Page 41 of Once Upon a Lie

“Just about. Give me a sec to lock up and grab Pip some water.”

Five minutes later, the shop lights are off, the sign flipped to Closed, and the three of us make slow work of the sidewalk, our leisure at odds with the way Sunnie and Cher waved us off like they were seeing us off to war.

Outside, the air’s warm. It’s technically fall, but Nashville didn’t get the memo. Honestly, Nashville rarely gets the memo when it comes to seasonal change, and when it does, it makes sure to go from zero to sixty in a dramatic twenty-four-hour period. The late sun glints off car roofs, and everything feels gold around the edges.

“You’ve got that tired-but-happy look,” Alfred says as we walk. “Busy day?”

“Always. The lunch crowd went feral over the new cinnamon crumble bagel. Cher thinks I should trademark it.”

He chuckles. “Cher thinks you should trademark everything.”

“True.” I laugh and glance down at Alfred’s little dog. “Pip’s excited,” I say, watching him trot ahead, head held high and leash bouncing.

“He knows the routine,” Alfred says proudly. “Routine keeps him young. Same as me.” Suddenly, he stops, swearing in his completely innocent PG way that always makes me smile. “Blast it!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot his ball. The blue one. You know how he is.”

I grin. “I do. Last week, I thought he was going to file a lawsuit and have me deposed when I tried to toss the red one.”

“He’s very stubborn with his ball preferences,” Alfred says with a roll of his eyes that’s magnified by his “Coke bottle” prescription of one thousand. “We’ll swing by the house first.”

We cross at the light, heading toward his street instead of the park near Vanderbilt’s campus, and it’s not long before his little yellow house comes into view. Unlike my garbage, his sits untouched by varmints at the street, already awaiting tomorrow morning’s pickup.

I grumble, and Alfred, despite being slightly hard of hearing, notices. “What’s that, dear?”

“Oh, nothing, Al. Just daydreaming. Raccoons. Evil condo queens. Insubordination. You know the drill.”

“I must admit, that though I think of you as my very cherished friend, there are some things that don’t bridge the age gap,” Alfred says, shaking his head as we walk.

“Sorry. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m not making sense. I was just getting angry all over again about Rita and the raccoons.” I groan. “I still don’t even know how I got connected to it all, but she says she found one of my receipts outside the dumpster or something. Like she’s some kind of freaking detective. Somebody needs to knock her inebriation from power down a shot or two.”

He chuckles. “Ah, yes. The garbage debacle. I’d almost forgotten. What did she call it this time?”

“Negligent waste management. She’s changed the violations to blaze pink, too, just to spit on you while you’re down.”

He bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s beautiful. You should have it framed. It’d match your throw blankets.”

“Well, that’s a positive,” I say on a snort. “Wouldn’t be surprised if I find it already framed and hanging in the lobby with my photo plastered beside it when I get home tonight.”

“Don’t let her get under your skin, Teeny Girl. Some people just need to feel important.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I’ll try to keep that in mind when I’m daydreaming about letting a rabid raccoon loose in her apartment after taking it to the docks to buy some cocaine and get high.”

He chuckles as we reach his porch, and he pats his pockets for keys. “Give me one minute,” he says, heading for the door of his postcard oasis in the middle of the concrete jungle. The white trim, flower boxes, and old porch swing creaking in the breeze almost look comical. “Can’t go to the park without the sacred blue ball.”

“Take your time,” I call after him, leaning against the railing.

Pip sits at my feet, little tail sweeping the porch and his eyes half closed in the sun.

It’s a quiet, ordinary moment, but it feels so perfect I wish I could bottle it up. Perhaps that’s what makes it such a surprise when a prickly feeling crawls up the back of my neck.

I glance toward the street, but there’s no one there. Just traffic a block away, a few empty cars parked at the curb, and the faint hum of the city settling into afternoon.

“Teeny?” Alfred calls. “You want to bring a few snacks to the park to munch on?”

“Sure!” I call back, edging my teeth against my lip and the feeling that someone is watching me. I survey the street traffic one more time. Nothing but sunlight and shadows.