“You have any detective stories? Something good, not too much gore. I want one that I won’t figure out the killer within the first three chapters,” he said.
“I think I might.” She started thinking of the books she had brought. She scanned the booth and tapped a finger on her chin.
“My wife used topick my books.” He glanced over at the wrapped books basket. “She said I always cheated because I skipped to the last chapter.”
“What?” She gasped. She placed a hand over her heart dramatically. “You read the last chapter first?”
“No, but if the author is taking too long, then I’m skipping ahead.”
“That itself is a crime, sir,” she tried to stay with a straight face.
“That’s what Martha used to say.” His mouth twitched in the corner and that glint in his eyes appeared to grow brighter. The corners of his eyes softened just a bit.
“She sounds like one hell of a woman,” Brice said.
“That she was. She was always fussing about my way of reading, how I eat my pie crust, my driving, and which of my clothes made me look like I’d given up on life.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Brice smiled softly.
“She was bossy, that's what she was,” he snorted.
“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t wonderful.”
“No,” he said. His eyes began to shine a little. “It doesn’t.”
Brice reached over to the table where she remembered one of the books she almost didn’tbring. She grabbed it and turned back to her new customer. She knew there was a reason she grabbed this one last minute.
“Okay. I think I’ve got one Martha would approve of. Small town detective, a clever mystery, winter setting, no graphic violence and the ending is worth waiting for.”
“You’re telling me not to cheat?” He tilted his head to the side as he stared at her.
“I’m strongly suggesting you allow the author to do her job.” She tried to hold back a grin, but she failed miserably.
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss?—”
“Andrews,” she finished for him. He took the book from her. “But you can call me Brice. I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t skip to the end, come by the Heart and Story next week and tell me if Martha would have liked it. I might have a muffin with your name on it.”
His expression softened again. This time enough to make her throat tighten.
“I just might do that,” he said. “By the way, I’m John Krause.”
“It’s so nice to meet you Mr. Krause.”
He paid for the book and tucked it carefully into the inside of his coat as if it were somethingprecious. He tapped his cane once against the ground and nodded to her.
“Merry Christmas, Brice.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Krause.” She watched him walk away and blend into the crowd. It was times like this that made the terrifying decision of emptying out her savings account and moving to a small town completely worth it. There had been plenty of nights when she’d lain awake in her apartment above the bookstore wondering if she had been brave or foolish. But right now, her heart was full.
A sigh escaped her. She glanced around the square and her eyes landed on Keena Bolden.
All of the air was snatched from her lungs.
The enforcer stood near one of the lampposts at the far end of the market. She was dressed in a dark coat, black gloves and the same guarded expression she’d had at the bookstore. She was speaking with another enforcer Brice recognized from the pack office, but her attention wasn’t on him.
It was on her.
Their eyes met across the square.
