Crime in the Café. Фиона Грейс

reached inside the parcel and found a folded piece of paper at the bottom. She took it out. Gina’s insinuation earlier that Xavier had more than just friendship on his mind made her instantly awkward. She cleared her throat as she unfolded the letter and read it aloud.

      “Dear Lacey,

      “As you know, I was in Oxford recently…”

      She paused, feeling Gina’s gaze on her sharpen, as if her friend was silently judging her. Feeling her cheeks grow warm, Lacey maneuvered the letter so as to block Gina from view.

      “As you know, I was in Oxford recently searching for my great-grandfather’s lost antiques. I saw this rifle, and it jogged my memory. Your father had a similar rifle for sale in his New York store. We talked about it. He told me he had recently been on a hunting trip in England. It was a funny story. He said he had not known, but it was the off-season during his trip, and so he could only legally hunt rabbits. I researched hunting seasons in England, and the off-season is during the summer. I do not recall him saying Wilfordshire by name, but remember you said that was where he holidayed in the summers? Perhaps there is a local hunting group? Perhaps they may have known him?

      “Yours, Xavier.”

      Lacey avoided Gina’s scrutinizing glare as she folded up the letter. The older woman didn’t even need to speak for Lacey to know what she was thinking—that Xavier could’ve told her about the memory in a text message, rather than going so overblown as to send her a rifle! But Lacey didn’t really care. She was more interested in the contents of the letter than any possible romantic notions underpinning Xavier’s actions.

      So her father enjoyed hunting during his summers in England, did he? That was news to her! Beyond the fact she had no memories of him even owning a rifle, she couldn’t imagine her mother being okay with it. She was extremely squeamish. Easily offended. Was that why he’d traveled to a different country to do it? It could’ve been a secret he’d kept from her mother entirely, a guilty pleasure he only indulged in once a year. Or maybe he’d come over to England to shoot because of the company he kept over here…

      Lacey recalled the beautiful woman in the antiques store, the one who’d helped Naomi after she broke the ornament, the one they’d met again in the streets, when a sunburst behind her head had obscured her features. The woman with the gentle English accent and the fragrant smell. Could she have been the one who’d introduced her father to the hobby? Was it a pastime they shared?

      She grabbed her cell to message her younger sister, but only got as far as writing, “Did Dad own guns…” when she was interrupted by Chester yip-yip-yipping to get her attention. The bell over the front door must have tinkled.

      She returned the rifle to its case, clipping shut the latches, and went to head back to the shop floor.

      “You can’t leave that lying around!” Gina cried, switching from suspicion back to panic mode in an instant.

      “Put it in the safe then, if it concerns you that much,” Lacey said over her shoulder.

      “Me?” she heard Gina shrilly exclaim.

      Though she was already halfway along the corridor, Lacey paused. She sighed.

      “I’ll be with you in a minute!” she called out in the direction she’d been heading.

      Then she turned, went back into the storeroom, and picked up the case.

      As she carried it past Gina, the woman kept her cautious gaze locked on it and stepped back as if it might explode at any second. Lacey managed to wait until she’d fully passed before rolling her eyes at Gina’s overly dramatic reaction.

      Lacey took the rifle to the large steel safe where her most precious and expensive items were safely locked away, and secured it inside. Then she headed back into the corridor, where a meek-looking Gina followed her to the shop floor. At least now that the gun was out of sight, she’d finally stopped squawking.

      Back on the main shop floor, Lacey was expecting to see a customer perusing one of the store’s crammed shelves. Instead, she was greeted by the very unwelcome sight of Taryn, her nemesis from the boutique next door.

      Taryn swirled on her spindly heels at the sound of Lacey’s footsteps. Her dark brown pixie cut was slicked with so much gel not even a single hair moved out of place. Despite the bright June sunshine, she was dressed in her signature LBD, and it showed off every sharp angle of her bony fashionista figure.

      “Do you usually leave your customers unsupervised and without assistance for that long?” Taryn asked, haughtily.

      From beside Lacey came the sound of a low grumble from Chester. The English Shepherd didn’t care for the snooty shopkeeper at all. Neither did Gina, who emitted her own grumble before busying herself with some paperwork.

      “Good morning, Taryn,” Lacey said, forcing herself into a cordial disposition. “How can I help you on this beautiful day?”

      Taryn flashed her narrowed eyes at Chester, then folded her arms and pinned her hawk-like gaze on Lacey.

      “I already told you,” she snapped. “I’m a customer.”

      “You?” Lacey retorted too quickly to hide her disbelief.

      “Yes, actually,” Taryn replied dryly. “I need one of those Edison lamp thingies. You know the ones. Ugly things with big bulbs on bronze stands? You always have them displayed in your window.”

      She started peering around her. With her thin nose held up to the air, she reminded Lacey of a bird.

      Lacey couldn’t help but be suspicious. Taryn’s store was sleek and simplistic, with overhead spotlights that beamed clinically white light over everything. What did she want a rustic lamp for?

      “Are you re-styling the boutique?” Lacey asked gingerly, coming out from behind the desk and gesturing for Taryn to follow her.

      “I just want to inject a bit of character into the place,” the woman said as her heels clicked behind Lacey. “And as far as I can tell, those lamps are very in at the moment. I’m seeing them everywhere. At the hairdresser’s. In the coffeeshop. There were about a million of the things in Brooke’s tearoom…”

      Lacey froze. Her heart began thumping.

      Just the mention of her old friend’s name filled her with panic. It had barely been a month since her Australian friend had chased after her wielding a knife, trying to silence Lacey after she’d worked out she’d killed an American tourist. Lacey’s bruises had healed, but the mental scars were still fresh.

      So that’s why Taryn was asking for an Edison lamp? Not because she wanted one, but so she had an excuse to bring up Brooke’s name and upset Lacey! She really was a nasty piece of work.

      Losing all enthusiasm to help Taryn, even if she was a supposed customer, Lacey pointed limply over to “Steampunk Corner,” the section of the store where her collection of bronze lamps lived.

      “Over there,” she muttered.

      She watched Taryn’s expression turn sour as she scanned the array of aviator goggles and walking canes, and the full-sized aquanaut’s suit. To be fair to her, Lacey wasn’t that keen on the aesthetic either. But there was a whole bunch of individuals in Wilfordshire—the type with long black hair and velvet capes—who visited her store regularly, so she sourced the items specifically for them. The only problem was, the new section blocked her previously unspoiled view across the street to Tom’s patisserie, which meant Lacey could no longer dreamily gaze out at him whenever the mood struck her.

      With Taryn occupied, Lacey took the opportunity now to glance across the street.

      Tom’s store was as busy as ever. Busier, even, with the increased amount of tourists. Lacey could make out his six-foot-three figure darting around, working at hyperspeed to fulfill everyone’s orders. The light streaming in from the June sunshine made his skin look even more golden.

      Just then, Lacey caught sight of Tom’s new assistant, Lucia. He’d employed the young woman