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excited about the prospect of big sales at the cat show—and, admittedly, a little anxious about this Marigold Aames and what she could mean for my relationship with Jack—that I had a hard time sleeping that night. I finally gave up around five thirty and crawled out of my bed and into the shower. I cringed when the old pipes began singing. I didn’t want to wake my downstairs neighbors, Ingrid and Harvey Nyquist.
    Ingrid had been my mentor for years, and she owned the building in which I lived and worked. Now in her early eighties, she’d finally gotten around to marrying her high school sweetheart. The two had been separated when Harvey’s parents sent him off to military school, and each had lived a full life completewith other spouses. But in their widowhood, the wonders of social media had brought them back together and their teenage love had been rekindled.
    While Ingrid and Harvey planned to spend much of the year in Harvey’s condo in Boca Raton, they had the apartment on the second floor of 801 Maple in which to spend the dog days of summer. They knew what they were getting into, but I was still self-conscious that they were sandwiched in between the hubbub of the first-floor shop and the noise my animals and I generated in our third-floor apartment. They were retirees, after all.
    Because of my early rise, I was ready for the day at an obscenely early hour. I made my way down to the shop and did a little work rearranging my wares on the shelf. I had just settled down with a cup of coffee and the
Merryville Gazette
when there was a sharp knock at the front door.
    I looked out, expecting to find Wanda Knight, the Merryville high schooler Rena and I had hired to help out with the business so we would have more time to bake, sew, and market. Wanda would be covering the shop during the cat show, manning the fort while Rena and I were out at the hotel.
    Needless to say, I was startled to find Phillip Denford on my front porch. Given his fight with Pris the night before, I was a bit timid about opening the door, but I was relying on this man’s cat show to bring inenough working capital to expand my online business presence, allowing people to place orders and make payments directly online without having to call the store.
    Xander Stephens owned the Spin Doctor, the record store across the back alley from Trendy Tails. He’d made his store a success by maintaining a thriving online business. He’d offered to do the programming for me, create a shopping cart and secure checkout process, for free, but I couldn’t abuse his good nature like that. I knew the offer came at least in part because he was dating my sister Lucy, and it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of that situation. I would get him to help me, but only when I could afford to pay him what he was worth.
    “Mr. Denford? Please come in.”
    I held the door and he walked in, hands clasped at the small of his back, scanning the inside of my shop with a proprietary air. King of the hill. Cock of the walk.
    His plumage befitted his strut: orange-and-blue plaid pants with a perfectly matched orange golf shirt and blue jacket. Only rich people could get away with that kind of getup. Rich people and my aunt Dolly.
    Phillip’s perusal of Trendy Tails included a leisurely sweep over my breasts. I suppressed a shudder. I’d met some skeevy guys in my day, but he was just so nonchalant about the way he ogled me,confident that I wouldn’t call him out on his bad behavior. As though I might consider it flattering.
    “You keep a tidy shop, Ms. McHale. I respect that.”
    “Thank you?” I was so off-kilter at having Denford in my store—and staring at my bosom—that the words came out as a question.
    “I also admire your, ah, product,” he continued. He chuckled at his own double entendre. “When Pamela Rawlins returned from her first site visit raving about the cute clothes and accessories you were creating, I purchased a huge selection of your