Page 11 of Tinsel & Tools
“You know, you can just drop me off and we can say we went for coffee,” she offered.
I chuckled slightly under my breath. “It’s absolutely no problem. Plus, I’m sure your grandma has spies set up and waiting to report back every detail.”
Paige laughed. “She probably does.”
We rolled past Brookhaven Collectibles, where Mrs. Carter was locking up and flipping the sign to “Closed” to start her holiday early. A few doors down, Murphy stood outside Murphy’s Hardware, working a knotted strand of lights.
“Are you home for Thanksgiving too?” Paige asked.
“No. I moved back a while ago.”
Her head turned. “Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Boston wasn’t for me. Been working with my dad.”
“That’s cool. Are you enjoying being back?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It’s definitely not city life, but yes.”
I pulled into an open spot in front of Maple & Mug. A couple of people sitting near the window looked up from their pastries and coffees as we got out.
When we stepped through the door, the smell of fresh-ground coffee hit first. Behind the counter, a chalkboard listed the seasonal specials: maple pumpkin latte, cinnamon mocha, and something called the Peppermint Polar Bear that sounded like it belonged in an ice cream shop.
At a corner table, Mr. Henderson sat with a newspaper held high—but upside down—and wearing a smug look that made it clear he thought he was invisible. He had been friends with Bonnie since before I was born and had the subtlety of a marching band. If he wasn’t here on her orders, I’d eat my toolbelt.
“Let me guess,” Paige murmured, following my gaze. “One of the spies?”
“Top of the list,” I replied. “Mr. Henderson couldn’t keep a secret if it came with a cash prize.”
We joined the short line at the counter, where a teenager with a green streak in her hair was ringing up customers.
“What’s your pick?” I asked.
“Nothing fancy,” Paige answered. “Just a vanilla latte and a coffee cake.”
When it was our turn, I stepped up to the register and told the barista Paige’s order then ordered a cinnamon mocha for myself and mentioned Mrs. Katz had set aside a pumpkin spice scone for me.
The barista tapped our order into the register, then stepped away to get our pastries. As I pressed my card onto the reader, Paige leaned back just enough to peek around me.
“Uh-oh. There’s another one.”
I turned slightly and spotted Claire Jennings pretending to browse the pastry case with all the focus of someone cracking a safe. She’d been on the church bake sale committee with Bonnie for years, and she was the reason Bonnie always knew who was dating whom in town.
“Yup,” I muttered. “They’re multiplying.”
We took our coffees and pastries to a table by the window. Once we sat down, both of us briefly stared out at the square and the people walking by.
“So …” Paige broke a piece of her cake off. “You don’t date, but somehow my grandmother still got you here?”
“She’s hard to say no to.” I tore apart my scone. “Sometimes it’s coffee runs, sometimes it’s hauling furniture, sometimes it’s chasing a squirrel out of her attic. I guess today it’s this.”
A smirk tugged at Paige’s mouth. “Yes, she is.”
I sipped my mocha. “She’s going to want a full report on this, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” Paige stirred her drink slowly. “Which is why I’m debating if we should make something up and really mess with her.”
Before I could answer, the door swung open and in walked a guy I’d never seen in town before. He had dark hair, round glasses, and an expensive looking watch that caught the light as he closed the door behind him. Beside him stood a woman with glossy black hair and boots better suited for a city sidewalk than a Brookhaven winter. Paige glanced at them, but I kept my gaze on my coffee … mostly. Out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help sizing them up. They looked about as natural in this little shop as swans in a chicken coop.
