The Deadly Dust Bunnies Read online

  A shiver of delight ran up my spine the way it did any time he said my full name. I could correct him, but why would I? Although I would have liked to have spent the rest of the afternoon conversing with Rune—okay, more like, listening to his accent—the bells on the front door jingled as a pair of geriatric women entered the shop.

  "Good afternoon, lasses, and welcome to the Treasure Trove. Nothing ye'll find at the end of a rainbow compares to the treasures ye'll find in here."

  As God as my witness, those women giggled like schoolgirls. I was surprised one of them didn't swoon onto the fainting couch near the front door. They no sooner recovered when I overheard one of them mention something about a dead body.

  Hazel bent her head toward mine and lowered her voice. "You know, I thought Warren would be bad for business, but the day is looking up."

  Although I didn't want to agree with her, I couldn't exactly argue with my bestie when I considered the amount of sales we'd taken in, and the day was only half over.

  The bells jingled again, and Marci Livingston entered the shop. Without a word or motion from her, the customers made way for Marci the way the Red Sea must have parted for Moses.

  When she reached the counter, she lowered her head and asked, "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

  CHAPTER 6

  "Sure thing, Marci. Rune, are you okay to watch the shop for a few minutes?" At least, I hoped it would only take a few minutes. Poor Marci was pale by nature, but at the moment, her skin was as white as the 1,000-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets hanging on my backyard clothesline.

  "It will be all right, lass. Do what ye must. I can handle these lasses."

  I did not doubt that he could handle the women in the shop. Now was not the time to play the role of a jealous female, however. Instead of replying, I dashed after Hazel, who led Marci to the employee only area.

  Marci leaned against the cabinet we used to store cleaning supplies and other shop necessities. When Hazel offered her a place to sit, she refused. "No, thanks. You'd think walking to town would have calmed me down, but I'm too paranoid about Warren’s murder! How’s this going to affect my ribbon-cutting ceremony?"

  Hazel sank into one of the chairs at the table, but I stood in the doorway. I may not have walked the distance that Marci did, but I was no less edgy. The cat came out from wherever it was hiding and leaped into Hazel's lap, its loud purr filling the room.

  The corners of Marci's mouth pinched into a frown. Afraid she was upset at Hazel's response, I added. "We planned to reach out later today to see if you need help with anything. Things have been a bit chaotic here."

  A sharp rap sounded from the other side of the back door. When I opened it, Gavin was the last person I expected to see on the other side. "Oh, Gavin. It’s you. Is the alley still a crime scene? Please tell me Warren was the only person you found in the dumpster."

  “I still can’t believe someone murdered him,” Marci said with a sigh.

  Gavin peered past me at Marci. "They told you that Warren is dead? And why are you here, anyway?"

  "This is Cooper's Cove. Everybody knows everything. I'm here to discuss the ribbon cutting."

  "Great priorities, babe."

  "First of all, if we're going to be a couple, my name is Marci, not 'babe.' Got it? Good. And secondly, your sister and her friend are my friends. That means they’re also your friends. Are we clear, babe?" She claimed the chair next to Hazel, her eyes never leaving Gavin.

  "Babe-, erm Marci, listen. You don’t need their help. Queen Victoria and Witch Hazel have their own goat rodeo to manage."

  Hazel's expression clearly stated that she wanted to smack the smug grin off her brother's face, and I didn't blame her. It was sometimes difficult for me to believe that before Hazel and I became friends back in middle school, I used to daydream about having a brother.

  But if all brothers were like Gavin, then I was better off an only child.

  Hazel's nostrils flared. "Fine. Marci won't hire us to investigate a crime."

  "Gavin," I interrupted the siblings before their snarking could turn into an actual squabble. "Why are you here?"

  "That's a good question. Why am I here? I'll tell you why I'm here. It's because of you and—"

  A knock on the back door interrupted him. Our shop was turning into a regular Grand Central Station. Without waiting for direction from Hazel or me—or asking us if we minded if he answered the door, Gavin let it swing wide to reveal Davis Sterling, his partner.

