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“Oh,” the blonde said back.

“Why do you have a frying pan?” said Ash, since that seemed like the most pressing question currently.

“Defense,” said the man.

“From…?”

“You?” he tried.

“Huh,” said Ash. She couldn’t think of a response to that.

“You must be the new owner,” the blonde said, still smiling and Ash wondered if her face hurt.

“Maybe,” Ash allowed.

“Maybe?” asked the man.

“So you’re Mary’s…?” tried the blonde.

“Don’t know,” said Ash.

The man put the frying pan down on the kitchen table. “Hold on a second. Who are you exactly? And why are you here? I don’t really have to call the police, do I?”

Ash could see how this probably didn’t look great. “Alright, well, I’ve apparently inherited this bookshop. I haven’t signed all the paperwork yet, which is why I’m not the actual owner. And I’ve got no idea who Mary is, which is a whole other thing. The solicitor seems to think that she’s my aunt. Or was my aunt, I suppose.”

“Right,” said the man, looking doubtful.

“I’ve got the keys,” added Ash.

He seemed to relax a bit at that. “Alrighty then, it looks like you’re on the up and up.” He started to smile a bit. “I’m George, by the way. I work here. Or I suppose I worked here. Whether or not I work here now is sort of up to you.”

Ash considered this. She hadn’t thought about staff. It might be helpful to have someone around though, someone to sort through things, to tell her where things were. Plus, the nice thing about staff was that you could send them home when you were tired of them.

“Alright,” she said. “You can stay on for the time being, if you like. I could do with some help sorting things out.” He grinned and Ash turned to the blonde. “Do you work here too?”

“Pen,” she said.

Ash looked around. “I don’t have one at the minute,” she said, confused as to why the woman would need one.

“No, no,” the woman laughed. It was a nice sound, a good belly laugh, not some well-mannered titter. “That’s my name. Pen. Short for Penelope.”

“I see,” said Ash, who did see even though she thought Pen could have been clearer from the start. “But you don’t work here?”

“No. I’m the next door neighbor,” Pen said.

Ash had a sudden flash of Amanda Brown’s face. Oh no, she wasn’t doing this again. No interfering neighbors, no dinners she couldn’t say no to, absolutely not.

“Right, well the shop’s not open at the moment,” she said, walking toward the woman with her arms open, ushering everyone back into the shop itself. “And I’ve not got my bearings yet.”

“Of course, of course,” Pen said, still unbelievably smiling. “I’ll leave you to get on with things. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

Not if I see you first, thought Ash grimly. “Bye then,” was what she actually said.

“That wasn’t terrifically polite,” George said as Ash closed and locked the door. “You didn’t even introduce yourself.”

“Ash,” said Ash. “And I don’t have to be polite. This is my shop.”

“Not yet it’s not,” George reminded her. “You didn’t sign the paperwork, did you?”