Stupid tigers.
At Dead End Pawn, I saved the nitty-gritty cleaning for after hours, but it was a rare day that didn't find me with a dust cloth, window wipe, or broom in my hands. A clean shop was just good business.
At eleven, there was a brief lull, and I pulled out some of the never-ending paperwork to tackle at the counter. When the chimes over the door rang, I was deep in estimated taxes—yes, even in Dead End, part of Black Cypress County's sovereign territory, excluded from almost all federal U.S. laws, we had to pay taxes—and didn't look up until I heard a familiar voice call my name.
"Uncle Mike! What are you doing here? It's great to see you." I put my pen down and rushed over to hug my uncle, raising my eyebrows at the big red toolbox he carried.
"I thought I'd drop by and fix anything that needed fixing." He set the box down on the floor and stretched. "That keeps getting heavier as I get older."
I kissed his cheek. "You'll never get old. Want coffee?"
"Nope. Had plenty of that at breakfast. You'll be happy to know I remembered to take breakfast out to the barn for Robin and Thistle, so they left the poor goats alone."
"Are the goats okay?" I had to laugh. I mean, it wasn'tfunny,but it was a little funny. (The goats were completely unharmed.)
"Oh, they're fine. Can't keep goats down for long." He looked around the shop, eyes wide. "What did you do to this place?"
I sighed. "That was Eleanor. She had some free time on her hands when I was gone. I don't mind, though. The ferrets are funny, and I sold half of them this morning. And the Halloween display is fun, if a little early in the year."
He grunted. "Can't say I'm a fan of stuffing and dressing up rodents, but it's your place."
"Ferrets aren't rodents, Uncle Mike. They're members of the weasel family."
"Like some of those boys who came around the house for you," he muttered. "Also, how do you always know this kind of thing?"
"I know lots of random trivia. Try to find a pawnshop owner who doesn't."
"Fair enough. Well, Eleanor is why I'm here. When she was setting up your spooky corner with the Halloween stuff, she said that one shelving unit was unbalanced and not properly fastened to the wall. I'm going to fix it."
"Thanks! I think the hinges on the potions case are a little wonky, too, after a kid tried to yank it open this morning despite the padlock."
"I'll have a look. Get back to your paperwork, honey. And if you have time, I thought I'd take you to Beau's for lunch. Just the two of us. We haven't done that in a while." He patted my arm, picked up his toolbox, and got to work, leaving me with a smile and a warm feeling inside. Uncle Mike and I had always been close, but it was true our uncle/niece days had gone mostly by the wayside when I took over the shop.
A few more customers came in, mostly browsing, but nothing too busy, so I turned the sign on the door toClosedat noon, locked up, and hopped in Uncle Mike's truck with him to go to Beau's.
Lorraine greeted us at the door with raised eyebrows and a grin. "Nice to see you two out and about again. There's a table open up front."
Beau's Diner had been a fixture in Dead End for longer than I'd been alive, and Lorraine Packard had been its head waitress and, pretty much, boss for fifty years. She was maybe a hair over five feet tall in her neon pink orthopedic shoes and starched uniform. Her short, silver-white hair shone in the sunlight coming in from the sparkling windows.
Uncle Mike and I took a seat, and Lorraine followed us over to tell us the specials. There wasn't much use in looking at a menu at Beau's, because she usually gave customers whatshefelt they needed, no matter whattheythought they wanted.
"The special is fish and chips with fresh slaw, corn on the cob, and apple cobbler. Tess?"
"Sounds perfect to me. With lemonade, please."
"Same for me," Uncle Mike said, all but rubbing his hands with glee. Aunt Ruby had put him on a low-fat diet a few months back, and he was chafing at the restrictions.
"How's the cholesterol?" Lorraine demanded.
Uncle Mike leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, right over theCleveland Tractor Companylogo on his T-shirt. "I guess a man can order food in this town without having to talk about his personal health information."
A thin-faced, long-haired man I didn't recognize, sitting at the table next to us, leaned over to point at Lorraine. "He's right. That hippo law says you can't even ask, although I'm not sure what business a diner waitress has asking a customer about his personal business."
I sucked in a breath. Oh, no, he didn't.
Lorraine was going to eviscerate him.
Shocking everybody in the room who knew her, she turned to the man and gave him a sweet smile, showing lots of teeth."The hippo law? And what exactly would a hippo law be, Boris Volkov? Are we talking about endangered species?"
