Death and a Dog. Fiona Grace

crossbones beneath, evidently confusing the Navy theme with a pirate one. Hopefully the customer had seen the sign and would be back tomorrow to bid on whatever item it was he was so interested in.

      Lacey took one of the boxes filled with items she’d not yet valued out, and carried it back to the desk. As she took out item after item, lining them up on the counter, she couldn’t help feeling excitement coursing through her. Her last auction had been wonderful, yet tempered by the fact she was hunting for a killer. This one, she’d be able to fully enjoy. She’d really get a chance to flex her auctioneers muscles, and she literally couldn’t wait!

      She’d just gotten into the flow of valuing and cataloguing the items when she was interrupted by  the shrill sound of her cell phone. A little frustrated to be disturbed by what was undoubtedly her melodramatic younger sister, Naomi, with a single-parent-related crisis, Lacey glanced over at the cell where it lay face up on the counter. To her surprise, the ID flashing up at her was David, her recently ex-husband.

      Lacey stared at the flashing screen for a moment, stunned into inaction. A tsunami of different emotions rushed through her. She and David had exchanged precisely zero words with one another since the divorce—although he seemed to still be on speaking terms with Lacey’s mother of all people—and had dealt with everything through their solicitors. But for him to be calling her directly? Lacey didn’t even know where to begin theorizing why he’d be doing such a thing.

      Against her better judgment, Lacey answered the call.

      “David? Is everything okay?”

      “No, it’s not,” came his sharp-sounding voice, bringing forth about a million latent memories that had been lying dormant in Lacey’s mind, like dust stirred.

      She tensed, preparing for some terrible bombshell. “What is it? What happened?”

      “Your alimony didn’t come through.”

      Lacey rolled her eyes so hard they hurt. Money. Of course. There was nothing that mattered more to David than money. One of the most ludicrous aspects of her divorce from David was the fact that she had to pay him spousal support because she’d been the higher earner of the pair. It figured that the only thing to compel him to make actual contact with her would be that.

      “But I set the payment up through the bank,” Lacey told him. “It should be automatic.”

      “Well, evidently the Brits have a different interpretation of the word automatic,” he said haughtily. “Because no money has been deposited in my bank account, and if you weren’t aware, the deadline is today! So I suggest you get on the phone to your bank immediately and resolve the situation.”

      He sounded just like a headmaster. Lacey half-expected him to finish his monologue with the phrase, “you silly little girl.”

      She squeezed the cell phone, tightly, trying her hardest not to let David get to her, not today, the day before her auction that she was so looking forward to!

      “What a clever suggestion, David,” she replied, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could free her hands and use them to log onto her online bank account. “I’d never have thought to do that myself.”

      Her words were met by silence. David had probably never heard her use sarcasm before, and it had thrown him. She blamed Tom for that. Her new beau’s English sense of humor was rubbing off on her very quickly.

      “You’re not taking this very seriously,” David replied, once he’d finally caught up.

      “Should I be?” Lacey replied. “It’s just a mix-up at the bank. I can probably get it taken care of by the end of the day. In fact, yes, there’s a notice here on my account.” She clicked on the little red icon and an information box popped up. She read it aloud. “‘Due to the bank holiday, any scheduled payment dates that fall on either Sunday or Monday will reach accounts on Tuesday.’ Aha. There you go. I knew it would be something simple. A bank holiday.” She paused and looked out the window at the throng of passing people. “I did think the streets looked extra busy today.”

      She could practically hear David grinding his teeth through the speaker.

      “It’s actually extremely inconvenient,” he snapped. “I do have bills to pay, you know.”

      Lacey looked over at Chester, as if in need of a comrade in this particularly frustrating conversation. He raised his head off his paws and quirked up an eyebrow.

      “Can’t Frida lend you a couple million bucks if you’re short?”

      “Eda,” David corrected.

      Lacey knew full well the name of David’s new fiancée. But she and Naomi had taken to calling her Fortnight Frida, in reference to the speed with which the two had gotten engaged and now she couldn’t think of her as anything else.

      “And no,” he continued. “She shouldn’t have to. Who even told you about Eda?”

      “My mother might have let it slip on one or two dozen occasions. What are you doing talking to my mom anyway?”

      “She’d been a part of my family for fourteen years. I didn’t divorce her.”

      Lacey sighed. “No. I guess not. So what’s the plan? The three of you go and bond over a mani-pedi?”

      Now she was trying to wind him up, and she couldn’t help herself. It was quite fun.

      “You’re being ridiculous,” David said.

      “Isn’t she the heiress to a false nail emporium?” she said with feigned innocence.

      “Yes, but you don’t have to say it like that,” David said, in a voice that catapulted the image of his pout-face right into Lacey’s mind’s eye.

      “I was just speculating on how the three of you will likely spend your time together.”

      “With a tone of criticism.”

      “Mom tells me she’s young,” Lacey said, changing course. “Twenty. I mean, I think twenty might be a little too young for a man your age, but at least she’s got a full nineteen years to work out whether she wants children or not. Thirty-nine is the cut-off point for you, after all.”

      No sooner had she said it than she realized just how much like Taryn she sounded. She shuddered. While she had no qualms over Tom’s mannerisms rubbing off on her, she most certainly drew the line at Taryn’s!

      “Sorry,” she mumbled, back-tracking. “That was uncalled for.”

      David let a beat pass. “Just get me my money, Lace.”

      The call went dead.

      Lacey sighed and put the phone down. As infuriating as the conversation had been, she was absolutely determined not to let it bring her down. David was in her past now. She’d built a whole new life for herself here in Wilfordshire. And anyway, David moving on with Eda was a blessing in disguise. She wouldn’t have to pay him alimony anymore once they married, and the problem would be solved! But knowing the way things usually went for her, she had the feeling it would be a very long engagement.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Lacey was in the middle of her valuing work when, out the window, Taryn finally moved her huge van, and the view to Tom’s store across the cobblestone streets opened up. The gingham Easter-themed bunting had been replaced with summer-themed bunting, and Tom had upgraded his macaron display so that it now depicted a tropical island scene. Lemon macarons made up the sand, surrounded by a sea of different blues—turquoise (cotton candy flavor), baby blue (bubblegum flavor), dark blue (blueberry flavor) and navy blue (blue raspberry flavor). Tall stacks of chocolate macarons, coffee macarons, and peanut macarons formed the bark of palm trees, and the leaves had been constructed out of marzipan; another food-based material Tom was proficient at working with. The window display was awe-inspiring, not to mention mouth-watering, and it always drew a huge crowd of excited tourist spectators.

      Looking through the window to the counter, Lacey could see Tom behind it, busy delighting his customers with his theatrical displays.

      She