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“Okay.” Cilla took a deep breath and put down
the last page of the leasing agreement. “I think we’re ready.”
“I’m glad to welcome you to the Creekside Family.”
Tracy picked up the pen with deep green ink that matched the letterhead for Creekside
Shops, and the paint on the trim around the shop windows.
Fifteen minutes later, after leaving a generous
tip, because after all, they had taken up a table at the café far longer than a
normal breakfast hour, the three of them stepped out the door and walked two doors
down, to the shop that was now officially the future home of Brighten Your Corner.
Tracy held her breath as she unlocked the front
door, pushed it open, and leaned in. She sniffed cautiously. Winced. Turned back
and handed Melba the keys. Three sets of five keys. For the front door, the back
door, the utility box that served all the shops on that side of Creekview, and two
for the gates on the concrete deck that ran behind the stores and extended out over
the rocky drop down to Cadburn Creek. One set of keys for Melba, one for Cilla,
and one set of spares, to be safely hidden somewhere at home, and hopefully not
forgotten.
“These look new,” Melba said, turning the ring
of keys over in her hands. They made a nice, solid jangle.
“They are.” Tracy stepped into the shop and spread
her arms, welcoming them in. “Sorry about the smell. It’s actually better than it
was. I don’t know what that man was doing in the back room …”
“We never did understand what he did here.” Cilla
pulled out the tape measure from her tote bag and headed for the left-hand display
window.
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t understand, either.”
Tracy shook her head. “He definitely wasn’t dealing in collectibles, which is what
he stated as his business when he signed the lease. I could have evicted him just
on that detail alone. There were more deliveries to this place, at all hours, in
all weather, than the entire street combined. A couple people complained about yelling
screaming arguments, and the smells that seeped into the shops on either side weren’t
…” She shrugged. “They just weren’t natural.”
“He wasn’t cooking meth or anything like that,
was he?” Melba asked. Cilla muttered, “Meth” and sighed. Melba wrinkled up her nose
at her, and they both chuckled.
“I almost wish he was.” Tracy shook her head.
“He still owes me five months’ rent, and replacing the glass on the front door,
twice, and the lock on the back door three times. I could legally charge him for
replacing the locks on this shop and the back deck gates and copying keys for everyone.”
“It’s a crying shame,” Cilla said. “Ernie used
to be such a nice guy, back in high school. What happened to him?”
“Besides going anti-establishment and running
off to some commune and then advocating burning down the White House every time
a new president got into office, no matter which party?” Melba shook her head. “Haven’t
the foggiest.”
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