Hannah pushed to her feet. “Well, let me grab a journal and get these pastries back to Mom.”
Daphne trotted to her display and selected one with a star-spangled metallic cover. “On the house, since you’re bringing in new customers.” She squeezed Hannah in a tight hug, jabbing Hannah’s throat with her bony shoulder.
With her victory grin firmly in place and a huge weight off her shoulders, Hannah trotted back across the street to theBeacon.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“No,sir.Absolutelynot.”Jaw clenched, eyes bulging, Xander stood toe to toe with Colonel Malinowski. “You can visit the transmitter whenever you like, but the building is not for sale.”
He’d already shut them down weeks ago, but for some daft reason, these two space cadets were back with a new offer—they’d buy the property and “let” him run the business inside in exchange for a “small corner” for their UFO “information center.”
All this weasely language was turning his stomach. Their purpose was clear enough—they wanted to take over.
Clearly not accustomed to being thwarted, the colonel inflated like a bristly puffer fish. “You’re making a grave mistake, son. Without proper stabilization, the cosmic vortex might spin out of control, and the consequences could be dire.”
What a freakin’ nut job. Still, the guy was a retired military officer and deserved respect for his service, so Xander confined his snark to a single raised eyebrow. “What kind of consequences?”
“Seismic activity the likes of which you’ve never seen,” Professor Alterman asserted, her eyes crackling with outrage. “We’re talkin’ dangerous levels of radiation, or abductions, or—”
“Save your breath, Lois.” Malinowski dropped a sausage-fingered hand onto her shoulder. “This fool isn’t in the mood to listen to reason.”
And what these two didn’t seem to realize, thank God, was that if he failed and lost the property to the bank, their UFO fan clubs would be the beneficiaries. If they uncovered that juicy news, they’d sabotage him for sure.
Though he might end up making an unwilling donation to the UFO investigation groups, it damn sure wouldn’t happen until he’d given The Village his all. And he was just getting started.
“You’ll be sorry, Anagnos,” the little professor snapped and jabbed a stubby finger into his chest. “You don’t understand the forces you’re dealing with.”
The colonel gripped her arm and muttered something about Plan B.
They could sling plans from B to Z, and he still wouldn’t change his mind. Obnoxious, interfering twits.
Muttering and shooting him barbed looks, the colonel and the professor stalked away, leaving Xander as wrung out as a dishcloth.
Not that he had time to feel sorry for himself, since the demolition crew would be here on Thursday. He headed back inside to finish packing up whatever fixtures could be salvaged.
Why in the literal hell would Colonel Blowhard and Professor Yappy believe he’d want to sell?
A chill slithered down his spine. Did Hannah send them? Was this a ploy to harass him into changing his mind?
He shook his head hard. No way. She’d promised to support him, not kneecap him. It had to be a coincidence.
Boop beep boop.The bakery’s doorway chime sang its merry tune as Xander trudged inside seeking carbs and caffeine—his only fuel since the Colonel’s ambush the day before. Great, the place was packed. Three o’clock must be peak coffee break time in Trappers Cove. As he took his place in line, he heard whispers behind him. He shook off the weird paranoid feeling. Why would his neighbors be gossiping about him? They had more interesting things to talk about than his non-progress on the derelict building.
When he reached the counter, Garrett raised one ginger eyebrow. “Again?”
Xander faked a nonchalant grin. “What, you object to repeat customers?”
“Nah, man. You’re welcome anytime, but try the decaf? This is your fourth extra-large cup today.”
He tugged his sleeve up over his elbow. “If I could take it intravenously, I would. Ginormous latte with three shots, please, and whatever pastry I haven’t tried yet.”
Shaking his head, Garrett turned to the espresso machine.
While he waited, Xander went to get a copy of theBeacon, but the newspaper rack was empty.
“All sold out,” Garrett told him, depositing an oversize mug and a slice of carrot cake on the counter.
“Good for Hannah,” he muttered on his way to the cream and sugar station. Never thought he’d be so invested in the success of a small-town newspaper, but he was rooting for theBeacon—and not just because it was hers. He might never love the town’s crusty side, but she wasn’t wrong about the we-are-family-whether-you-like-it-or-not aspect. It felt a little claustrophobic at first, when everyone seemed to be talking about the new guy, but now…
