Chapter 5: Big Girl

This time, the walk wasn't fueled by anger, and rather than forcing myself to stroll I took my time easily. Settling into Petunia's waddling pace gave me the minutes I needed to sort out my head so when I at last set foot on the bottom step of the B&B's front entry, any plans to make a hasty call to New York and the guy I'd left behind were firmly and completely squashed flat and forced into a tiny compartment of nope in the back of my mind reserved for idiot decisions that never saw the light of day.

Big girl, here.

I bent and scratched Petunia's ears, making her groan in delight, her bulging eyes closing as she leaned into my hands. "Thanks for the company," I said, kissing the top of her wrinkled brow. "We'll get this sorted, pug. Won't we?"

She snorted in my face before lolling out her tongue like she was laughing at me, cinnamon bun tail wriggling. A face only a pug lover could adore and I guess I was turning into one.

I wasn't even in the front door when I heard Daisy's raised voice, grateful to have her here despite her bumbling at times, just so I could have some time outside these walls. Really not in the mood for people but not having a choice, I plastered on a smile and greeted my late arriving guests while my old bestie beamed at me like she hadn't been working all day already.

If only I could be that kind of charismatic extrovert. I think I'd choke myself.

Daisy sent off for the evening and the Jones sisters long since departed at their appointed hour, I was on my own the rest of the evening, a giant jigsaw puzzle of guests, putting out fires-figurative and literal when Petunia knocked over a candle someone left burning-and general business that tended to drop me onto my private couch in the basement apartment by 9PM every night. And though it was taking some getting used to, I wasn't complaining.

I should have been. Being home raised a lot of old stuff, my desire to pursue law enforcement crushed by Dad not the very least of my ancient aches. Mom had to bring it up, didn't she? And seeing Crew in that uniform, well. It wasn't just his well-formed behind in those jeans that made me sigh. Those could have been my jeans.

Okay, that didn't exactly come out right. "You'll forgive my line of thinking," I said to Petunia, amused by her head tilt and giant eyes as she quickly licked her lips of the last of her evening snack in silent plea for more food. "What I meant to say was if things were different, if I'd ignored Dad and gone for it, would I be in Crew's place right now?" At Crew's place, candle light, bottle of wine...

This was just too confusing, even for me.

I fell into bed a short time later, mind spinning with minutia as if to distract me from the real issue that loomed over my head. The paperwork I still hadn't looked too closely at, the envelope lurking in my kitchen, left there to haunt me as if it could sprout legs and ease its nasty self into my bedroom, slip up onto the comforter and smother me in malicious glee in the middle of the night.

It didn't help Petunia peered over the edge of the bed at me, those soulful eyes begging for an invitation. The padded, carpeted staircase my grandmother had left at the foot of the bed for her beloved pug had been immediately relocated to the closet night one together, about the same time Petunia thought my pillow was an ideal place to nap.

"Sorry, pug," I said, firmly closing my eyes to her desperate cuteness. "You have a perfectly good bed on the floor. I suggest you get used to it." Because I didn't share. Except maybe with the right man in uniform...

Oh, Fee.

Petunia sighed and stared.

"Well, what do you think I should do?" I couldn't help but think about Ryan and the warm spot that used to be full of him. Back when I had no idea he was a cheating ass who had no regard for the fact I'd put his sorry butt through law school as a barista/waitress/office assistant/anything I could work at that would pay me while still sucking out my soul. Not his fault, I guess, I could never decide what I wanted to be for the rest of my life. But the cheating? On his conscience.

I was still trying to figure out my own path even now, though the idea I could turn into my grandmother, spend the rest of my life running this place, didn't sound so bad, despite my old need to escape Reading's tiny, judging clutches. "Do I call him or not?"

The pug chuffed softly, ending in a whining yawn.

"You're right," I said, turning over, punching my pillow with vigor and determination. "We can handle it, can't we? Best to let that particular dog lie." I looked up, winced at her scrunched expression. "No offense intended."

Another chuff and a deeper sigh. She finally turned and sank to the floor, ignoring the expensive bed I'd gone out and acquired for her so I didn't have to feel guilty not letting her sleep with me. Because I didn't feel badly she spent her every night with my grandmother on this very bed but had been doomed to an existence on the cold, hard floor for the rest of her life because I was selfish.

At least, that's what I imagined she was thinking. Not me. Nope. No guilt here.

I faded out to the sound of her high-pitched barking as she chased something in her sleep.

***

I woke briefly, disoriented and cotton mouthed, blearily raising my head, eyes settling on the clock next to my bed. 2:34, far too early to be getting up just yet. What prodded me awake? Only then did I see Petunia standing next to the bed, staring up at me. The whites of her eyes showed, gleaming in the low light of the clock's red glow. Refusing to be freaked out by the demonic appearance of my grandmother's portly pug, I turned over, snuggling my pillow again even as Petunia woofed once, softly and questioningly, before I fell into deep slumber again.

***

Surely 5:45 was early enough to catch the two Jones sisters not yet at their posts. I'd added an extra five minutes each morning the past two weeks just to see if I could catch them before they arrived. But sneaking up the back stairs to the kitchen proved my attempt to win this particular battle was foiled again.

There they were, both of them. Looking about as perky as they ever did. Standing by the stove, drinking coffee like they'd been here for hours. I knew they both left. I watched them go each evening-if missing their departure last night-at precisely 5 o'clock like they had things to attend to and not a second later. Maybe they both snuck back in the middle of the night and slept in a closet just so they could beat me to the kitchen every damned time?

I forced a smile on and entered like I owned the place. Which was in question, wasn't it? "Good morning, ladies." At least I sounded chipper if I didn't feel it.

Petunia bypassed me, huffing toward the back door and the garden to do her business. I held the screen open for her while the sisters in dourness stared at me over the rims of their mugs.

"Miss Fleming," Mary said for both of them. Just like every other morning. The corner of my right eye twitched and I suddenly wondered if they were the cause of my grandmother's death. Their relentless humdrumness finally killed her and would be the end of me, too, wouldn't it? I had a horrible, lurking terror in that moment I'd wake up twenty years from now with the doldrum sisters, wrinkled and shaking, still staring at me like they'd never, ever accept me.

Coffee would save me. I lunged for the pot only to have Betty hand me a cup. I knew before I sipped it not only was it still hot, but perfectly flavored to my exact specifications. Which just made me want to throw it in the sink and drink tea.

"Thanks," I said, trying to sound like I meant it.

"Funny she's barking." Mary nodded to silent Betty. "She never barks."

I glanced at the back door, freezing in place. I'd missed it in my descent into irritated misery, the sound of Petunia through the kitchen door. They were right. Curiosity lured me, drew me out into the garden, following the path and the sound of her puggy protesting. The old English garden feel made the place a bit of a maze at times. I circled the pond and the towering grasses waving in the breeze and froze as the view cleared, my eyes and brain having a bit of a cha-cha for a moment while someone screamed.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't me.

Nope, not me. Mrs. Sprindle, in fact, her pink slippers wet at the toes as she stared down into the water, the trio of fat, orange fish poking the swollen, staring face of Pete Wilkins beneath the surface. A thin stream of blood flowed from beneath his thin hair like a flag of crimson that slowly faded away as the water diffused it.

The very man I wished would burn in hell for all eternity. Dead. In my koi pond.

Was it wrong I instantly wondered what this meant for his claim on Petunia's? And that the look on the now silent pug's face as she panted and squatted nearby gave me the impression she was delighted with this turn of events?

***