Death and a Dog. Fiona Grace

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СКАЧАТЬ the new tearoom,” Gina said exuberantly, as she and Lacey strolled along the seafront, their canine companions racing one another through the surf, wagging their tails with excitement.

      “Why?” Lacey asked. “What’s so good about it?”

      “Nothing in particular,” Gina replied. She lowered her voice. “It’s just that I heard the new owner used to be a pro-wrestler! I can’t wait to meet him.”

      Lacey couldn’t help herself. She tipped her head back and guffawed at just how ludicrous a rumor it was. But, then again, it hadn’t been that long ago that everyone in Wilfordshire thought she might be a murderer.

      “How about we take that hearsay with a pinch of salt?” she suggested to Gina.

      Her friend “pfft” her, and the two set about giggling.

      The beach was looking particularly attractive in the warmer weather. It wasn’t quite hot enough for sunbathing or paddling, but plenty more people were starting to walk along it, and buy ice creams from the trucks. As they went, the two friends fell into easy chatter, and Lacey filled Gina in with the whole David phone call, and the touching story of the man and the ballerina. Then they reached the tearoom.

      It was housed in what was once a canoe garage, in a prime seafront location. The prior owners had been the ones to convert it, turning the old shed into a somewhat dingy cafe—something Gina had taught her was referred to in England as a “greasy spoon.” But the new owner had vastly improved on the design. They’d cleaned the brick frontage, removing streaks of seagull poop that had probably been there since the fifties. They’d put a chalkboard outside, proclaiming organic coffee in the cursive writing of a professional sign writer. And the original wooden doors had been replaced by a shiny glass one.

      Gina and Lacey approached. The door swished open automatically, as if to beckon them inside. They exchanged a glance and went in.

      The pungent smell of fresh coffee beans greeted them, followed by the scent of wood, wet soil, and metal. Gone were the old floor to ceiling white tiles, the pink vinyl booths, and linoleum flooring. Now, all the old brickwork had been exposed and the old floorboards had been varnished with a dark stain. Keeping up with the rustic vibe, all the tables and chairs appeared to be made from the planks of reclaimed fishing boats—which accounted for the smell of wood—and copper piping concealed all the wiring of several large, Edison-style bulbs that hung down from the high ceiling—accounting for the metallic smell. The earthy smell was caused by the fact that every spare inch of space had a cactus in it.

      Gina gripped Lacey’s arm and whispered with displeasure, “Oh no. It’s … trendy!”

      Lacey had recently learned during an antique-buying trip to Shoreditch in London that trendy was not a compliment to be used in the place of ‘stylish’, but rather had a subtext off frivolous, pretentious and arrogant.

      “I like it,” Lacey countered. “It’s very well designed. Even Saskia would agree.”

      “Careful. You don’t want to get pricked,” Gina added, making an exaggerated swerving motion to avoid a large prickly-looking cactus.

      Lacey “tsked” her and went up to the counter, which was made of burnished bronze, and had a matching old coffee machine that surely must be decorative. Despite what Gina had heard, there wasn’t a man who resembled a wrestler standing behind it, but a woman with a choppy, dyed blond bob and a white tank top that complemented her golden skin and bulging biceps.

      Gina caught Lacey’s eye and nodded at the woman’s muscles in a see, I told you so, way.

      “What can I get ya?” the woman asked in the thickest Aussie accent Lacey had ever heard.

      Before Lacey had a chance to ask for a cortado, Gina nudged her in the ribs.

      “She’s like you!” Gina exclaimed. “An American!”

      Lacey couldn't stop herself from laughing. “Erm… no, she’s not.”

      “I’m from Australia,” the woman corrected Gina, good-naturedly.

      “Are you?” Gina asked, looking perplexed. “But you sound exactly like Lacey to me.”

      The blond woman instantly flicked her gaze back to Lacey.

      “Lacey?” she repeated, as if she’d already heard of her. “You’re Lacey?”

      “Uh… yeah….” Lacey said, feeling quite odd that this stranger somehow knew about her.

      “You own the antiques store, right?” the woman added, putting down the little notepad she’d been holding and shoving her pencil behind her ear. She stuck out her hand.

      Feeling even more bemused, Lacey nodded and took the hand being offered to her. The woman had a strong grip. Lacey briefly wondered whether there was any truth to the wrestling rumors after all.

      “Sorry, but how do you know who I am?” Lacey queried, as the woman pumped her arm up and down vigorously with a wide grin on her face.

      “Because every local person who comes in here and realizes I’m a foreigner immediately goes on to tell me all about you! About how you also moved here from abroad on your own. And how you started your own store from scratch. I think the whole of Wilfordshire is rooting for us to become best friends.”

      She was still shaking Lacey’s hand vigorously, and when Lacey spoke, her voice shook from the vibration.

      “So you came to the UK alone then?”

      Finally, the woman let go of her hand.

      “Yeah. I divorced my hubby, then realized divorcing him wasn’t enough. Really, I needed to be on the other side of the planet to him.”

      Lacey couldn’t help but laugh. “Same. Well, similar. New York isn’t exactly the other side of the planet, but with the way Wilfordshire is, sometimes it feels like it may as well be.”

      Gina cleared her throat. “Can I get a cappuccino and a tuna melt?”

      The woman seemed to suddenly remember Gina was there. “Oh. I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” She offered her hand to Gina. “I’m Brooke.”

      Gina didn’t make eye contact. She shook Brooke’s hand limply. Lacey picked up on the vibes of jealousy she was giving off and couldn’t help but smile to herself.

      “Gina’s my partner in crime,” Lacey told Brooke. “She works with me in my store, helps me find stock, takes my dog for playdates, imparts all her gardening wisdom to me, and generally has kept me sane ever since I came to Wilfordshire.”

      Gina’s jealous pout was replaced by a sheepish smile.

      Brooke smiled. “I hope I get my own Gina, too,” she joked. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

      She retrieved the pencil from behind her ear, making her sleek blond hair swish back into place. “So that’s one cappuccino and tuna melt…” she said, writing on the notebook. “And for you?” She looked up at Lacey with expectancy in her gaze.

      “A cortado,” Lacey said, looking down at the menu. She quickly scanned everything on offer. There was a wide array of very tasty-sounding dishes, but really the menu consisted solely of sandwiches with fancy descriptions. The tuna СКАЧАТЬ