A Twist of Trouble: A Cafe Crimes Cozy Mystery Book 13 by Simone Stier

Author:Simone Stier [Stier, Simone]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Friday afternoon, the autumn sun threw that mellow gold over everything—the kind that made you want to either write a poem or take a nap. I did neither. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat of Whit’s sensible sedan and listened while he gave a history lesson.

“Here’s the thing. The county never kept up its end of the bargain—roads, water lines, the little improvements that keep a neighborhood alive. Folks drifted off, one by one. Then the old sawmill closed, which was like pulling the keystone out of an arch. The people who stayed … they didn’t have the numbers or the stomach for a fight. And so, little by little, the shine wore off. Locals started calling it the Unvarnished Northeast District. Apt name, I’d say. Once upon a time, it had polish. These days, it’s rough grain showing through. In my humble opinion, anyway.”

We pulled into the lot of The Groveview, Nash Langston’s apartment complex.

“We have arrived,” Whit muttered as he pulled into a space between a truck missing its tailgate and a sedan so rusted it looked like the next heavy rain might finish the job.

We climbed out and walked over to Nash’s apartment, then knocked on the door. No answer.

The door to the next unit opened, and a woman stepped out with a toolbox tucked under one arm. Sixty-something, gray hair pulled back, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

“Help y’all?” She gave us a look most folks save for salespeople.

“We’re looking for Nash,” I said, trying my friendliest smile.

She gave a short laugh. “Mmm hmm. Someone’s always lookin’ for Nash. If it’s money, you’ll have to get in line behind me, the internet company and whoever he borrowed from last week.”

“Actually, we just wanted to talk to him, ma’am,” Whit said in that calm, easy tone of his that could get him invited just about anywhere.

She shifted the toolbox in her arms, inhaling and exhaling her cigarette while keeping it firmly in the corner of her mouth, which was impressive. “Nash usually works weekdays, though I can’t figure out how a man with a full-time job never has rent money.”

Whit gestured toward the box. “Can I carry that for you?”

She shot him a look that was more amused than annoyed. “I carry my own tools, thank you very much.”

With that, she started down the walkway toward the lot, and we naturally fell in beside her.

“Where does he work?” I asked.

“Carl’s Automotive. Down past where the Woolworth’s that burned down used to be in Old Downtown, turn right at⁠—”

Whit cut in with a polite smile. “We know the place. Appreciate it.”

She paused at her pickup, tossed the tools in the bed and gave us one last look, puffing on her cigarette. “Tell him I’m not waiting on rent forever. October’s almost gone, and my patience went with September.”

She gave us a short nod before climbing into her truck. The engine roared to life, and she pulled away.

Whit and I crossed the lot toward his sedan, knowing where we were heading next.

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