“Soon,” I promise my stomach, gently rubbing away the ache there.
I ride my bike down the street passing a business called The Attic on Whirr. From what I can tell by the crap piled up in the windows is that it’s an antique shop or a thrift store. If my best friend Kayla were here, she’d drag me inside. She romanticizes everything, especially other people’s old things.
The scent of fresh, lovely flowers greets me next. Wild Petal, a cute floral shop, beckons for me to come take a peek. I’ve always been a sucker for flowers. Denver does well in that department, sending me obligatory arrangements for birthdays and special occasions, all of them expensive and over the top.
I’m so focused on the flower shop, I almost plow into a teenage boy leaving the Maple Millet Table. I run over his tennis shoe and he grunts.
“Sorry!” we both cry out at once.
He runs across the road and disappears out of sight. I roll to a stop in front of the post office, heart racing, sweat soaking through my dress, and a headache forming behind my eyes.
I climb off the bike and lean it against the brick on the post office building. It takes a minute to put my shoes back on and then pull my purse straps over my shoulder. As soon as I reach the door, I freeze.
Closed.
As of five minutes ago.
No.
I cup my hands around my eyes and peek in through the window, hoping to see a worker who might let me in. The place is already dark and deserted.
“Ridiculous,” I cry out, frustration lacing my words. I smack the glass as if I can rouse someone from the back to help me.
Nobody comes to let me in.
“You okay, miss?”
I whirl around, slightly alarmed to come face to face with a rugged, bearded man around my mom’s age. His muscular arms are crossed over his chest, and I don’t miss the word “Sheriff” emblazoned on his ball cap. He’s frowning and doesn’t exactly seem eager to help.
“Oh, thank God.” I force a bright smile, turning on my practiced charm. “Finally, someone capable who can help.”
He blinks, unmoved by my tricks. “I suppose it depends on what you need help with.”
Fair.
I rush out a breath and gesture behind me. “I just got into town and learned the utilities are out at my place. If I could get someone to turn them back on for me, I’ll be out of your hair.”
His eyes narrow as he studies me intently. I haven’t done anything wrong, but he makes me feel like I have. Is he going to arrest me for an attempted break-in? Iwastempted…
“Where’s your place?” he asks, features tight with suspicion.
I didn’t expect to have to come to Budgie Bay and tell everyone my business, but here I am. He’s the sheriff for crying out loud. I can’t lie.
But the truth sucks.
My hesitancy has his eyes narrowing further. “Ma’am?”
“I’m Goldie Everhart’s granddaughter,” I blurt out, spilling my guts in a rush of breath.
The corner of his mouth twitches like he might smile, but then nothing happens. He continues to stare at me, now with even more scrutiny. As if he knows me somehow. I don’t like it.
“Sheriff Calder. Miss Everhart, is it?”
I nod, frowning. “Yes.”
“I’m really sorry about your grandma,” he says, features softening almost imperceptibly. “But, as far as your utilities go, you’re looking at Monday before you’ll get anyone to turn them back on for you.”
I shake my head. “No. I need them on now. At the very least in the morning. The post office is open on Saturdays.” I jab a finger at the sign to prove my point.
