Chapter Four

Pen hummed softly to herself as she opened up the can of window paint. She was about to dip her brush in when the bakery door opened.

"Morning!" Councilwoman Thurst barked as she strode in.

"Good morning," Pen said cheerfully getting up from her knees. "What can I help you with this morning?"

"We need this week's town council meeting catered," the woman said, stripping off her gloves and holding them in one hand.

"You do?" Pen asked, feeling herself flush a little. They needed catering and they'd come to her? She was flattered and stood up a little straighter.

"Mmm, Duncan's usually do it, but, well, with his current situation we took a vote and didn't think it quite appropriate."

Pen nodded in agreement even though she didn't quite agree. Mike Duncan was running for town council and, she suspected, he rather wanted Councilwoman Thurst's seat. Which shouldn't mean he wasn't eligible for catering, because what did cakes have to do with votes? Still though, this was an opportunity and she shouldn't overlook it.

She cleared her throat. "I can come up with some catering plans," she said brightly.

"Won't be necessary," Thurst said. "A few sandwiches, an urn of tea, and a plate of buns will do us nicely."

"Oh, of course."

Thurst nodded. "You'll charge us cost, of course. Bring your bills to show the treasurer and we'll make sure you get paid."

Ah, not going to make her rich then. Still, people would taste her bread, that's what counted, right? Pen beamed and thanked the councilwoman profusely before offering her a trial bun.

"I don't snack," Thurst said.

"Ah, I see," Pen said, hand hovering over the basket of buns. "Perhaps for later?"

"No, no, my meals are planned. Besides, I've got a busy day and no time for interruptions." She leaned in confidentially. "The council are applying for a development grant and we're very excited about it."

"A development grant?" Pen asked. "To develop… what?"

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it?" said Thurst. "It could go in one of a million directions. Perhaps we'll use it to rebuild the pier, perhaps for a new leisure center, perhaps a town museum. The list of options is exhausting." She said this like it was personally exhausting, like she'd been lying awake thinking of buildings to build.

"Important work," Pen said with a nod.

Thurst returned the nod seriously. "So, we'll count on you for the catering then?"

"I'd be delighted," said Pen.

"Have everything at the town hall by seven."

Majorie Thurst walked out like she had a rod down her back, walking down the high street like it was a military parade ground, and Pen grinned to herself. Surely catering a council meeting had to be a doorway to something. Or were opportunities supposed to be windows, not doors? Speaking of windows.

She found her paintbrush on the window ledge and carefully dipped it into the chalky paint, starting the first curved line in the very corner of the window. When Mr. Gupta from down the road came in, she was so involved in her painting that she had him leave his money on the counter, and when Moira Hadley came in with her youngest on her hip and leading a toddler by the hand she downright insisted that they help themselves to the jam tarts.

"These two will eat you out of house and home," Moira said.

"They're growing children," said Pen firmly. "And the tarts will go bad if someone doesn't eat them."

"It's not even lunchtime, surely someone will actually buy them," protested Moira.

Pen cocked her head to one side to survey the flower that she'd painted and smiled. "Just take a couple, for the kids."

It was half past ten when she heard the familiar whistle from the back door. She carefully scraped her paintbrush clean and laid it over the top of the paint can, wiped her hands on a rag, and went off to the kitchen to find Joe standing there a sack of flour at his feet.

"Just put it in the normal place," she said, thinking about asking him to check for mice and then deciding it was better not to. He might tell someone. Or, god forbid, hurt the creature.

Joe blushed red and didn't move. "Um, about that, Pen."

Pen stopped, putting both hands on the cool metal top of the baking table. "About what?"

Joe scratched his head. "See, if it were up to me, I'd not have a problem with it. The trouble is my boss, see? I mean, it's not as though it were a fortune, but he says every bit adds up and I'm sure it's not intentional and all, but you see there's not much I can do it about it since he says we're running a business not a charity and all."

It took a second to parse the river of words, when she did the meaning wasn't much clearer. "Come again?" she asked.

With a sigh, Joe pulled an invoice out of his top pocket. "It's probably an oversight is what it is," he said.

