7. Chapter 7

One week after getting notice I've been put on leave, I follow Georgia to the back of the shop, wheeling my suitcase behind me. The studio is my new home—at least for the next three weeks as we figure out minor details, like a small business loan and my entire life.

As we round the corner of the building, a cat appears, meowing loudly. I bend down, intending to pet it and check for a collar, but Georgia stops me.

"It's a barn cat. People keep them around to catch mice, not as pets." Then she shoos the cat away.

"Oh. Too bad. You know how I feel about cats. If everything works out, maybe I'll get an indoor one to celebrate. He could be a fixture at the bookstore." One more reason to hope I can buy the shop.

I always had a cat growing up, and I've wanted one for a long time, but Georgia didn't, so I respected that. But now that we're not roomies anymore, if I end up in Paradise with my own place, I think it's time.

But Georgia shakes her head. "An outdoor cat is a good idea to keep mice away, but you'd lose customers who don't like cats or who are allergic. Bear and Zach won't go near them."

"I hadn't thought of that, although the idea of keeping Bear away is tempting," I say as we stop in front of the door.

"You also don't want to do that. He'll be your best customer."

I assume she means because he likes to read, but before I can ask, she opens the door to reveal the studio, and I'm too shocked to say anything else.

I have little to move into the studio since I only packed to be here for one week, not four. But when I see the size of the space, I worry I over-packed. With one sweep of the room, I take in every square inch.

"What do you think?" Georgia says as I wheel my suitcase inside. "Cute, isn't it?"

I take another look around before answering, hoping to find the "cute" she's seeing.

The floor is okay. At first glance, I think it's wood, but it's actually that vinyl stuff that looks like wood. So no carpet to vacuum, but also no rugs. I'll need a couple of those.

At the far end of the room, there's a daybed that serves as both bed and couch, a rolling rack for a closet, a cheap, MDF dresser with a TV on the wall above it, and a screen to divide half the space from the kitchen where Georgia and I stand. The stove is ancient; the smallest I've ever seen. There's no dishwasher, and the table is only big enough for two people, once it's pulled away from the wall and the leaf extended.

If by cute she means tiny, this place definitely has that going for it. I thought the two-bedroom apartment we shared in LA was small, but it's not the dollhouse I'm standing in now.

I don't have a problem with small. Small I can work with. But I'm just under six feet tall, so tiny is a problem. I don't know if I'll even fit on the bed/couch situation happening here.

After a second scan, I find the one compliment I can. "It's cleaner than I thought it would be after having a hockey team use it."

Georgia nods as her eyes travel the room. "Oh, they don't make much of a mess. It was just really cluttered."

I raise my eyebrows. They probably don't make the same amount of mess as the bunch of grown men I originally pictured Bear's team as. But little boys aren't much better; I have a brother. I never wanted to use the bathroom after him, and there was only one of him, not an entire team. I'm a little afraid to see—or smell—the bathroom here.

Georgia responds to my eyebrows with a deluge of words, spilling faster than a perp looking for immunity. "Bear's not messy. He picks up after himself, but he likes stuff and isn't always good about organizing it. That's why the shop looks the way it does. Between him and his dad, Pete, they collect a lot of junk."

She nods toward the metal door leading straight from the shop to the studio. Bear is on the other side of it with Adam and Evie "organizing" his "stuff" on that side. His voice travels through the cinderblock wall separating us. I can't make out his words, but they rumble like distant thunder, making his presence known.

Suddenly, there's a loud crash of metal hitting cement, followed by a crack of thunder that makes me jump.

That thunder is Bear.

"Don't touch the car! I'll take care of it!" His words come through loud and clear now, and both Georgia and I stare at the wall.

I don't know what she's expecting, but I'm waiting for Bear to hulk out and burst through the wall.

Seconds of silence pass before Georgia finally says, "Heidi going downhill so quickly is getting to him. He never yells like that."

Or he's upset his family is taking my side in the War of the Auto Sh, I think, but that's not what I say.

"Who's Heidi?" I make my voice as quiet as Georgia's.

"His mom. My mother-in-law. She's got a progressive form of early-onset Alzheimer's. We just had to hire a full-time nurse for her. Before that, Bear and Britta were splitting most of the work taking care of her." Georgia presses her lips together, but we both keep our eyes on the wall. "He's feeling kind of lost these days."

"Oh." Maybe that's why he's been such a jerk to me, even though everyone keeps insisting he's sweet. Maybe it's not about me at all.

