Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Garrett Harrington? That’s his name?” Not that it matters, but it’s good to know your enemy before you set out to destroy him. “When he gave you this decent offer, did he happen to mention that he bought Todd’s building?”
“What?” Ned slides his glasses off. “Todd sold Dieter’s building?”
“Yeah, except he’s trying to hide the sale as long as possible because he knows people are gonna be pissed when they find out this Garrett guy is tearing it down.”
Ned’s face pales as he studies the memo in his hand. “Wait. Does that mean … but he said he liked my store.”
“Of course he said that, because you’d never sell to him if you knew he wanted to tear this place down too. Garrett’s trying to hustle you.” And hustle me into helping him.
“He can’t tear this place down.” Ned peers around the space, shaking his head. “It’s been here for seventy years. It’s my life.”
“You’re right. It is. Can I see that?”
With a dazed look, he hands me the paper.
I don’t bother reading it before I rip it into pieces.
Chapter Five
“I’m sick and tired of these men getting away with whatever they want.” Shirley arranges her cards in her wrinkled hand, the crimson paint of her manicured nails contrasting against the matte-black deck. There are two things this spirited firecracker never misses—her weekly appointments at the hair and nail salons.
The first time I walked into Bonny Acres and noticed the copper-haired resident sitting by herself at a table, I didn’t think twice about strolling up and taking a seat. I remember the way her hands paused on her round of solitaire, and her chartreuse eyes narrowed on my face as she hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Of all the residents, I had to pick the belligerent one who hates people. No one warned me.
But I was already seated, and I like a good challenge, so I said the only thing I could think of: “My ex and I broke up because he’s a cheating bastard, and I’m here to play cards. Do you know rummy?” I held my breath as seconds passed like slow-pour honey, and then the woman’s head fell back with a loud cackle. There were audible gasps nearby. Apparently, Shirley laughing is like witnessing a volcano erupt—equal parts mesmerizing and terrifying. She folded her game and expertly dealt our hands, and we played several rounds while she interrogated me about every last one of Bastard Bill’s faults. It was therapeutic.
When I got up to leave, she warned me not to sit at her table again without smuggling in a treat from Confetti’s, the bakeshop across town. “Something with pistachio. And none of that diabetic, sugar-free crap they feed us in this prison.” It turns out Shirley has an unruly sweet tooth.
The director of Bonny Acres stopped me in the hall that night on my way out, flabbergasted. Shirley is the longest-standing resident at the home and a royal pain in Harper’s derriere—her words. Never in all her years had Harper seen Shirley tolerate anyone for that long, let alone smile while doing it.
It seems I’m a unicorn, and I’ve made a very unlikely friend.
Since that night, I always veer to Shirley’s unofficial table—no one else sits there as no one wants to deal with her icy glares and acerbic tongue —with a small pastry box, and she is always ready for a few hands of rummy while we take turns griping about Bastard Bill and other grievances, usually related to the quality of food at the assisted living center.
“Can they? Get away with it?” I swap my cards. Rummy was my Gramps’ favorite game, and he taught me young. I think it’s one of the reasons I love visiting places like this—it gives me a chance to feel like he’s still sitting across the table.
“Harrington Group has its dirty fingerprints on most of the new commercial development. Some of the residential too.” Shirley trades a card from her hand with a fresh one from the deck.
“Harrington.” As in Garrett Harrington.
“And don’t expect any help from the town. Make no mistake, it’s all this hotshot mayor and his council want. Ferris Gump. What kind of name is that? His momma didn’t love him, that’s for damn sure. They’ve been wooing big-city money and passing ordinance changes left and right, so these money-hungry developers can come in here and do as they please without taxpaying citizens having much say.
“Seven years with this fool, and you can tell who matters and who doesn’t. That park at the end of the block? A lot of Bonny Acres’ residents like to head over there for a change of scenery. It used to be a nice place, with the big trees and the water fountain and the playground for grandkids. But several of the oaks got wilt, the playground is unsafe, and the fountain hasn’t worked for years.”