies. “Have you been in Brooks’s bath?”
I fought a losing grin. “Okay, okay. There were bubbles.”