"So, would he want to keep the car in the shop? I mean until we close." He'll already be around when his team practices, so it wouldn't hurt to let Bear be here a little more often. I don't hate the idea. "Obviously he can't leave the Mustang there once renovations start, but if working on it takes his mind off his mom…"

I end with a shrug. How do you make things better for someone whose mom is dying?

Georgia sends me a look that makes me wonder if she's surprised I'm showing some empathy. She's teased more than once that the only thing that could make me cry is if the Dodgers won the World Series, and those would be tears of joy. I don't cry over sad things. If I did, I'd be crying all the time. I've seen too much.

"That's really nice, Cass. I'll let him know that's an option." She points to a door in the corner of the rectangular room, near the daybed. "Let me show you the bathroom."

I follow her, trying to decide if I'm actually smelling urine or if the thought of this place full of little boys has put the thought in my head. I'm holding my breath, but I let it out in a small gasp when she opens the door to reveal a shoebox size bathroom.

The tiny sink could fit in my old Barbie house. I'll have to crouch in the shower to get under the head, and the toilet is so close to the door that I don't know how I'll close it while doing my business.

"It's small, I know, but once the store is up and running, maybe you look at a new place. Or even making this one bigger." Georgia squeezes into the bathroom while I stand at the door. "Grandpa and Grandma Sparks lived here for the first couple of years they were married. Seb's dad, Mike, was born here."

I try to hide my shock, but the worried look on her face tells me I've failed. I do succeed in holding back my observation that I'm taller than Grandpa Sparks.

"At least it doesn't smell like pee," I say with a forced smile.

A small V forms between her brows. "Why would it smell like pee?"

"I don't know. Maybe because an entire hockey team has been using it for… I don't know how long." I realize I have no idea when Bear started coaching his team. Could be years, which would make the smell even worse.

I step back to let Georgia out of the bathroom, then step inside.

"They're kids, not animals. They know how to flush," she says with a laugh.

"It's not the flushing I'm worried about," I mumble to her back as she walks to the kitchen while I inspect the floor for yellow stains.

I don't see any, and Georgia's right about this place. Even as I fight a sense of claustrophobia, the idea of the studio being mine is comforting. If for no other reason than I can't spend the next thirty days living in Georgia's guest room. Not when she and Zach are still newlyweds. That's getting uncomfortable for all of us.

Of course, if everything works out, I'm here for a lot longer than thirty days. Who knows how long it will take to earn enough to get a bigger place? But Grandpa Sparks isn't charging me much rent, and what I do pay will be rolled into the purchase price. It's not a lot of money, but since I'm still paying three times that amount for my apartment in LA barely bigger than this, I'll take whatever break I can get.

And it will be nice to be onsite when all the construction is going on for the bookstore. With that perspective, I shoot Georgia a smile. "It's perfect."

"I know!" Georgia says over her shoulder before sliding open the curtain under the kitchen sink.

Something darts out centimeters away from her toes, and she lets out a loud yelp.

"What!" I yell over her screeches.

"Mouse!" She points to two mice scurrying out from under the sink toward the bed and screams louder before jumping on top of the kitchen chair.

Her loud "ew, ew, ew" brings Adam, Bear, and Evie running into the room while I search for a broom or something to sweep the mice from under the bed.

"What are you screaming about?" Adam growls while holding out a protective arm to keep Evie from running in.

"Mouse!" Georgia cries. "Mice! "

"Where?" Adam immediately goes into action, searching the room.

"Under the bed." I point to the other side of the room. "There are only a couple of them. Three at the most."

"If there're three, there're more." He walks softly to the bed.

I rush to the one tall cabinet, hoping to find a broom there. Bear is leaning against it, and a part of my brain registers that he's the only one not panicking. He might even be smiling.

I elbow him out of the way, then fling open the cabinet. There's no broom. Only empty shelves, except for a handful of Cheez-its and the mice nibbling on them. I gasp and slam the door shut.

"There're more in here!" I call to Adam.

Evie squeaks and jumps outside the open door while Georgia continues to squeal and dance on the chair, and I have to wonder how these two haven't ever encountered mice while demoing and renovating houses.

Adam lets out a frustrated grunt and crosses the room to check the cabinet himself. The mice scatter when he opens the door, bumping into each other as they try to escape.

"Georgia, stop screaming!" he yells, then turns to his brother. "And what are you laughing at?"

