Page 28 of Justice & Liberty

So instead of dragging myself out of bed, I hopped up, dressed, and went down to eat the last bagel in the house. I really needed to get to the grocery store that night. I’d been planning on opening the shop that morning, a sort of trial run to see how it went, but maybe I should go to the grocery store instead.

Or maybe I’d go get some coffee and make a choice after that.

No reason I needed to be in a rush to get things figured out, other than the fact that my bank account was getting a little pitiful. I really did need to check out the paperwork the lawyer had left with me, and see what else there might be. Mom had always been a saver, so maybe there had been some money in savings I could live off of until life came together.

Or maybe I was just procrastinating, when it would be easy to just...open the store.

Either way, I hopped into Mom’s SUV with the cats, who both stared suspiciously at the sky, which was gray and threatening rain as we drove into town. Then I let them intothe shop, turned off the alarm, and relocked it before heading over to the coffee shop.

There was a line of almost a dozen people, and the place was busier than it had been before, all the tables full. But there was something else going on this morning. Something...wrong. Something strange and charged and...was it possible for a place tofeelangry?

The women in line in front of me were whispering to each other, and Walter on the espresso machine seemed to be banging everything around loudly. Sabrina was on the register, and she looked pale and wan.

She looked like she was about to start crying.

What the hell?

One of the group of three women in front of me turned away from the counter toward her friends next to her, her lips pursed. “Well she certainly looks like someone who might have done it.”

“Maybe that other granddaughter,” one of her friends whispered back, so loud I suspected half the shop heard it, even though it wasn’t quiet in any corner of the place. “The one who lived with him. Abby-something.”

A deep, irritated sigh nearby caught my attention—and the gossiping women’s too, as we all turned to look at who it was.

In the front corner of the shop next to where the line formed, there was a smallish single table with two cushy orange chairs, and only one of them inhabited. It was doubtless the least popular table in the place despite the nice chairs, because every single person who came in walked past it. If you wanted to people watch, it was great. If you wanted to work or have a conversation, not so much.

Sitting in the chair was Hunter Grant, yet again. How did I keep missing her? She was unmissable.

Maybeshewas magical.

Today’s suit was dark gray with a royal blue waistcoat and matching shirt and tie the color of her eyes. She was looking at the gossiping women, lips twisted in utter disgust, and while I couldn’t blame her, I had kind of wanted them to keep talking. I wanted to know what the heck was happening.

“Maybe,” she said, her tone dry and more than a little snide, “we should wait for someone who is in a position to do so, to determine that a crime has actually been committed. You know, before we go blaming people for it? Ephraim Collins was ninety years old, ladies, and he drank more than I do, which is frankly rather impressive. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but sometimes, old people die.”

They all stared at her open-mouthed for a moment, then the one who’d been whispering sputtered something incomprehensible about rudeness.

Me? I slid into the empty seat across from her. “I don’t know, I’ve heard spite can be a preservative. Never know how long someone unpleasant might manage to live.”

She was taking a sip from her teacup as I said it, and her shoulders trembled with laughter. “That, my dear, was absolutely cruel. I love it.”

I laughed, leaning toward her with a smile. There was a sudden thump, a paper cup being shoved down on the table, about as hard as one could slam a paper cup on a wooden table, and I looked up to find Walter staring at me with pursed lips. “Flat white. We don’t have any extra pastries today.”

Then he marched off. Well, first he shot Hunter a narrow-eyed glare, then he marched off.

“He just gets more and more pleasant every time I visit,” Hunter said, tone amused more than offended, and I turned to find her watching Walter go. She looked back at me after a moment. “He’s cute, I suppose, in that generic all-Americanathlete way. Decent ass for a straight boy. He seems to dislike you even more than me, though.”

One of the gossiping women sniffed at her. “Didn’t you go to college on a basketball scholarship?”

She smiled up at the woman, again spreading her hands. “I should think that would make me uniquely qualified to make such a statement. I’ve been that generically attractive but ultimately uninteresting person.”

That made me laugh, but for the deadpan delivery, but also because Hunter could not possibly have ever been uninteresting. I sniffed at, then sipped my drink, and it didn’t seem wrong. Plus Walter was working where people could see him, so I doubted he’d spit in it or anything. “I have no idea why he hates me,” I told her. “Maybe because I’m not interested in his ass.”

Hunter gave a deep, melodramatic sigh. “Oh, break the poor little boy’s heart why don’t you? No boys at all?”

“Nope. They’re just too high maintenance for me.”

She pursed her lips, but then sighed and nodded, taking another sip from her cup. “Fair. Men are certainly more difficult to please than women. More emotional too. I just can’t resist a fine ass, whomever it might be attached to. Can’t say I blame you for avoiding them, given the opportunity.”

“So . . . what’s going on?”

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