A Sprinkling of Murder - Daryl Wood Gerber Page 0,7
his hand under Shep’s chin to let him sniff and then gently shifted his hand to the back of Shep’s ears and started to pet him. “It’s okay, fella. I didn’t mean to spook you.” Gregory said to Mick, “Sorry, man. You okay?”
“I’m fine, but you’ve got to slow down. You’re always in a hurry.”
Gregory chuckled and rubbed his neck. “Got to stay on schedule.” He was a charmer with cobalt-blue eyes, thick dark eyelashes, and a dazzling smile. As a younger man, he’d probably broken a few hearts.
“No wonder you haven’t won awards in a while,” Mick said. “Your dogs are probably picking up on your tension. Chill.”
Gregory bridled. “I am chill.” But he wasn’t. Even from this distance, I could see his cheek twitching. During his thirties, he’d won every dog contest in which he’d shown a dog. In his forties, he’d continued to dominate. I didn’t know how he was doing in his fifties. I’d been too busy to watch the most recently televised dog show. Maybe the gild was off the lily.
He rose to his feet, standing a good six inches taller than Mick, and loosened his neck muscles with a quick rotation. “I dropped off Holly Hopewell’s poms.” Pomeranians. I understood the shorthand. Plus, Mrs. Hopewell owned the house I was leasing. Gregory showed the youngest Pomeranian in competitions. “Be good to them,” he added icily.
“Always.” Mick offered a wink and disappeared inside.
Feeling a bit tense, I strode into Open Your Imagination and retreated to the office. I needed a moment to chill, too. Angry energy seemed to be everywhere. Was a storm brewing? I thought of Fiona’s warning and shivered.
As I was sifting through papers on my desk, Fiona appeared and hovered over my shoulder.
“Well?” she asked. “How did it go with Emily?”
I sighed and plopped onto the cream and blue Luisa settee, a piece of furniture I’d inherited from Nana. I rested my head against the wood rim. “She left in a tizzy. Seconds later our landlord showed up and had a row with Mick.”
“I know. I watched you through the window. Why was Logan so upset?” she asked.
I gave her the details, adding that Mick had then argued with the dog trainer, and a woman I didn’t even know had nearly accosted me. “But don’t worry. Everything’s copacetic.” Copacetic had been one of my mother’s favorite words, meaning everything was in order—no worries.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Fiona asked.
The door to the office swung open.
“Hello, girlfriend,” Meaghan Brownie crooned as she swept inside. Meaghan, my best friend and the harpist who played at our teas, was the person who had suggested I attend the Renaissance Fair. When I decided to start my own business, she was also the one who had alerted me to this shop’s space being available for lease. She knew because, in addition to being a harpist, she was half-owner of Flair Gallery, located at the Dolores Street entrance to the courtyard.
“I need to discuss the song list for the book club tea,” she said. “Is now a good time?” She sashayed behind the settee and kissed me on the top of my head, towering over me the way I towered over Joss. Her curly brown tresses graced her shoulders in stark contrast to the flowing white lace dress she was wearing. She didn’t like anything clinging to her body. She said it interfered with her chakras. “I thought I’d start with—” She waggled a finger at my face. “Hmm. Now is not a good time. What is crinkling that pretty forehead of yours?”
“First Emily, then Logan and Mick, and...” I moaned.
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re all hopped up and angry at one another. They’re radiating bad energy.” I laid a hand on my stomach. “It’s got me wound as tightly as a top.”
“Breathe.” Meaghan perched on the settee’s arm and inhaled deeply, encouraging me to do the same. We’d met in our sophomore year in college when we’d lived next door to each other in the dormitory. She had been drawn to spirituality and mythology; I had been interested in horticulture and facts. Opposites attracted. When she visited me one summer in Carmel, she fell in love with the place, gave up her pursuit of becoming a professor, and decided to devote herself to art and beauty. “Breathe,” she repeated.
I obeyed. In a minute, I felt calmer.
“Is Fiona here?” Meaghan scanned the room. To my surprise, as spiritually attuned as my pal was, she had yet to see