Fictional Fatality: A Shelf Indulgence Cozy Mystery by S.E. Babin

Author:S.E. Babin [Babin, S.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

I opened the shop ten minutes early the next morning just because I had everything finished early and I was itching to get busy. Today was Sunday and it was a coin toss as to how busy the square would be today. Some Sundays I had to hang on for dear life. Others were slow and easy. I hoped for a slower day because I had some research to do.

Hardy usually wouldn’t give me any information on victims, but since he thought this one was natural causes, I wondered if the media would have listed his name. I debated calling Cole, but we were in an odd sort of limbo after the last case we worked together. Granted, he’d saved me and Mom and Corky, but I hadn’t seen him after that.

We used to have a standing lunch date, but he hadn’t called me for quite a while. Swallowing my pride, I decided not to call him. I’d head over to his work during my lunch break to see if he was still there first. Cole was known to burn the midnight oil.

“Poppy?” I called. She’d kept herself hidden since the vet visit. No surprise there. The cat hated those visits with a fiery passion and would ensure I knew it for days to come. It didn’t matter why I took her either. Grooming, a nail clipping, or something as simple as a checkup. No matter what it was, she came home with a grudge.

Normally she poked her head out when we had a new visitor, but I hadn’t seen her since I’d taken her out of the crate. She’d been coming home with me more and more, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she elected to stay here tonight and the next. I hadn’t been able to find her last night either, though I did hear her rustling around in the back before I’d left.

I poked around for a few minutes calling her name, but there was no sign of her. Shrugging, I headed into the kitchen to make sure she had food and water. She didn’t come out even with the rattle of the food bag, but I put a little extra food in there just as an apology.

When I came back out, the bell over the door rang and a harried looking man came in, scowling at the umbrella he held. He shook it outside and tucked it under his arm after he closed it. He was short, slightly taller than me, and had a receding hairline and a bulbous nose.

“Welcome to Tattered Pages. May I help you?”

The man’s dark eyes found me. “Yes. Are you Dakota Adair?”

I stilled. “I am. Why?”

He scurried forward and pulled his bag over his shoulder. “My name is Montgomery Ambrose. I represent Holland Clark.”

I stared at him. He looked at me expectantly like I was supposed to know who that was. “Okay,” I said after the silence turned awkward.

“Holland Clark,” he said again.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ambrose. I have no idea who that is.

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