“THIEF!” Athena squawked loudly from her perch.
“I wasn’t going to take it,” I said defensively, even though I was arguing with a parrot. “I just wanted to smell it.”
“THIEF!” Athena squawked again, and now I was losing an argument to a parrot.
Well, she had chosen her side, not like that was ever in doubt.
She only squawking smugly at me as I hauled all my things to Mrs. Greenberg’s porch.
“BYE,” Athena squawked smugly, and nipped my ear as I left.
“I’ll need the first month’s rent up front,” Mrs. Greenberg said as I hauled both suitcases inside. Her kitchen was very fussy and frilly, every surface covered with disapproving cats.
Was every animal in town going to be pissed at me?
“I don’t have that,” I said.
I was petrified that Jillian would believe the awful accusations Christabelle had hurled at her, so I absolutely refused to take anything from our joint account.
“Well, my boy, you’ll have to work out the first month’s rent,” she said. “My car needs a good wash.”
“All right,” I agreed, taking the suitcases into the small, narrow guest bedroom. It was decorated with a great many Treasured Memories figurines from a local shop—cats and dogs and squirrels and so forth all with these huge, exaggerated melting eyes.
I shuddered quickly at all their creepy massive eyes looking at me, then went back outside.
“Remember how those decorative pillows on the bed go,” she warned. “If you put them back incorrectly, you’ll find yourself right out on the porch without a lick of sympathy from me.”
I gritted my teeth and said nothing.
This whole thing was a complete nightmare.
Everyone in this town had always loved me. Suddenly it was like they’d turned against me.
Why wasn’t my brain working right? I wanted to get down to the pub as soon as I could and talk to Jillian.
So I began to wash the old pink Cadillac, as quickly as I could, while Mrs. Greenberg sat on the porch and glaring fearsomely at me.
“You’re enjoying torturing me,” I groaned after the twenty-third time she pointed out I had missed a spot.
“So what?” she snapped. “Also, I think you’re a dog for what you did to Jillian. You some kind of moron or something? You allergic to happiness? You like chasing after trampy hoes?”
“I love Jillian,” I said, scrubbing harder, on my knees. “I made a mistake.”
Mrs. Greenberg snorted again. “A woman like Jillian hasoptions,” she said. “You may be a pretty face but there are other men in this world.”
No! Jillian lovedme. But her words made me nervous all the same.
My back ached by the time I cleaned the car to her satisfaction and was able to rush down the street to the pub.
But from the moment I touched the brass doorknob, everything changed.
Wooster Tuppence (always called Tuppy) was the owner of the bar and usually greeted me with a hearty, “Hello, Mr. Mayor.”
After all, working together we’d led this small town to stunning economics success.
But tonight, he only glanced briefly over at me and continued to wipe down the clean mugs.
“Sorry, pub’s full.”
