“Wonderful.” Barb dug a ten and a five out of her wallet. “Keep the change.”
“Or you can have one more,” I offered.
“Oh.” Her eyes brightened. “I’ll take a Citrus Blast.”
Ari added it to the bag, and Barb was on her way.
Jasper Riley and Jessica Lyons strolled into our booth next. Jasper was a defense attorney in town, and he’d briefly represented Gilly when she had been arrested for the murder of her ex-boyfriend, and Jessica Lyons had been the prosecutor on the case. Jasper was competent, but Jessica was, by definition, a shark.
“Is it lawyers’ day out?” I teased the two of them.
Jessica looked practically giddy. “Just browsing,” she said. “The street fair has come off amazing.” She arched her brow at me. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I said. “How about yourself?” The way she was staring, I figured she’d seen the Gazette letter. However, if she wasn’t going to mention it, then neither was I.
“Oh, good,” she said, giving me a knowing look. “Well, we’ll let you get back to business.”
Conspiratorially, she added, “I’m sure business will be scent-sational today.”
After she left, I rolled my eyes. Hard. If this was any indication of how the rest of the day was going to go, I should’ve swapped duties with Tippi. I could be cuddling babies right now.
Mr. Lems, the owner of the antique furniture store next to our shop, stopped by with his son, Waylon. Waylon, who made metal sculptures and lawn ornaments as a side hustle, was in his mid-forties, thin but not overly tall, and his father was just the opposite. I’d bought an optical illusion windmill from his last year, and I loved watching it go in my backyard on a windy day. Mr. Lems, on the other hand, was imposing in height and girth. He was in his late sixties and semi-retired. He only opened the furniture store during peak season and collected his social security the rest of the time. He told me once it was more profitable keeping the lights off than keeping them on.
“Good morning, Mr. Lems,” I nodded to the older gentleman. He was only a little over ten years older than me, but his white hair and craggy face lines made him look like he was in his eighties, not sixties. “Sure is nice weather we’re having today.” I cringed as I thought about how many times I would make small talk today. I smiled at his son, who was smelling the variety of soaps on display. “Morning to you too, Waylon. You all looking for anything in particular today?”
“I bet business sure is good for you,” Mr. Lems said, eyeing me like the cat who ate the canary. “Can’t buy publicity like that. Or can you?”
“Dad,” Waylon snapped, clearly embarrassed. “Don’t mind my dad, Nora. He woke up cranky.”
“It’s okay,” I muttered. But it really wasn’t. I hoped nobody in town truly believed I would arrange to publish an anonymous letter about myself as a publicity stunt. Our store was lucrative thanks to online sales and a spa clinic we supplied year-round.
“Foul,” I heard someone say as they walked by behind the Lems. “Fortune telling is the devil’s work.”
I grimaced, but I tried to pretend like I didn’t hear. “Anyhow,” I said loudly. “Can I bag you up any of those soaps?”
Mr. Lems snatched his son’s arm and dragged him from the stand. Waylon cast me a sympathetic look as they left.
“Wow,” Ari whispered. “That dude is totally cray-cray.”
“Super cringe,” Mason added.
“Very,” I agreed. Mr. Lems had always been a bit cantankerous, but this was a new low. If this kept up, I was going to let the kids handle the booth without me.
Mason nudged me. “Hey, isn’t that the Mayor?”
Allison Green was up for reelection, and she was milling through the crowd of locals and tourists, handing out buttons and hand fans. She had on a dressy taupe tank top and khaki slacks that were tailor-fit to her body. There was an entourage of two men and three women, all dressed nicely as well, holding buckets of the swag. When she started past our booth, she scowled at me. Uh-oh, someone hadn’t liked the letter almost as much as me.
I’d met Allison several times, and she knew about my work with the police department. She only cared about results, but something told me the results weren’t her priority today.
“Is it just me, or did a cold front just come in?” Ari faked a shiver.
“I’m sorry, guys.” I gave her an apologetic look. “This is my fault.”
“Oh, bull,” she replied. “These people need to get over themselves. You slay, Aunt Nora. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“What she said,” Mason agreed.
One of the men from Allison’s group, a handsome guy with short blond hair, came over and handed me a button and a fan. “Vote Green,” he said. “A mayor who makes a difference.”
