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“I think the switch is down here.” She crouched and poked around until she found the button. LED lights wound through the supports flickered to life, pulsing in waves of blue, green, and purple.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” She pushed to her feet.

He crossed his arms and glared at the thing as if it had personally offended him. “What’s it for?”

“Coaxing money out of tourists.” She leaned over the glass counter beside the register. “I think he kept it…” Her fingers closed around a cigar box covered in aluminum foil. “Here.”

Xander’s gaze jerked back up to her face.

Ogling my behind, eh? Interesting.

Biting back a grin, she lifted the lid to show him squares of metallic origami paper. “See? You write your message here, then put it in the cosmic transmitter, like so.” She took a Sharpie from the tin can beside the register, scribbledHelp Xander, then inserted her note into metal mailbox welded to the transmitter’s frame.

“What happens then?”

She shrugged. “According to Gus, your message is transmitted to outer space. If you’re lucky, yours will be the first one intercepted by intelligent interstellar travelers.”

“And people pay money for this?”

“A dollar a pop, last I heard.” She noted his sour expression. “If it gives people a giggle, what’s the harm?”

Xander scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned. “How am I gonna bury him under this piece of crap?”

“Bury him? Pretty sure that’s illegal in Washington State.”

He pointed to an urn resting on the counter. “Tell that to Gus.”

Hannah’s throat tightened. With a trembling finger, she traced its surface, silver filigree and midnight blue ceramic painted with stars and nebulae. Truly, a beautiful piece of art. “He’s in here?”

“Not yet. Found it in his office behind the coffee machine. I’ve got to deliver it to the funeral home.” He flipped through a packet of documents and tapped a spot marked with a tiny Post-it. “His instructions were specific. Once cremated, his remains are to be interred beneath the cosmic transmitter.”

“Hard to do without digging through the floor and the cement pad underneath.” She tapped her pursed lips. “Wait. It doesn’t say ‘bury,’ right?” She pulled out her phone and opened her favorite dictionary app. “Inter: to place a corpse or ashes in a grave or tomb, typically with funeral rites. Could you just—I dunno—build a metal box or something? Like a tiny mausoleum, just for Gus?”

Xander’s full lips twitched upward. “Yeah, I guess that could work. Thanks, Hannah.” His smile widened. “You’re pretty sharp.”

“Job requirement.” She bit her lip hard to keep from grinning—a natural but totally inappropriate response to very gratifying praise. But now was not the time for flirtation. The poor guy was in mourning, and her goal was to unearth a story juicy enough to rescue theBeacon.

She struck a casual pose, elbow on the counter. “So, what’ll happen to the rest of the shop?”

Xander sank onto the bench beside the giant cloth alien. “I’m waiting for inspiration to strike.” He poked the figure’s metallic, lightbulb-shaped head. “Bubba here is no help, are you, buddy?”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle. “As it turns out, I was looking for a business opportunity. Et voilà. Shitty way to start, but I’m committed to polishing up Souvenir Planet, somehow.”

Thrilled and relieved, she dropped down beside him and hugged him tight. “That’s fabulous news! Welcome to Trappers Cove!”

He went stiff in her arms—and not in a fun way.

Awkward.

“Sorry.” She released him and scooted as far away as the bench allowed. “I’m just so glad Souvenir Planet will live on. People love this place.”

He cocked an ebony eyebrow. “People? Or just visitors from outer space?”

“Well, maybe them too. But look at it!” She circled a hand overhead. “Isn’t it glorious? So quirky and weird and colorful. Tourists spend hours here.”

“They do, huh? When does that start?”