Page 12 of The Fall Back Plan
Lucas sighs. “He won’t pay if we can’t prove it was him.”
“You think someone else besides the guy who was in here hollering about Sullivan’s on Monday did this?” I ask.
“No. But common sense isn’t proof. I’ll have the shops with security cameras check their footage. There’s a decent chance a couple of them caught at least some of this.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Ry asks. “Are we supposed to leave this as evidence for an investigation?”
“I got pictures,” Lucas says. “Do me a favor and leave at least one of the shutters painted in case I need to match the paint.”
“No.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction, but I don’t want a single speck of the old bar’s name on my new one.
“I’ll need it for evidence,” Lucas says. “If there’s no security footage of him, then you’ll need every other scrap of evidence you have to bring charges.”
“You won’t see it when the shutters are open,” Ry tells me.
He’s right. When the bar opens in a few hours, the shutters will be flipped and no one will see the spray paint, but I don’t care. The first thing I did when I bought the place was order the contractor to remove the old name and send me pictures to prove he’d done it. I don’t want a trace of it back.
“I don’t care,” I tell him. “I’m opening today, and I don’t want a single customer walking past graffiti to get in here.”
“What’s going on?”
I turn to find Wayne Oakley coming up the sidewalk. It’s too early on a weekday for much of Maple to be busy yet beyond the bank and the places that serve breakfast and coffee, but leave it to the nosiest man in Harvest Hollow to be out and about.
“Nothing, Wayne,” Lucas says. “We’ve got it handled.”
“Looks like you’ve had a graffiti incident,” Wayne says.
“If you know, then why’d you ask?” I look at him without any effort to hide my contempt.
Lucas’s eyebrows go up, Ry winces again, and Wayne Oakley takes a step back. It’s very satisfying until he regroups and adjusts his belt over his paunchy middle.
“You must be the new owner,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m Wayne Oakley, president of the Chamber of Commerce. Welcome to Harvest Hollow.”
Does he not remember me? Because there is no way I’d forget the guy who forced the principal to investigate me for cheating because he couldn’t believe I’d beaten out his daughter for valedictorian by a tenth of a point.
I look down at his hand then turn to Ry. “Call whoever you have to call.” I walk into the bar and pull the door closed, but not before I hear Lucas’s voice in low tones say, “I don’t think she’ll be joining the Chamber, Wayne.” His amusement is clear.
“That was very—”
But I’ll never get to hear the end of Wayne Oakley’s sentence because the door closes with a bang. Tragic.
I head into my office to research spray paint removal, but I’m thinking about Wayne. Old Guard Oakley, as if being descended from the town founders made him better than the rest of the town. He’d taught his children the same snobbery.
So no, I won’t shake the hand of the man whose daughter bullied me through high school, or the hand of anyone else who doesn’t interest me.
I’m not here to make nice.
On Lucas’s advice, Ry runs a couple blocks over to the hardware store to get the solvent he needs plus check on the rental price for a pressure washer. He promises to call in a couple of staff early to open for the afternoon while he takes care of the exterior, so I hit the coffee place nearby for the caffeine I didn’t grab in my rush from my house this morning.
It’s past 10:00 now, and their morning rush is over. Only one customer sits at a table and the women behind the counter are chatting as they get their sidework done. One of them—Heather, according to her name tag—smiles at me. “What can I get for you?”
I smile back. The sheriff and chamber president might be surprised to know it, but in general, I’m good-natured. I’m not sure anyone would say I’m warm—not like Tina or Precious, who people just melt around. But I’m definitely not cold. I don’t even have sharp edges.
Well. Not many.
I enjoy people and good conversations. It’d be downright stupid to go into the bar business if I didn’t. And so long as none of the people who helped me find my sharp edges when I was younger don’t come in, the Mockingbird will be a relaxing place to be.
I give Heather my order, and when she comes back with a hazelnut latte, I thank her, leave a generous tip, and take my coffee outside.
