Page 3

“So Thursday at seven,” Amanda interrupted.

The problem was that as much as Ash might dislike the Browns, she could definitely see the advantages of staying on their good sides. Like having someone to pick up her post, for example. Or having people invested enough that if she did choke alone in her flat and die then at least she wouldn’t rot for too long before she got found.

Or having someone to water her plants when she went on holiday.

And it wasn’t like Amanda was going to listen to excuses anyway.

Finally, Ash sighed. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do. Must run.” She made a lunge for the letter, grabbed it, and let herself out of the front door all before Amanda had a chance to move. “Bye then,” she said, practically running to her own front door.

“Thursday at seven,” Amanda said again.

Ash cut off any further conversation by slamming her front door and leaning back against it to catch her breath. The brown envelope was stiff under her fingers and she almost didn’t open it out of spite. The stupid thinghadcaused her to interact with the neighbors.

In the end, curiosity got the better of her. She slid her finger under the flap, pulled out an official looking letter, read it, read it again, then read it for a third time before leaning back on the front door to consider things.

On the whole, an inheritance was probably a good thing, she decided before she looked down at the letter again. The only problem was, she had no idea who had died. She frowned at the letter but it declined to answer any further questions.

Ash tapped her fingers on the wood of the front door, thinking. There was nothing for it, she’d have to have another telephone call. What a day this was turning out to be.

Chapter Two

There was a faint scrabbling sound as Pen moved the sack of flour and she felt a shimmer of anxiety in her stomach. No matter how often she did this, and she’d owned a bakery for a decade at this point, she just couldn’t get used to it.

“Ready?” she asked.

George, who was standing with a tupperware box in one hand, a broom in the other, and a look of complete resignation on his face, nodded.

“I’m going to pick it up,” she said, feeling it only fair to give him another warning.

“Just get on with it.”

“Why?” she asked. “It’s not like you have a job to go to.” She picked up the sack and the mouse fled, slithering across the tiled kitchen floor only to find itself in a semi-transparent prison.

“Got it,” George said, sliding the lid under the box and then flipping it over expertly. “Back yard?”

“Maybe out in the alley,” Pen said. “Give it a chance to move somewhere else.”

“Don’t know why it’d want to, given that it gets free food and board here,” George grumbled. But he took the mouse out anyway.

“You really should get the mouse man in,” he said when he came back, throwing the tupperware into the sink.

“Nope,” said Pen, who was busy scrubbing her hands even though she hadn’t touched the creature. “No way, no how.”

“Pen.” He settled against the counter beside her, the sun streaming in through the window and glinting on his dark hair. “I get that the exterminator, well, exterminates, but this is a bakery. And a café. You won’t be able to keep a mouse infestation from the health department for long.”

“It’s not an infestation. It’s one mouse.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s the same mouse that keeps coming back.”

“It is,” she said with certainty. Then she considered things. “Maybe I could borrow Fabio?”

George shrugged. “You could try. But first up, I don’t think Fab would do much unless looks of disdain can kill. Second up, he’s not mine to lend out.”

Pen grabbed a band from around her wrist and tied back her blonde curls. “Still no news?”

“Not a word.” George looked strained. “I mean, we all knew that Mary was no spring chicken. But I don’t think any of us expected her to go so soon.”

“Still, it’s a blessing,” said Pen. “Just going in your sleep like that, you can’t ask for a more peaceful way to go, can you?” She sighed. “I suppose it all leaves you in a bit of bother though, doesn’t it?”