Page 47 of Found Objects

“Why these guys get in their cars drunk and come out here is beyond me,” one of the officers said. “And he brought his rifle. It’s nuts. It’s like signing your handiwork at a crime scene.”

“Yes, it is,” Crystal said, eyeing me.

When they left, with the man zip-tied in the back seat, screaming at them that he was stone-cold sober and hadn’t come to shoot anyone—which, with how they’d found him, passed out and armed, seemed highly suspect—I noticed Crystal still staring at me.

“What?”

“You’re a good man, Merritt Baker.”

“Don’t tell anybody.”

“I think your secret’s out.”

I asked her how many pies she wanted for dessert on Thanksgiving, and she kindly let me change the subject, but she hugged me really tight when I was on my way out.

“It’s nice to live here and feel completely safe, Merritt. You did such an amazing thing building this shelter.”

“I think the real trick was finding you to be the live-in manager.”

“Well, a reporter is coming on Thanksgiving to do a story on us. Maybe we’ll get some other donors so it’s not just The Bower enabling us to take in everyone who needs help.”

“Have I ever said it’s a burden?”

“No, but maybe if you were able to keep all your profits instead of funding a women’s shelter and an animal shelter, you could expand and franchise and—ohmygod look at your face, never mind.”

The horrified look I gave her had brought on a fit of laughter. When I left, she was still giggling.

On my way home, Benny Dunlap, one of our regulars at The Bower, pulled up beside me as I walked down the side of the road. It was only drizzling, so really, him yelling at me seemed overly dramatic.

“What are you tryin’ to do, Merritt Baker, get yourself killed walkin’ in the dark?”

“I can see just fine,” I said, because really, there was no issue.

“But that don’t mean people can see you!”

“Really, Benny, I⁠—”

“Get in the truck!” he roared at me.

I was called a damn fool several times, and he refused to drop me at the end of my drive, instead taking me nearly to the foot of the stairs leading up to my front door. I thanked him, and when I made the offer of tea, he finally stopped sputtering and said that yes, he would love to take home some coconut cream blend for his wife, Lorraine.

Despite starting off crappy, it had turned out to be a very nice weekend with a few minor exceptions.

Monday morning, I was taking my time getting ready when I got a 911 text from work about the furnace. Apparently, I needed to get there ASAP, as there was no heat on the second or third floors. The first always stayed warm, as the hearth was there and we had standing heaters that resembled braziers out on the patio. Originally, I had wanted tiki torches out there, but I’d been mercilessly outvoted.

As usual, when I was in a hurry, I ran the short distance over the hills and then down to the limestone quarry, and made the leap from the top of the slope to where the marble benches were. Then I quickly climbed the steps and slipped around the side of the building and under the arch to enter the courtyard of my eatery.

“Oh, thank God,” Evie said when she saw me. “It’s cold as crap in the library, and there are kids up there freezing.”

The local preschool would bring children for story time every Monday morning. We served graham crackers and yogurt for dipping afterward.

Something wasn’t right with her story, though, and we both knew it. She was shifting from one foot to the other and couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. I stopped moving and stared at her.

“What?” she asked, sounding guilty.

“You’re a liar. You got me here early for some other reason. Everybody knows we’re nursing the furnace through its last winter and I’m replacing it in the spring. Plus, all of you know how to mess with the thermostat.”

“Do we?”