The Cape Cod exterior of the building had set the standard for the interior décor. White display tables. White shelving. A stylish splash of blue and slate gray for color. “If you have grandchildren, they might like the miniature red rose set—”
“No grandchildren. No children.” A pained look crossed her face.
“I’m sorry.”
An awkward moment passed between us.
I broke the silence by saying, “Your dog Shep sure is a beauty. Mick said you’ve trained him to do agility courses. Are you considering putting him in competition?”
“No. Not at this time. Mick is against it.”
“Agility training is quite a challenge. You must be very talented.”
“It’s not hard if the dog is gifted.” She folded her arms and set her jaw. Ice floes could be warmer.
Realizing I wouldn’t be able to melt this one, I said, “Well, feel free to take a look around. If there’s something I can help you with, let me—”
“Did he meet her here?” Emily hissed. The venom in her tone took me aback.
“Meet who... whom?” I stammered. Was it who or whom? English hadn’t been my favorite subject.
“His lover,” she said. “If he did, I’ll... I’ll...” Emily jammed a fist into her palm. She didn’t have to say kill him. Her eyes said it all.
Chapter 2
Hand in hand, with fairy grace, will we sing, and bless this place.
—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Fiona darted into the shop and fluttered beyond Emily’s shoulder. She threw her skinny arms wide, her young wings flapping like crazy to keep her aloft, and cried, “Trouble alert. Trouble alert. I told you to be worried.”
Sparklers flashed in her wings. I knew she practiced photokinesis, doing tricks with light like humans did when aiming lasers and such. Was this sparkly-wing thing photokinesis or something new? Would the queen fairy approve or disapprove?
“Emily Watkins is danger,” Fiona said.
“I’m on it,” I whispered. “Don’t worry.” Emily couldn’t hear Fiona, but I didn’t want to speak at full volume and have her think I was nuts. “Emily—”
I reached out. She recoiled. Tears sprang to her eyes. She moaned, covered her mouth, and fled through the front door. It clacked with a vengeance. Did I need to warn Mick? No, I did not. Their marriage wasn’t any of my business. Sure, I was curious to a fault, but I was not marriage counselor material.
Apparently, Fiona thought I was. She jammed her fists on her hips and stamped her foot in the air.
What? I mouthed.
She whizzed to my shoulder, planted her rump down, and folded her arms, which reminded me of a gesture a childhood friend used to make to get her way. I’d invariably caved.
Fiona sensed my weakness and smirked. “This will be on you if you don’t go after her.”
I hurried out the door and yelled, “Emily, wait.”
She pivoted. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“Come back and have a cup of... coffee.” We always had a pot of coffee as well as a pot of hot water at the ready for tea. “We’re serving Kona coffee. It’s delicious. Do you like cream?” I nabbed her elbow. “You’re upset. Let’s talk.” I’d listened to numerous girlfriends spill their guts about boyfriend troubles. Why had I been their go-to person? Because I’d managed to end all my relationships amicably, as friends. I’d wished each and every boy or man I’d dated to go his separate way and live a happy life.
Okay, that was a lie. I’d cried my eyes out after each breakup, but I’d fooled my friends. After my fiancé called off our wedding, I’d resolved to never be a pushover again. I would say what was on my mind. I would put me first.
“Come on, Emily. Please.”
“No.” She jerked free. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” She hugged her cardigan and scurried away.
At the same time, our landlord Logan Langford swung his long legs out of his Lexus SUV. As he was getting out, he ducked, luckily missing the upper rim of the doorframe. It could have scraped skin from beneath his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. He stood to his full height and, with his chest puffed and chin jutting forward, marched toward me. Dressed in his usual tight black T-shirt and black jeans, he reminded me of a fighter eager for a brawl. I’d often wondered whether he’d been a boxer back in the day. His nose was slightly crooked.
Recalling what Mick had said about Logan’s being on the warpath, I cringed. Did he truly want to renege on my lease? He didn’t have any legal ground. Could