Pen took the paper and frowned down at it. "I thought this all went through the business account?" she said. "It's automatic, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, it got declined," Joe said, scratching his head again so that Pen was starting to wonder if he had nits.

Pen's stomach contracted. "Ugh, I must have forgotten to transfer funds over into the account," she said. She eyed the amount. "Let me get you some cash and we'll sort this out."

Joe grinned in relief. "Sounds like a plan," he said, hoisting up the flour sack and placing it easily next to the others. "Got a coffee going?" He followed her into the front of the shop.

She flicked the switch on the coffee machine and put a cup down before opening up the till and lifting the drawer to count out the notes under there. She handed them to Joe almost embarrassed until he shoved them in his pocket and she couldn't see them anymore.

"Smells good in here," Joe said, looking around until he caught sight of the windows. "Nice painting job, Pen. That window looks like a field of sunflowers."

She grinned at him. "Figured the high street could do with a bit of a glow up. Coffee's up."

"Ta." He took the cup. "Any news on next door?"

"Not so as I've heard. It can't be long now though. I just wonder who it's going to be. Mary didn't have any family that I know of."

Joe shrugged and slurped at his coffee. "I know she wasn't from town. My mum said she moved in in the late eighties or so. Before that, the place was a radio shop."

Pen chuckled. "Probably not much demand for radios these days."

He nodded in agreement. "The bookshop is a good idea and it's part of the local landscape now. I hope whoever does take it over doesn't try and make it one of those newfangled vape shops or something."

"Buy a lot of romance novels, do you, Joe?" she teased.

He blushed. "Might have read the odd one. Anyway, it makes shopping for mum's birthday easier. Mary always knew which ones mum had read and all." He sniffed. "It won't be the same without her."

"Times change, Joe, and we change with them. Not much point in focusing on what's gone and done, not when the future's bright and our options are open."

He laughed. "I get a dose of cheerful every time I come in here, Pen, you do a soul good." He drank up the rest of his coffee. "And I've got the rest of my rounds to do. I'll leave you to your painting."

Pen was merrily finishing up the rest of her painting and wondering whether or not to take cinnamon buns to the council meeting when she saw George rush past the window. She straightened up just as he barged through the front door, sending the bell into a frenzy of dinging.

"Pen," he started, then he saw the window and took a step back. "Huh. That looks… cheerful."

"That's because it is cheerful," Pen said, wiping her hands. "It adds a touch of springtime, don't you think?"

"Mmm," said George noncommittally surveying the window that was now crowded with white-painted flowers.

Pen rolled her eyes. "You'll get used to it. It's beautiful. And you didn't come running in here like a bat out of hell to admire my flowers, what's wrong?"

"Oh, oh god, yes," George said, putting a dramatic hand to his breast. "Pen, there's burglars."

"Burglars?" Pen said, shocked. "Where?"

George took a breath and stepped closer as though there might be someone to hear. "Well, I was going in to dust and open a can for Fabio when I heard noises. Actually, no, that's not the beginning of the story."

"What is then?" Pen asked, grabbing a seat and sitting down because her legs were wobbly.

"On the walk down I saw a car," he said. "A strange car, one I didn't recognize, and it was parked just right at the corner and I thought to myself, that's a strange car, I definitely don't recognize that. Then when I got to the door of the shop it was sort of… cracked open. Like not really open, but only the lock keeps it tight closed, you know? I was always after Mary to fix it."

"Right," Pen said slowly, thinking that things might not be quite as dramatic as George thought. "And then?"

"And then I heard noises. I don't know what, there's nothing there to steal. But I definitely heard someone swear. Well, I heard someone trip over a box and then swear."

"Man or woman?" Pen asked.

"Woman," George said, shifting uncomfortably. "But burglars can be women. Equal opportunities and all that."

"George… do you think you might be over-reacting a tiny bit?" Pen asked, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing.

George flushed. "Oh god, you think… You think it might be…"

"Well, it could be the new owner," Pen said. "I mean, that would make sense, wouldn't it?" She stood up. "How about we go and have a look?"

George drew himself up to his full height which brought him more or less exactly as far as Pen's earlobe. "Alright," he said. "But I'm taking one of your big pans, just in case."