  And then, without pausing to greet Davis, he finished, "—your rotting, stinking dumpster. Someone dumped bags of fish guts in there. When Warren landed on the bags, one of them must have broken open. Lucky for you, the Chief is having the whole thing hauled off to the nearest crime lab, and Mayor Goldman has asked the fire department to spray down the pavement. The smell should leave the area by the time you close up for the day, and the sanitation department will have a replacement dumpster here as soon as they can."

  "Thanks for letting us know, Gavin." And I meant it. Maybe now I could push memories of our morning adventure from my mind.

  "Uh, that's why I'm here. The forensics team is ready to move the receptacle, and we have to follow behind." Davis looked away from Gavin and tilted his head in our direction. "Afternoon, ladies. Are you all doing all right? Do you need anything?"

  "We're all good here, thanks," Hazel replied for our group. As she spoke, she ran her hand along the cat's back from its shoulders to its hips.

  "Is that?" Gavin asked as if noticing the cat for the first time.

  "My cat? Yes. Mrs. Benefield brought it into the shop first thing this morning."

  "And… Rune is…" Gavin looked from Hazel to me.

  I gave a nervous laugh. "Rune is watching the cash register, silly. You don't think we'd leave the front unattended with all those people out there, do you?"

  "Yeah. The shop does better when Tori and I aren't out front. Who knew so many women in Beach Plum Bay would enjoy listening to Rune's brogue?" Hazel added.

  Marci raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in my direction. "Aren't you jealous, Tori?"

  "Nope. Rune is an awesome salesman, and that's it. Those women can flirt all they want. I have no reason to worry." I hoped my tone relayed more confidence than I felt.

  “You two don’t have any illusions of grandeur about solving this murder, do you?” Gavin asked.

  “What? Us? You’ve got to be kidding,” I said with as much innocence as I could muster.

  Gavin looked like he wanted to say something else, but Davis urged, "They're ready to go when we are.”

  "Yeah, yeah. I'll be right here." Turning to Marci, he lowered his voice and added, "Can I still pick you up at six tonight?"

  "You'd better," she replied, waggling her index finger at him.

  The policemen left, and the door swung closed behind them. The door latch clicked into place, and I moved to engage the deadbolt before taking a seat next to Hazel. Reaching for my tablet, I slid it across the table. A light press on the power button brought the screen to life. "Now, Marci, what do you know about the break-in from around town?"

  "I thought Gavin said you couldn't investigate?"

  "We're not investigating. We're taking notes so we can write an editorial for the Cooper's Cove Chronicle." Even as I spoke the words, I had trouble believing them. Still, I insisted, "That's our story, and we're sticking to it. Sound good?"

  "Sounds good to me," Hazel agreed.

  "I'm in,” Marci said with a nod. “It’s like we’re like the Three Musketeers, if they were strong, smart women.”

  I almost liked her at this moment. "Great! Now, start from the beginning and don't leave anything out."

  For the next twenty minutes, I typed as many notes as I could manage into the tablet's word processor app. It was better to have more details than we would need to help find who killed Warren.

  “And I think that’s everything.” Marci chewed a hangnail while we paused to reflect.

>   A jaunty folk tune erupted from my tablet, and I swiped my finger across the screen to accept the incoming video message. Rune's face appeared, and I began to smile before noticing his panicked expression.

  "C' mere to me lass. Two customers both want the same-" Rune's voice died as call dropped.

  Marci looked at the clock and gasped. "Oh, no! I'm sorry I kept you so long."

  Hazel and I assured her that it was fine as we stood and made our way into the shop proper where Marci saw herself out the front door while Hazel handled the dispute between the two customers and I took over for Rune, who dashed out to Mocha Joe's for our afternoon coffees.

  CHAPTER 7

  "What time is it now?" Hazel asked, even though her phone lay face-down on the counter in front of her. She drained the rest of her coffee and tossed the paper cup into the trash can behind us.

  I picked up my friend's phone, took a peek at the analog clock displayed over the lock screen wallpaper, and returned it to the counter. "It's 4:37."

