A High-End Finish(37)
Gus’s auto shop was on the outskirts of town, about a mile east of my place on the way to the highway. Gus, or Augustus, as his mother called him, was another one of the locals I’d grown up with and an all-around great guy. He owned the garage with his father and uncle and always took good care of his customers. We chatted as he attached the giant hook to the front of my truck and slowly lifted it off the ground.
“I’m sorry I dragged you out here on a Sunday,” I shouted over the noise of the tow crank.
“No worries, babe. I was working today, anyway.”
He’d been calling me babe since he was ten years old. Some men were just born to be chick magnets, and Gus was one of them. He was tall, with wavy black hair, dark eyes, and a sexy smile, and he always wore his T-shirts a touch too tight over his muscular arms and chest. Unlike half of the women in town, I had never been involved romantically with him, so maybe that’s how we had managed to remain such good friends.
“I should have it ready for you by Tuesday afternoon. You need a loaner for a few days?”
“No, I’ll manage,” I said. But I gave my shiny chrome baby one long, sorrowful look as Gus readied her for her trip to the car spa. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“Always,” he said, and after a quick hug, he drove off with my truck bouncing along behind his tow truck.
“Now what?” I wondered aloud. The day was too pretty to stay in the house all afternoon. Besides, I needed to move around and work off some of the negative energy that Wendell had infected me with.
I could ride my bike. A Sunday bike ride was the perfect solution. I wouldn’t have time to drive out to the lighthouse to see the mansion, but I could get some exercise and see what was going on around town.
This would also be a good time to stop at my friends’ shops and drop off the herb and flower cuttings I’d worked on a few weeks ago. They had been hanging from the rafters all this time and would be dry enough to display by now.
After changing into jeans and a light sweater, I wheeled my bike out of the garage and secured the three bundles of flowers and herbs in the big white basket attached to the handlebars.
My father had bought this retro bicycle for me last Christmas. It had three gears, wide white-wall tires, and a comfy seat for easy riding. And it was pink, of course.
Before going into town, I rode down to the bike path that loosely paralleled the boardwalk and breezed along the beach for over a mile. Gaining speed, I felt the wind rush past me before I slowed down to turn around and head back to town. It wasn’t the most grueling workout ever, but it made me feel better.
After locking my bicycle to one of the many bike posts scattered around the town square, I walked into Paper Moon. Hal was busy at the cash register and Lizzie was helping a customer pick out the perfect note cards, so I carefully set on one of the display shelves the little old teapot filled with dried red tea roses interspersed with sprigs of lavender and rosemary, and headed for the door.
“Oh, that’s adorable,” Lizzie’s customer said. “How much is it?”
“Shannon,” Lizzie called. “How much shall I charge for this beautiful thing?”
I turned and smiled. “It’s just for display, not for sale.”
“I’ll give you forty dollars for it,” the woman countered immediately.
Lizzie flashed me a brief but meaningful look, then turned to the woman. “Sold.”
I laughed and walked out. I’d fished that old teapot out of a neighbor’s trash bin, knowing I could use it for dried flowers. Lizzie and I would work out the details later, but I knew she would insist on giving me the money—which I would use to buy more trinkets and old bottles to fill with flowers for her store.
At Emily’s place, I set a shallow wicker basket filled with long, graceful stalks of dried lavender on top of the deli case near the front door. I caught Emily’s eye as she was taking an order and she smiled and waved. I knew she would divide up the stalks later and put them in tall bud vases around the shop.
Next door at Marigold’s Crafts and Quilts, I dropped off my last delivery: a small wooden box filled with dried rose petals, lavender seeds, bay laurel leaves, and some dried spiny pods from my sycamore tree.
“Smells wonderful,” Marigold said as she sniffed the concoction. “So fresh and light.” She set it down on the front counter near the cash register. “I’m putting it right here so I can enjoy it. Thank you, Shannon.”
Marigold was the only one of my friends who could actually take the herbs and flowers I gave her and turn them into pretty, flower-strewn soaps. It was something she’d learned to do as a child growing up in an Amish community.
The store was empty, so I was able to spend a few minutes catching up with Marigold on the latest news. She, too, had blown off all talk of the recent murder in favor of gushing over MacKintyre Sullivan’s move to town. That was fine with me. I would much rather chat about the popular author than the fact that I was still uncomfortably high up on Chief Jensen’s list of suspects.
When three new customers walked into Marigold’s store, I took off and headed for the diner. I’d decided to treat myself to Sunday lunch.
Before I’d gone halfway down the block, I saw Luisa Capello climbing out of a navy blue Porsche her older brother was driving. She wore a light pink sweater over dark jeans, and was still as fragile and pretty as she’d been in grammar school.