Page 22 of Shadow Justice

Reid accepted the correction. Holly was willing to let him protect her. That didn’t give him permission to manage her, even when the impulse came from concern rather than control. He found the storage shelf Maya had shown him earlier, carried out napkins, cup sleeves, and stirrers, and restocked while Holly checked the register and the order tablet.

“We have soup, fresh bread from the bakery, and brownies,” Holly said, grabbing three bowls. “Employees who work six hours or more are entitled to lunch. We eat in shifts.”

The soup was good, the bread better, but he declined the brownie.

The afternoon slid toward evening with a deceptive smoothness. A few customers came in for coffee to go. Two women split a cinnamon roll at the window table and argued about a school board decision. A man in work boots bought three sandwiches and a black coffee, then left a five-dollar tip in the jar without a word.

Reid kept to the tasks Holly gave him and watched. He learned the rhythm of the room by doing what needed done: clearing cups, refilling the water station, wiping tables, replacing empty sugar canisters. He leaned Holly’s rhythm, too, including her easy way with customers. She seemed to know practically everyone who came through the door, and each of them smiled, told her something about their day, or made a request for their favorite pastry.

Holly noticed every time Reid did something right and commented on it, which pleased him more than it should’ve.

By five-thirty, Maya was packing up, still watching him with faint curiosity. “Are you working tomorrow, too?”

Reid looked to Holly because this was her shop, her cover, her call.

Holly didn’t miss the deference. “He is. He’ll be opening with me.”

“Cool.” Maya slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be in after class.”

“Thanks for staying late.”

Maya grinned at Reid. “Good luck with the espresso machine. She won’t let you near it until she trusts you with civilization itself.”

“I’ll work my way up.”

“Wise.” Maya waved and headed out.

When the door chimed behind her, Holly moved to the table closest to the front windows and straightened the chairs. “We have two groups tonight.”

Reid set the tub of clean mugs on the counter. “Regulars?”

“Yes. A book club meets in the front corner once a month, and a group of retired courthouse employees pushes the two long tables together and plays cards every week.”

He looked at the seating arrangement again with new context. The front corner offered a view of Main Street and the counter. The long tables sat near the community board, close enough to see anyone going to the restrooms or the back hallway.

“How many groups use the shop?”

“A few.” Her voice held a hint of pride. “Book club, cards, the knitting group, writers sometimes, a local moms’ group.”

“Any sign-in sheets?”

“No. People come, buy coffee, sit down, and talk to each other like humans. That’s generally how coffee shops work.”

He caught the edge in her voice. “I’m asking because predictable gatherings create predictable routines. Our killer may rely on that to target his victims.”

Her hand paused on the back of a chair. “These groups are part of what makes Sanctuary what it is. They’re not case notes.”

“I get that, but they’re people and their routines matter.”

She set her shoulders. She wanted to protect the shop from him turning it into evidence, but she also knew that Nell Truett and the others had come through this place and become victims of a killer. Both truths demanded space, and neither was gentle.

The book club arrived just before six in a rush of umbrellas, tote bags, and paperbacks tucked under arms. Holly’s posture changed immediately. She stepped back into hostess mode, warmth smoothing over the strain in a way that made Reid’s chest ache. She greeted them by name, complimented a scarf, remembered who drank decaf and who pretended she did. Six women and one man claimed the front corner, shedding raincoats and arranging books across the table like offerings.

Reid kept moving to prevent looking like security. He brought waters, cleared the neighboring table, and stocked the pastry case. Several of the women asked about him, and Holly gave them the cover story about why he was there.

Holly brought out a tray of cranberry muffins from the back and then went still enough that Reid noticed.

He followed her attention to the book club. A woman with silver curls was setting a paperback in the place beside her, as if marking an absence. The book’s cover was bright yellow with a botanical illustration on the front.