Page 13 of Save the Drama for your Mama
I shrugged. “My expertise doesn’t stop at historic properties.”
“I suppose you’ve watched every episode ofAntiques Roadshow.”
“I have, although that’s not where I get my information from,” I said, moving my hand over the wood and knocking one of his many yellow Post-It Notes off the desk and to the floor.
I reached down to pick it up, just as Cooper did, smacking my head against his. We jerked away, both of us rubbing our heads.
He sighed and snatched the Post-It Note off the floor and slapped it back on the desk where it had been. Taking a deep breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose, then exhaled. “Could you all please leave?”
At least he asked nicely, almost begging, actually.
“Relax, big guy,” Chad said, which earned him another scowl from his brother. “It has been a while since they have been here. It makes little sense to skip the library since it’s an important part of the house. Just a couple of minutes and we’ll be out of your hair.”
The dog came over to me and leaned against my leg, asking for some love.
I bent down to pet him. “I never got your name, handsome.”
“Romeo,” Chad said.
“Cute . . .” I nodded, thinking about it as I scratched the dog behind the ears. “How did you come up with that name?”
“Me?” Chad pointed to himself and barked out a laugh. “No way. I would never give a dog such a ridiculous name. That’s all on Cooper.”
Surprised by that interesting fact, I turned to Mr. Fractious.
“No comment,” he said.
Romeo walked over and plopped down on his doggy bed.
I froze when I saw the vintage, 1950s, light-green Smith-Corona electric typewriter, then walked toward it.
It was in pristine condition.
I reached out to touch the giant keys and—
“Don’t even think about it,” Cooper said.
He glared at me.
I glared back.
Retracting my hand, I shook my head at his stubbornness, then read what was typed on the sheet of paper inside the typewriter.
Embrace the gift in front of your eyes.
Surprised, I glanced back over at Cooper. “Are you writing quotes for fortune cookies now?”
He squished his brows together, walked over, and glanced down at the note in the typewriter, blinking twice. “I didn’t type that.” He glanced back at his brother. “Are you messing around with Mom’s typewriter?”
“Me?” Chad said. “I have never touched that thing, and don’t have any plans to in this lifetime.”
Cooper gave me another stern look, as if I had something to do with it. Then he turned around and went back to his desk.
Chad continued with the history of the house and all the books his mother had written in the library when they were kids.
Then he mentioned her passing six months earlier.
And with that news, the mystery of the grumpy man was apparently solved. Cooper must have been very close to his mother. I felt a pang of sympathy bubbling to the surface and I had to push it back down.
