the front door toward Mr. V’s store. I hadn’t even gone halfway when I noticed a sign on the door. No. This couldn’t be good. Practically sprinting the rest of the way, I read the sign. CLOSED DUE TO ILLNESS.
I threw myself against the plate-glass window and cupped a hand over my eyes. It was dark inside. And empty. I stepped back and glanced at the dry-cleaning store. If the men had tunneled in and stolen something from them, wouldn’t there be cops and investigators? Their open sign flickered, and a woman walked out holding the hand of a young boy, a plastic-covered dress draped over her arm. So it was business as usual.
A plan formed in my mind. I stepped to the street and studied the buildings. If I was right, I might have a way into Mr. V’s store that did not involve lock picking, which I was pretty sure I’d fail at, or breaking out windows, which I was pretty sure I’d fail at, too. Not the window-breaking part, but the stealthy, not-getting-caught part.
I hurried back to the café. The lunch crowd would be arriving soon. I didn’t have much time. And I’d need help.
I hated taking Cookie away from the love of her loins, but people’s lives were at stake. With an almost imperceptible nod, I motioned for her to meet me in the storeroom.
She squinted at me.
I motioned again, with a perceptible nod this time.
She shook her head and shrugged.
I gritted my teeth and pointed outright to the storeroom.
“Sweetheart,” Bobert said, trying not to chuckle, “if you don’t meet her in the storeroom posthaste, she’s liable to stroke.”
I probably should have tried to be discreet at someplace other than right beside his booth.
After kissing Bobert good-bye for, like, ever – PDA much? – Cookie followed me to my home away from home. “What is so secretive that you can’t tell it to me in front of Robert?”
“I need your help breaking and entering.”
“Okay, but I’m not sure how much I can help. I’m good with breaking things. Entering, not so much. Especially if it involves a rooftop and a rope. Just no.”
“I just need you to be the lookout.”
“Oh. I can do that.” We walked into the storeroom and locked the door behind us. “Is this going to stress me out?”
“Probably. And I might need your phone.”
“I’m just not sure I can handle more stress in my life right now.”
I nudged a shelf with my body weight until it was closer to the corner that paralleled Mr. V’s shop. There was an access panel to the heating and cooling system there. If I was right, the stores had once shared the system.
“Nonsense. You’re like tea. The hotter the water and all. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. It’s just everything. New town. New house.”
“New friend who sees dead people?” As Cookie held the shelves steady, I climbed up and lifted the access panel.
“Not at all. You’re one of the best parts.”
“Thanks. Can I see your phone?”
She handed it to me. “That’s what’s crazy. Everything is great. My husband is great. My house is great. I love the area. I mean, seriously, this town is beautiful.”
“I agree.” I turned on the flashlight. The panel gave repairmen access to the wiring and the sprinkler system. The lower ceiling was only made up of two-by-fours and Sheetrock. I hefted myself up. Kind of. I mostly stacked boxes on the top shelf and made myself a ladder. “But all change, even good change, puts stress on our bodies and minds.”
“True. Wait, why are you doing this again?”
“Mr. V is out sick.” I scanned the entire length of the buildings with the flashlight and found what looked like a cutout in the dividing bricks about fifteen feet from me.
“I don’t think we should be taking advantage of his illness by breaking into his store.”
“He’s the one.”
“Which one??
“The one I told Bobert about. The one being held hostage.”
“Janey, really?” she asked in alarm. “And you’re breaking into his store because?”
“I need to see exactly what they’re doing.” With only about two feet of clearance, navigating the claustrophobia-inducing space was proving tricky. “Also, I need to figure out where his cabin is. Do you know?”
“I have no idea what they’re doing, but I feel awful for Mr. Vandenberg.”
I placed a knee on one board, then a hand on another, crawling forward at a snail’s pace. My break was going to end before I got halfway.