Ryan tapped his watch. I gave Miss Augusta a kiss on her weathered cheek and reminded her that she had many friends willing to help. I was surprised to see a tear glide down her cheek, as she squeezed my hand in response.
I had scarcely enough time to get back to the café for the Potluck Book Club. On the way, Ryan promised he’d check with the owner of the coral house and call Animal Rescue to try to find Bow. I thanked him and jumped out of the car at the bottom of the driveway, hoping to get settled before the book club members arrived. At least I’d finally remembered the book we’d read, The Long Quiche Goodbye by Avery Aames, a cheese shop mystery that mixed murder with fine cheese and interesting recipes, guaranteeing our meeting would be great fun.
As I grabbed the handle of the café door, a bear paw–like hand clamped over mine.
“Saw you get out of the sheriff car. Causing more trouble, eh?”
Bucket Hat’s eyes were far more threatening when we were nose to nose.
Chapter Twelve ||||||||||||||||||||
I yanked my hand from underneath his and gave him as defiant a glare as I could muster. “Go away.”
He maneuvered himself so that he was planted in front of the door and I couldn’t brush by him.
“You listen to me, girlie, and listen good. You can’t go around accusing folks of murder. Keep it up and there’ll be consequences aplenty for you and your friends. You mind what I’m saying.”
“Leave me—and my friends—alone.”
“Sassy, is everything all right?” Cady was only a few feet away and walking right toward us.
“No trouble here,” Bucket Hat called out, then he lowered his voice and growled at me, “Don’t forget—consequences aplenty for all concerned,” and he hurried away.
Cady could see how shaken I was. He put his arm around me, walked me inside the café and plunked me in a seat at Robert Louis Stevenson.
“Bridgy, could you get Sassy a glass of water?”
She was busy setting up the book nook for the meeting, but she only needed one look at my face and she practically ran to the kitchen.
She came out with a glass of water and a slice of Ophie’s buttermilk pie, set them on the table in front of me and sat down.
“What happened? Is it Miss Augusta?”
I shook my head and pushed the pie off to the side. “No, she’s about as good as she can be. It’s that wrecker, Bucket Hat. He grabbed on to me right outside our front door and threatened me. No, that’s not right. He threatened us all.”
She looked at Cady, who said, “He was blocking the doorway but he took off when I came along.”
She stood up. “I’m calling Ryan.”
“No,” I said. “Please don’t. He’s spent so much time helping me today . . .”
“Sassy, that’s his job, helping. He needs to know about this. Someone at the sheriff’s office needs to know.”
“Okay,” I relented, suddenly too tired to argue. “Let’s get the book club meeting behind us and then we can talk to Ryan.”
She went in the kitchen and brought out a lace doily–covered plate of diced cheese, some pale yellow, some dark orange, along with a half wheel of brie. I snatched the sleeve of crackers that was dangling from her fist and followed her to the nook.
“This is a nice touch.”
I noticed a couple of plum and gold paperbacks tucked under the chair I usually sat in. “Thanks for remembering to put a few extra books on the side. Someone nearly always forgets their copy.”