Read Online Nun the Wiser (A Deadly Habit Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Morgana Best - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Morgana Best
Ads: Link
opened up the two doors and looked inside. He almost looked like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Suddenly he whipped his head out and slammed the doors. “Nice and roomy in there, too.”
“Yes, it would come in handy for the packrats and people with large closets,” I said. “I can recommend the couriers I deal with on a regular basis. I sometimes send large pieces interstate.”
When the man turned back to me, I was sure I noticed a strange look in his eyes. “I’m just looking around. If I make any purchases it’ll probably be after I talk to my —” The man paused for a moment. “My wife,” he added after a lengthy pause. “She would go crazy if I dropped a ton of cash without consulting her first. I’m a brave man, but not that brave,” he said with a chuckle.
Again, a strange sensation ran up my spine. Something didn’t feel right, but I knew that hunches weren’t always accurate. “Sure, I understand that,” I said. I walked back behind the counter, and after the visitor turned his attention back to the windows, I flipped through a catalog for an upcoming auction that was resting near the cash register. “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know.”
The man looked back over his shoulder and spoke softly. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you had this place open?”
I looked up and locked eyes with him. “It’s been a few years, but it seems like forever.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. Time tends to fly by without you realizing where it’s gone,” the man said, still inspecting some of the furniture in the shop. He seemed interested in one of the sideboards that I had recently added to the sales floor. “So, how has business been?”
I looked up from my catalog once more. “It’s been good,” I said, wondering where his questions were leading, if anywhere.
“That’s great, but you’d think there would be more customers in here at this time of morning,” he said, looking at his watch.
“Oh, it really varies depending on the tourists and such. I usually get a rush around noon, so it’s not unexpected for the morning to be a bit slow.”
“Ah, I see,” he said. He started to pace back and forth. “This might seem an odd question, but before you opened up this shop, what did you do for a living?”
I shot the man a confused glare. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to come off as intrusive or anything. I’m just trying to make some conversation while I decide which of these pieces of furniture my wife might let me bring home when we finally leave this town.”
I wasn’t sure what to think, but figured I’d take him at his word. “I never really settled on anything for too long. I just drifted from one thing to another until I figured out what I really wanted to do, which was own a shop like this. I’ve always enjoyed working on furniture since it reminds me of when I was a kid, working with my dad in the garage.”
“Fond memories, I’m sure. Have you ever been a journalist? I’ve always thought investigative journalism seemed like a blast. Who wouldn’t want to feel like a detective, right?”
A sour feeling washed over me — the man’s question perplexed me. Something wasn’t right. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Oh,” he said, turning. “My name is, um, Pete, Peter Smith.”
I studied the man’s face. “Well, Pete, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve never been a journalist, but I can imagine it might be fun. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason. I’m just being a bit curious. I like to know about people’s pasts — it helps me better understand who they are. What about a cop? Have you ever worked in the police force as a detective, or anything like that?”
Another odd question. I remembered that I’d thought he looked familiar when he entered the shop. Again, I tried to think where I’d seen him before, but still came up blank. “No,” I replied. “I’ve
“Yes, it would come in handy for the packrats and people with large closets,” I said. “I can recommend the couriers I deal with on a regular basis. I sometimes send large pieces interstate.”
When the man turned back to me, I was sure I noticed a strange look in his eyes. “I’m just looking around. If I make any purchases it’ll probably be after I talk to my —” The man paused for a moment. “My wife,” he added after a lengthy pause. “She would go crazy if I dropped a ton of cash without consulting her first. I’m a brave man, but not that brave,” he said with a chuckle.
Again, a strange sensation ran up my spine. Something didn’t feel right, but I knew that hunches weren’t always accurate. “Sure, I understand that,” I said. I walked back behind the counter, and after the visitor turned his attention back to the windows, I flipped through a catalog for an upcoming auction that was resting near the cash register. “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know.”
The man looked back over his shoulder and spoke softly. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you had this place open?”
I looked up and locked eyes with him. “It’s been a few years, but it seems like forever.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. Time tends to fly by without you realizing where it’s gone,” the man said, still inspecting some of the furniture in the shop. He seemed interested in one of the sideboards that I had recently added to the sales floor. “So, how has business been?”
I looked up from my catalog once more. “It’s been good,” I said, wondering where his questions were leading, if anywhere.
“That’s great, but you’d think there would be more customers in here at this time of morning,” he said, looking at his watch.
“Oh, it really varies depending on the tourists and such. I usually get a rush around noon, so it’s not unexpected for the morning to be a bit slow.”
“Ah, I see,” he said. He started to pace back and forth. “This might seem an odd question, but before you opened up this shop, what did you do for a living?”
I shot the man a confused glare. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to come off as intrusive or anything. I’m just trying to make some conversation while I decide which of these pieces of furniture my wife might let me bring home when we finally leave this town.”
I wasn’t sure what to think, but figured I’d take him at his word. “I never really settled on anything for too long. I just drifted from one thing to another until I figured out what I really wanted to do, which was own a shop like this. I’ve always enjoyed working on furniture since it reminds me of when I was a kid, working with my dad in the garage.”
“Fond memories, I’m sure. Have you ever been a journalist? I’ve always thought investigative journalism seemed like a blast. Who wouldn’t want to feel like a detective, right?”
A sour feeling washed over me — the man’s question perplexed me. Something wasn’t right. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Oh,” he said, turning. “My name is, um, Pete, Peter Smith.”
I studied the man’s face. “Well, Pete, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve never been a journalist, but I can imagine it might be fun. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason. I’m just being a bit curious. I like to know about people’s pasts — it helps me better understand who they are. What about a cop? Have you ever worked in the police force as a detective, or anything like that?”
Another odd question. I remembered that I’d thought he looked familiar when he entered the shop. Again, I tried to think where I’d seen him before, but still came up blank. “No,” I replied. “I’ve
Similar Books
