Page 12 of The Holiday Grump
She tilted her head. “I don’t need help, but you’d probably feel better if you did something. Right?”
I nodded eagerly. “Crime and Punishment.” I lifted the book.
She chuckled, tossing her coat on the chair behind the desk and snapping on latex gloves. “What kind of punishment? I usually just empty the trash, vacuum, and wipe the desk. But yeah, this place could use some dusting.”
“Anything,” I said, grabbing the duster.
“Fredrik sort of lost interest in looking after this place a couple of years ago,” Felicity said as she spritzed a cloth. “We made a deal. He watches my teenager after school, gives her something to do, and I come in once a week to stop him from descending into total chaos.”
“Sounds like a good deal.” I tackled the Russian classics.
Books sure gathered dust fast when they didn’t fly off the shelves. The fluffy duster barely made a dent in the grime between the spines. I googled a solution.
“Does that have a brush attachment?” I asked as Felicity wrestled the R2-D2-looking vacuum cleaner down the stairs.
“Maybe. Check the upstairs cupboard.”
I rushed up the stairs and followed the dark hallway, finding the cupboard right past the bathroom. When I opened it, a toothbrush and cup toppled out. I set them back on the shelf beside the shaving cream and a pair of boxer shorts I could only pray were clean. Fredrik must have spent nights here. Where had he slept? Surely not in the armchair.
Curiosity took over. After digging out a likely brush attachment, I noticed another door. With the vacuum roaring downstairs, I risked a peek.
It was an office. With a bed.
The space was twice the size of my shoebox room and strangely bare: just a desk stacked with books, a checkered spread on the bed, and heavy curtains drawn tight. The air was stale. Clearly not one of the rooms Felicity regularly spruced up.
I backed out, closing the door and wiping the knob with my sleeve like the worst burglar ever.
Back downstairs, Felicity had just finished vacuuming. “You want this?” She handed me the vacuum cleaner.
“Yes, please.”
I spent twenty minutes vacuuming the display books while she emptied trash and wiped down surfaces.
“So… what happened two years ago? I mean, what happened to Fredrik?” I asked, unplugging the cord. The question had been burning inside me, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
She gave me a long, assessing look. “Trust me, I’m normally delighted to pass on information. I’m even happier to gather it. For example, I’m not going to let you leave before you tell me your story.” She threw me a wicked smile, then turned serious again. “But I feel like maybe my brother could connect with you, and God knows he needs a friend. Which is why I think it’s best that he tells his own story.”
I nodded, though I didn’t get it. “But… it’s nothing illegal, right? He’s not fresh out of prison, or… dying?” Horror flooded me. I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry! I don’t mean I wouldn’t be his friend if he were dying or a criminal, I just?—”
I was just a pathologically curious nutjob with zero filter.
Felicity laughed. “Relax. He has no criminal record. He’s never even been in a fight. Fredrik is an expert at avoiding conflict. I’m not selling him, am I?” She shook her head, and her laugh fizzled out. “I mean, he’s a stand-up guy with a finely tuned moral compass. And as far as I know, he’s in perfect health. He’s just… he’s a widower.”
The word landed heavy. My mind filled with follow-up questions, but Felicity held up a finger. “Nope. Not saying anything else. Talk to him.”
“Okay.” I drew a breath, trying to quell my quest for knowledge. “I was invited to join the crochet club, though. What if I hear it from them?”
“Well, that’s a real concern.” She paused, fighting the trash bag into a tight knot. “I’ll talk to those ladies,” she finally said. “Now, what brings you to Hideaway Harbor?”
CHAPTER 6
Noelle
Felicity beamed at me, blocking the doorway so I couldn’t escape. Not that I wanted to. I liked her. She seemed like the type who spoke her mind but also cared. She reminded me of my sister even though they looked nothing alike. Holly was shorter, blond, and delicate, while Felicity was tall and dark with expressive eyes. But they shared that same energy.
Holly had gotten me onto my first cruise ship, jumping into action when I’d been frozen in terror. What were you supposed to do as a runaway bride? There was no protocol for jilting the great Alford family. I was forever grateful to my sister, which reminded me that I needed to send her a message.
“Can you point me toward Cellular Hill?” I asked Felicity. “I really need to send some messages.”
