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Ricky came up beside me. “You're staring.”

“I am observing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“There's a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

I gave him a sideways look. "I thought you were working a twelve hour shift and were about to expire from not eating."

He smiled innocently. "I was, and I almost did. Then my next two appointments cancelled, Mrs. Corbett and her daughter Janie, so now I'm on break."

Before I could answer and suggest the other beauticians might appreciate a helping hand with their customers, a familiar voice carried across the street.

“Mr. Price.”

I looked over.

Harvey Sinclair stood beside the bank's festival booth, his expensive shirt shirt and tie combo already making him look irritable thanks to the humidity. Harvey managed the Hartwell Cove branch of the Chesapeake Shore Community Bank, and everyone in town pretended to like him. Some people were better at pretending than others. I definitely wasn't one of them.

Harvey was wealthy, well connected, and very fond of reminding people of both facts. The man he was speaking to was Owen Price. Owen had lived in Hartwell Cove nearly his whole life, and his family had once owned one of the larger marine repair businesses in the area. These days, he ran a small private marina. He was also not particularly good at pretending to like Harvey. Judging by the way Owen's jaw was working, he wasn't particularly interested in trying to today, in the very least.

“I told you already,” Owen said. “I'm not signing anything until I have a chance to look at the numbers.”

Harvey's smile was thin. “You've had the numbers.”

“I've had the numbers you gave me,” Owen replied shortly

Harvey drew himself taller. “Which are accurate.”

“That's not what I said.”

Harvey glanced around, finally noticing people were avidly watching and listening with deep interest. His smile widened, giving his best customer service smile. "You're making this unnecessarily difficult. I've laid it all out, and all you need to do is sign. We at Chesapeake Shore Community Bank always have our customers’ best interests at heart."

Owen stepped closer. “No. I'm making sure I don't agree to something I can't afford. Or even if I can, it’s under unfavourable terms that could be improved.”

Harvey's expression hardened for just a second before the polite mask returned. “Then perhaps you should consider whether your business can afford to remain independent.”

Owen stared at him. "And maybe I need to find myself a new banker."

I felt something tighten in my stomach. That didn't sound like a friendly disagreement at all.

Harvey straightened his shirt cuffs. “We'll speak again.”

“You can count on it,” Owen replied. “And I just might be ending our arrangement."

Harvey turned and walked away. Owen stood there for a moment, watching him go, then he rubbed both hands over his face.

I looked at Ricky. “What was that about?”

He shrugged. “Bank stuff, probably. I always get all ragey when I'm dealing with my banking stuff."

“That's reassuring.”

“You're a mystery writer. Aren't you supposed to find this fascinating and know that people hate dealing with banks and bills and shit?”

“I find other people's financial problems fascinating when they're fictional.”