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“I’d love to see how you feed baby squirrels.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hopefully, you can help me figure it out. I’ve never done it before.”
Now I have to fight my own smile. “I’m over here trying to figure outwhyyou have baby squirrels at all, so I may not be a lot of help.”
Bear lets out a loud laugh. Mr. Whiskers darts away but stops by my door to turn around and chatter as if he’s lecturing Bear for sneeze-scaring him.
“Oops.” Bear holds out another piece of popcorn and clicks his tongue with a soothing sound that brings Mr. Whiskers back.
Studying Bear with the squirrels settles the fight between my head and heart that’s been going on since Monday.
Bear isn’t Markham. His liking my smile isn’t the same as the captain telling me to smile more. They aren’t the same person. That fact should have been clear all along, but I mistrusted my intuition.
I used to be better at listening to my gut and following my instincts about people. But Markham had a way of twisting my ability in on itself. The person I ended up mistrusting was me, when all along it should have been Captain Markham.
The squirrel sends Bear a wary look while he finishes his popcorn, but then scampers toward him for more.
“Now’s your chance!” Bear says quietly but urgently. “Run inside while I keep him occupied!”
He’s right. I’ve got a clear path to my door, and I’ve got to take it. But I don’t have to leave Bear unarmed.
I toss him the popcorn, pick up my grocery bags, then dash to my door. For the first time, I’m grateful I still don’t have a key, so I don’t have to waste precious seconds unlocking the door.
I do have to squeeze through a six-inch opening to keep Willy Wonkat from escaping. He’s standing at the door meow-barking and hissing loud enough that the squirrels should be scared. But even through the door, I hear them chattering contentedly over their feast.
A knock at my door interrupts their noises. There’s no way I’m opening it, in case it’s some kind of squirrel trick, but then I hear Bear’s voice on the other side.
“Don’t open the door. They really are harmless, but I’ve got to get back to practice.” His voice carries through the thick door, reminding me of his size and strength. That fact got lost in the gentleness he used with the squirrels.
And while I can’t ignore the questions I have about his involvement with the squirrel gang, he’s being so nice that I really want to believe this isn’t a next level tactic to scare me away from buying the shop. My gut is telling me I can trust him, but I thought that about Markham at first, too.
I lean my forehead against the door so he can hear me. “Okay…thanks for your help.”
“I’ll be back soon.” There’s a long pause, but I know he’s still there. “I’ll show you the babies then?”
His nervous request quiets my questions. “I’d like that.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” Another pause before I hear his heavy steps on the gravel.
Once he’s gone, I put my groceries away and inspect the historic status paperwork I picked up from Mr. Sparks this morning. I debated for a few days whether I should ask him to let me take it to the city council. At first I wanted to because having them designate the shop as historic is my best chance to stop Bear from convincing the city to buy the shop in order to tear it down instead.
But the more I consider the shop’s history, the more I love the idea of preserving the building. At least on the outside. I’m not opening an auto shop, but I already want to leave the garage door, so why not work around the rest of the exterior? I could leave all the outside intact, just give it a facelift, and still have my bookstore.
And as a callback to its history and original owners, I’d call it The Story Sparks.
Mr. Sparks loved that idea. I got the sense that, like Zach said, he has a sentimental attachment to the building. But healso loves his grandson, so he told me he’d only give the final approval for the designation if the city council rejected Bear’s proposal entirely.
As soon as I left his house, I called City Hall to ask what I needed to do to get the papers approved. The mayor’s secretary added me to the agenda of the city council’s next public meeting. That only gives me five days to prepare a presentation for the entire city council—and whoever else is present—about why this building should be deemed historic rather than torn down.
I set the papers on my kitchen table, trying to ignore the pricking in my chest. The fact Bear was sweet to me for five minutes and rescued me from a gang of squirrels more tame than wild doesn’t mean I should forget about submitting the paperwork. If my idea was just about beating him, I could give it up. But the longer I’m in Paradise, the more I want to stay. And ever since I thought of the name “The Story Sparks,” I’m even more committed to making this bookstore happen.
I turn away from the papers and get a can of wet food from the cabinet. I dump it into Willy Wonkat’s bowl. I’ve got to keep him happy, so he won’t wander back to Harvey’s. I also need to find a million more things to do to quiet the voice in my head, questioning whether I really want to follow through on my presentation.
I set the bowl in front of Willy when a kind of crying squeal comes from the shop. I don’t know what the sound is, only that it has to be an animal. I don’t think baby squirrels make that kind of sound, but it could be a possum—I’ve heard they scream—or some other wildlife that’s found its way in the shop and is after the baby squirrels.
There’s no chance I won’t investigate. I’m a detective. It’s my job.
Willy Wonkat is busy eating, so I run to the shop door and open it a crack. I see nothing unusual, but the squealing sound is even louder now.