I whip my head in Bear's direction and see him pressing his fist to his mouth, his cheeks red with the effort not to burst into laughter.

"I'm curious to hear that answer, too. What's funny?" I narrow my eyes, ready for him to defend himself, but the only thing he's willing to fight is his grin.

He shakes his head and mutters. "Nothing."

I sharpen my glare on him but send an order to Evie. "See if there's a broom in the shop."

I don't have a plan, but a broom seems like the best weapon against mice, even if I don't know what I'll do with it. Sweep up the mice? Scare them to another part of the studio? Smash them?

All I know is I want them gone before I scream like Georgia. My police training is keeping me from freaking out, but I'm not even a fan of animated mice. Disneyland can keep Mickey and Minnie. Blech.

"There's a whole nest of them in here," Adam says, looking under the sink. "Who left all this food around?" He shuts the curtain and stands to face Bear. "I thought you said the team didn't eat in here."

That's when Georgia stops dancing and screaming. She stays on the chair but her eyes laser in on Bear. "I thought you were calling an exterminator."

The smile on Bear's face disappears at the same time his ears go pink. "He was busy."

Georgia's eyes narrow. She climbs off the chair and darts to the door, looking around for any mice that may attack. But when she reaches Bear, she stops and glares up at him. I'm struck again that despite the size difference between them, Bear's the one who's shifting nervously back and forth.

"Go. Get. Traps," Georgia says slowly, emphasizing each word.

Evie reappears with a broom that she juts through the open door without crossing the threshold. I take it from her and march to the bed. Everyone's eyes are on me as I get on my hands and knees and shine my phone's flashlight under the bed until I land on beady little eyes.

A mouse darts past me, then another, and I jump to my feet. Evie and Georgia squeal, but I'm on the hunt.

The mice run in opposite directions, so I zero in on one and stay patient. I let his confusion get the best of him until he darts in my direction again.

That's when I spring into action. I bring down the broom's bristles hard enough to trap him without smashing him. Then I squat down and lift the broom enough to grab my prisoner by the tail. Once I've got a hold of him, I drop the broom and hold up my prize for everyone to see.

Bear's not smiling anymore.

But I am.

If he's disappointed I'm not also squealing, well, that's his problem.

Although it's not disappointment I read in his eyes. It's guilt. He not only won't look at me, he won't meet Georgia or Adam's eyes either, which are also pointed at him. He's shifting back and forth with the tiny movements of more than one criminal I've interrogated.

And I have a strong suspicion he's behind this mouse mob-rush.

I guess Bear doesn't know I've taken down criminals bare-handed. I've kept my cool when threatened with a gun. I've been in high-speed chases that ended in the getaway car crashing while I've walked away without a scratch on me or my cruiser.

I was scared in every one of those situations, but I showed no fear.

So does a mouse scare me?

Maybe a little.

But nobody else needs to know that. Especially Bear.

The mouse—probably as scared as I am—goes still as I carry him across the room. I keep my glare sharpened to a fine point as I walk toward Bear. When I reach him, I hold the mouse as close to him as possible.

Bear flinches, shrinking away from the dangling mouse.

"You're not afraid of a little mouse, are you Bjorn?"

He straightens, puffs out his chest, and slowly shakes his head. "Not afraid of either of you."

We stare each other down while everything goes silent. Then I walk out the door.

I carry the mouse toward the field behind the shop. At one point, I nearly drop him when he wriggles, and I have to force myself not to shriek. When I get to the field, I set the mouse down, and he runs away.

Then I walk back to the studio. The door is closed, and everyone is standing outside of it, but I go inside to wash my hands. When I come back out, I notice my suitcase is there too.

"Bear is leaving to get traps right now," Georgia says, while Bear looks everywhere but at me. "Hopefully, we can get this taken care of in a few days. In the meantime, you can stay with Zach and me for a little longer until we know the mice are gone."

"One night should be good." I grab the handle of my suitcase and look Bear directly in the face. "I've got an idea of how to handle this problem."

I'm not getting a cat.

I'm getting a lot of cats.

One as a pet. The rest as mousers. As many as I can find.

This is farm country. I may be a city girl, but I've heard of barn cats. There's got to be somebody around who's willing to give me some. Or at least loan them out. I'm not really sure how that works. But I'm a detective. I've solved the case of who let the mice in, and I'll solve how to get rid of them.

Then I'll bring the perpetrator in to pay for his crime.

If Bear doesn't like cats now, he's about to find out just how much he hates them.