  "Yes! Less than half an hour to go, and we can call it a day."

  "It's weird to hear you get excited about flipping the open sign to closed. Every other day you've wished we stayed open later."

  "I know, right? As much as I love the Treasure Trove, we were right out straight today!"

  Hearing Hazel say "right out straight" brought a smile to the corners of my mouth. It was something my grandparents frequently said. I liked knowing the phrase, which was another way for someone to say they were wicked busy, didn't die out with the older generation. "We sure were, and the day is far from over if Marci has anything to say about it."

  "I was looking forward to going home to a home-cooked meal with Sven."

  "Don't you mean a home-prepared meal?" It was no secret that Hazel bought takeout from local restaurants, added Penzey's spices from her kitchen, and then passed it off as an original creation.

  "You say potato soup. I say vichyssoise. Besides, Sven travels so much, and we rarely eat in town. How would he know the difference?"

  "I'm sure he appreciates the effort."

  "As much as you appreciate a certain Irish fellow whipping up a meal on your cooker?"

  "You don't hear me complaining. Rune can use my cooker anytime he likes."

  When Rune first appeared in my life, he took to the kitchen like mermaids to water. Despite his odd language, like saying the cooker instead of the stove, he was soon treating me to delicious, home-cooked meals. Now that I thought about it, I'd never heard Hazel mention her husband doing things like that for her. He bought her flashy presents and whisked her away on romantic adventures. But did he ever make her a cup of coffee, wash the dishes, or vacuum? Now wasn't the time to compare relationships, though. More severe issues took precedence.

  "You look like you're a million miles away, girlfriend. A penny for your thoughts?"

  Instead of sharing my inner monologue, I suggested, "I think we're due some coffee to celebrate the amount of business we did today. Do you think we have time for a pit stop at Mocha Joe's?"

  "Let's have Marci meet us there. That way, Gavin will be less suspicious about us talking to her when he picks her up, too. It's a win-win."

  "Sounds good to me."

  Rune returned at that moment. "What sounds good to ye, lass?"

  "We're going for coffee after closing for the day."

  "Jes coffee?"

  "And to meet Marci," Hazel added.

  "Might I join ye? If I'm not interfering, that is."

  I put my hand on Rune's forearm. "Of course you're not interfering, silly. We couldn't have solved Mrs. Livingston's murder without you."

  "Are we solving another one?"

  A dimple appeared in Rune's left cheek due to his lopsided grin, and my knees turned to jelly. Although I was far from being a lovesick teenager, my reaction to my Irishman's subtle flirting took me right back to high school and the days leading up to senior prom.

  "Gavin told us to stay out of it, but we told Marci we'd research." I put air quotes around research and gave an exaggerated wink.

  "I'm no expert with Google, but I know a fair bit about what people today call history."

  When Rune first came into my life, he pronounced the search engine as "goggle." What the correct pronunciation lacked in adorableness, he made up for with his lilting brogue. He could recite the Cooper’s Cove business directory, and I would give him my full and undivided attention.

  A couple of older women entered the shop and poked around on their own for several minutes before asking for assistance in finding a bridal shower gift for their niece. Hazel sorted them out in record time, and I was soon ringing their purchases of a porcelain wedding frame and a silk handkerchief trimmed in blue lace.

  As I rang the sale, Rune wrapped the items in tissue paper and tucked them into a paper shopping bag stamped with the store's logo. He slid the purchase back across the counter and recited, "Thank you so much for shopping at the Treasure Trove, lasses. Please recommend us to all your friends."

  "Oh, we certainly will, young man." One of the women responded. Their girlish giggling followed them into the street. They'd never believe that Rune had a couple of centuries on them.

  Hazel gave the women a final wave through the display window. She had no sooner turned the lock and flipped the sign to the closed side for the rest of the day when her phone chimed from the back pocket of her jeans. She retrieved it and checked the incoming message. "Marci's ready to meet us at Mocha Joe's, and I don't know about you all, but I am in dire need of some caffeine."

