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“What’s our most basic principle?” Drake asked abruptly.
Manny glanced at Drake.
“Family,” Manny said at once.
“Can’t have family if you ain’t got pussy, nice, classy, sweet, clever pussy like that. She’ll make good family.” Drake grinned again, and Manny looked shocked still.
“I gotta warn the club to buckle up? Fuckin’ president of an MC, matchmaking.”
Drake threw his head back and roared. “You met your brothers? Fuckin’ warn them, they won’t listen. None of ya do, too fuckin’ stubborn with your heads up your asses.” Drake wandered back to the build he’d been working on. Manny stood and stared at Drake for a few seconds and returned to the parts store.
-
I came out of my sulk when my appointment arrived on time. Mr Kenna, who was, as I guessed, elderly, seemed to be aged around seventy. The charming man had white-styled hair, brown eyes and was thin but well dressed. He was politely spoken and told me that the association needed somewhere to meet once a week. The cafe that the Cold Case Club used had shut, and the members were cramming into random living rooms, and there was never enough seating.
On being asked, Mr Kenna informed me that the club had roughly twenty members. When I inquired what the Cold Case Club did, Mr Kenna spoke enthusiastically about how they picked up crimes that hadn’t been resolved and attempted to resolve them. The group had given law enforcement clues to cases over the years, which resulted in several arrests. It wasn’t hard to see how proud Mr Kenna was of his club’s actions.
The club was composed of retired police officers, a judge, two bored doctors, and many other well-to-do members. Mr Kenna enquired about food and drinks, and I showed him what we offered. We agreed he’d need to phone in an order each Tuesday morning if the club needed food. As the club wanted the Reading Nook to open after closing time, he demanded the rental payments. Naming a price I thought was a fair sum, Mr Kenna turned to me in shock.
“Young lady, is that per week?” Mr Kenna asked me.
I nodded, wondering if I’d over-charged.
“Dear girl, we paid twice that at the café, and they were open. How about this figure?” Mr Kenna named an amount, and I shook my head, thinking it was too much. Finally, after much back and forth, we agreed on a number in the middle. Still, Mr Kenna insisted the food be charged at what other customers paid. He told me I was saving the club money and the cafe also charged for meals outside the room rental.
Once we reached an amicable agreement, I showed him the Dickens window seating arrangement and how it could be shifted to seat twenty or more. Then I took Mr Kenna upstairs to the StudentZone. He wandered around and inquired about the laptops and several other questions. Curiously, Mr Kenna asked if we’d wipe boards, and I nodded, and he said the StudentZone would suit the club better.
Quickly discussing with Andy, I named a small fee for using the equipment, which I could tell appealed to Mr Kenna. The Cold Case Club could have their meetings and research at the same time. Mr Kenna nodded his snow-white head when I finished. Slyly, Mr Kenna asked if I’d draw up a contract for three months to extend it afterwards. I agreed and said I’d have it ready by the end of the week.
Whether or not he realised it, Mr Kenna had given me another idea for the shop to make money. There were bound to be more groups needing somewhere cheap, warm, and pleasant to hold their meetings. With a twinkle in his eye, Mr Kenna casually spoke of several other clubs and said he’d pass the word. I nodded eagerly and received a handsome smile.
You could have knocked me down with a feather when Mr Kenna asked about my father’s paranormal club and where that was being held. I stammered out that I didn’t know that Dad had a paranormal club, and Mr Kenna shook his head in mock despair.
He gave me a number for the man who ran it and stated that Dad let the club use the shop for a similar fee. It would be worth seeing where they were now based. Mr Kenna advised me to set an hourly rate, as it would only be fair if they were treated equally. I agreed with him and agreed I would contact them.
I was shocked that Dad had belonged to a paranormal club. Yes, Dad and I didn’t meet on Thursday because that was my day to stay late at the museum. That’s when he attended his club. I wondered how many more secrets Dad had from me, and my mood bombed a little.
When I received an email from Reid, I perked up. He’d secured the books and trunks and had them shipped to the shop. Reid said the papers looked exciting and to hang tight until he got home. I shot him another email, telling Reid about the reading club and the Cold Case Club. Reid, so mature, sent a picture of clapping hands in return.
Chapter Five.
Sin
Reid kept me updated during his trip to England. He’d been gone a week now, and I was missing him like mad. He had attended a couple of sales and found several bargains and done some valuations for someone who’d contacted him. Then two days ago, Reid had travelled to Scotland, attempting to validate papers allegedly belonging to Robert the Bruce. The documents had popped up in a private purchase, and Reid paid rock bottom, as they hadn’t been validated. Reid would authenticate them when he got home. He believed they were authentic, or he wouldn’t have bid.
I sighed. Reid was a law unto himself and was running through the funds we’d put to one side for purchases. The Lady Downing auction happened tomorrow. It opened online at nine in the morning and closed at seven in the evening. There’d been loads of publicity over it and a lot of queries.
Mr Rouse had been extremely pushy over the last few days, and I finally had Celine answer the phone and tell him I wasn’t available. He’d upped the offer a few times, but not enough, in my opinion. The papers would sell for far more than Mr Rouse was offering. I’d had Andy check the site was in working order. Andy had been busy posting the authentication documents online next to each item.
In a long discussion with Reid, I’d mentioned my worries over Mr Rouse, but he’d replied that there wasn’t much I could do. Mr Rouse wouldn’t be the last person we’d come across in our line of expertise who thought he was entitled. On taking Reid’s advice, I shrugged the concerns off, despite the chill in my gut that screamed something was wrong.
Business was booming, and I’d not had the opportunity to sit down and read the reports. I’d intended to do them daily, but they’d been pushed to one side dealing with other things. The auction was taking up a lot of attention, which irritated me. We needed to hire a manager, but the last few interviews had been total duds. Today after I shut the doors, I curled up in the Dickens window and began scrolling through the statements.
The drink counter was clawing its deficit back one cup at a time, proving remarkably popular. Far more than Reid and I assumed. As I read the reports, I was surprised at how the transactions increased daily. The food counters were flying, chilli and sandwiches being the leading sellers at lunchtime, but the English pastries led the way for breakfast. Alongside bacon, sausage, and egg cobs. I studied the purchases, and any worries were assuaged when I read how great the sales were.
The book transactions were also doing better than predicted, and so were the internet packages. Online orders appeared healthy, so I was happy three hours later when I’d finished going through them with a fine-tooth comb. The time was nearly ten o’clock at night, and I got wearily to my feet, intending to go home and have a bath and hit the sack. Tonight, I was shattered beyond belief.
Tiredly bending to pick up my briefcase and laptop, I completed the walkthrough and punched the alarm. I shut the door firmly and waited for the beep to say the system had set. Without warning, I was shoved face-first into the brick wall, and my face slammed against it, rattling teeth. Blood dripped from my nose, and shocked, I put a hand out when someone grabbed me and banged my head for a second time into the wall.