  "And maybe some donut holes," I added.

  "With yer beach plum jam, lass?"

  "Of course!" It was a well-known fact to the residents of Cooper’s Cove that Beach plum jam was my weakness.

  You see, beach plums aren't like any other food on the planet. The native fruit grows exclusively on shrubs along the New England coastline. In recent years, the bushes were in danger of being wiped out by erosion, development, and other factors. Although some micro-farmers grow the plants in greenhouses, the taste isn't the same, not to the people who've spent their entire lives here, anyway.

  So, everyone in the town of Cooper's Cove was lucky that Marci agreed to protect the highly-coveted plants growing on her late aunt's property. She also gave Ivy exclusive access to the fruit for use in the desserts sold at Mocha Joe's. As long as the coffee shop sold beach plum donuts, I'd be a customer for life.

  A gentle mewling preceded the appearance of the cat. It leaped onto the counter and batted at the pens in the mug.

  "Oh, no, you don't!" I darted behind the counter and moved the mug and anything else the cat could knock off onto the shelf below it, where we stored extra paper for the cash register. When I finished, I scratched the cat behind the ears and cooed, "Are you enjoying being a shop cat? Tomorrow we'll bring you some treats. Would you like some treats?"

  The cat purred in response.

  Hazel asked, "Hey, what are we going to call him? I mean, we can't call him Rune, can we?"

  "Ye could, but it might get confusing, lass. We could call him Mercutio."

  "Mercutio, the Prince of Cats. I like it!" I clapped my hands.

  "Tori, lass, ye did not say ye were a fan of the Bard of Avon."

  Straightening my shoulders, I recited, "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."

  "Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" Rune gazed into my eyes.

  Hazel cleared her throat. "I hate to interject as the nurse who breaks up this love fest, but Marci is waiting for us. Let's go!"

  CHAPTER 8

  Rune held the door for Hazel and me as we entered the coffee shop. A ray of sunlight pierced the crystal wind chime hanging in the front window. Tiny rainbows danced through the air. Movement on the sidewalk across the street caught my eye, and I peered to get a closer look. "Isn’t that the same man from this morning?"

&n
bsp; "What man, lass?"

  "That, well, huh. The man, whoever he was, is gone now."

  Hazel gave a half-shrug. "Maybe he went into the bank. Let's grab our booth before someone else does." She pointed to the back corner of the cafe, where Ivy had finished wiping down the table at our regular spot. Rune and I followed as she wove through the customers and we took our seats. Hazel scooted next to the window to make room for Marci on one side while Rune and I claimed the opposite bench.

  "Hey, Ivy. It looks like you were as busy as we were," I said, stating the obvious.

  Ivy fell into the seat next to Hazel. "Girl, you don't know the half of it, and I had to work three hours by myself this afternoon."

  "What? Why?" I asked.

  Rune added, "All by yerself?"

  "Where was Joe?" Hazel's eyebrows lifted toward her shaggy bangs.

  "Your brother," Ivy directed her gaze at Hazel for a second, "took him in for questioning about Warren Nagle, leaving me to deal with the barista who hasn’t even been properly trained. One of the mothers at the dance studio was in here this morning and overheard Joe's rant about Warren owing us money. She felt it was her civic duty to report it to the police."

  Uh-oh. I was in the coffee shop around that same time and also heard the rant, but there's no way I'd share that information to the Cooper's Cove Police Department. I still felt guilty enough over wishing for something to prevent that silly dance-off. But murder was hardly what I had in mind! Withholding the information wouldn't hinder their investigation. I mean, there's no way Joe could have hurt Warren. Was there? I struggled to focus through the thoughts racing through my brain to hear what Ivy was saying.

  "She went straight to the police when she found out. Warren wasn't putting her daughter in the lead role of their next production."

  Marci appeared, and Ivy slid from the booth to free up space for the other woman to sit. With a tired smile, she mumbled her thanks. Was it possible that Marci had developed crow's feet since lunchtime?

  "How are you holding up, Marci?" Hazel asked once Ivy left with our drink orders.