What a Girl Wants

“SO WHEN YOU left last night at midnight, everything looked fine?”

The insurance adjuster from Newark, who’d introduced himself only as Phillips, had arrived early the next morning. The area around the garage had been roped off with caution tape to prevent anyone from going near the ruins of the building. The fire crew had instructed Bailey not to touch anything or attempt to clean up until the insurance adjuster had time to assess the full extent of the damage. She understood the reasoning, but driving away the night before from the shop that had been a major part of her life for ten years and was now lying in a heap of rubble had been difficult.

“Yes. I noticed the back door ajar when I drove past, so I stopped to close and lock it.”

“An employee left a door open?” Phillips raised an eyebrow as he glanced up from his paperwork.

Bailey nodded, her jaw clenched. Nick.

“You know that your insurance wouldn’t cover theft if the premises were left unsecured?”

“Yes...but this is Brookhollow. No one would ever think of stealing anything. Heck, I’m sure if someone in town had noticed the door open, they would have just locked up themselves.” It was one of the things she loved most about her hometown—the neighborly comfort the residents enjoyed. Everyone looked out for one another.

“Maybe, but you can never be too sure,” he said, stepping over the broken glass in the metal shell of the door frame to enter the shop. “Wow, quite a lot of damage.” He studied the scene, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook.

Bailey found it difficult to look as she followed him inside, stepping over the large wooden ceiling beams that now lay on the ground.

“Yes. The fire from the vehicle spread very quickly, so the firefighters were forced to tear everything down.” An image of the fire crew using their axes and hammers to bring down the walls and ceiling flashed in her mind and she cringed. She knew they had been doing their job, but they’d destroyed everything. All she had.

The man nodded. “Happens often,” he said dismissively.

Not to her. What he casually shrugged off as just another insurance claim was one of the most stressful and heartbreaking events in her life. Bailey had worked in the shop since she’d moved out on her own at seventeen, and it had become a familiar and comfortable place. She knew what she was doing inside the shop, something she couldn’t say for many other aspects of her life. Memories were buried within its walls and the building had stood in Brookhollow for over forty years. Noticing her calendar sticking out from under the charred desk, she bent to retrieve it. She dusted off the image of the St. Mark’s, the August picture on the calendar of Italy that Ethan had given her for Christmas to keep her motivated to save for her trip. Rolling the calendar, she tucked it into her back jeans pocket.

Inspector Phillips continued to walk through the rubble, making several notes, until he stopped beside the charred Volkswagen Jetta. “This was the one that started the fire?”

“Yes.” The one she never should have towed.

“Fire report says it had caught on fire on the highway the day before, as well.”

It wasn’t a question, so she remained silent. No doubt Ethan’s report was detailed. Her palms sweat slightly.

“You were advised not to bring it here,” he continued to read. “In Newark, a vehicle like this would have been impounded and deemed undriveable by the police.”

This wasn’t Newark. “We don’t have an impound lot and I couldn’t leave the man stranded.” She fisted her hands at her sides. Maybe she should have called the police at the time, but it had been her first experience with this kind of thing. Unfortunately, her ignorance had cost her the shop. “The danger seemed to be past....”

“But the firefighter on the scene thought otherwise,” he said, glancing at her, a look of disapproval behind his dark, thick-rimmed glasses.

“I made a judgment call,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive.

“The wrong one, it seems,” he said, then continued on before she could say anything else. Not that she had a great case. “Based on these fire inspection reports, it wasn’t the first suggestion you ignored.... A sprinkler system was recommended on numerous occasions.”

“The upgrades weren’t exactly in the budget.”

“I don’t think I need to point out the irony there.”

That was enough. “Did any part of your training teach you to have at least a little compassion for the business owners you are dealing with?”

He stopped, dropping his folder to his side. “Ms. Sheppard, I understand that this is the first time you’ve had to deal with this sort of thing, but try to see this from my tired perspective. Every day I see situations just like this one with people gaming the system. I’m not saying that is the case here, but let’s go over the facts....” He paused and scanned what remained of her garage. “This place is at least forty years old. It needs upgrades. You just bought it from...” He skimmed his paperwork. “A Doug Sheppard—your father?”

“Uncle.”

“You just bought the place from your uncle a month ago and you brought in a vehicle that you knew was a potential fire hazard?”

Put that way, it did look suspicious.

“Look, I’m not saying that I think you did this on purpose, but forgive me if I follow protocol on this one.”

This was not good. “So my claim may be denied?”

“That’s always a possibility, but I’ll do my best to try to find something...anything to make this claim not look so much like a fraud.”

* * *

FRAUD. THE WORD rang repeatedly in her head as Bailey parked her motorcycle outside of Joey’s café on Main Street a short time later. In twelve hours, she’d lost her business, and was suspected of arson and fraud. Fantastic.

Right now Main Street was quiet, as most of the shops didn’t open until nine o’clock. Bailey always loved the street at this time of day when the buildings blocked the sun’s heat, casting a shadow over the brick-patterned sidewalk. Everything was calm. Within an hour, the merchants’ displays would extend onto the walkway and the cafés would set up their outdoor seating areas and colorful umbrellas, ready for business. But today she couldn’t enjoy the peace, desperate to get inside where her coffee waited.

Removing her helmet, she waved to Pearl Richards, who was flipping the sign on the door of her flower shop, Pearl’s Petals, to Open. The family-owned business was located in one of the oldest buildings in town on the corner of Main and Temple Streets. Pearl was the great-granddaughter of the original Pearl who’d owned the store eighty years before. She’d not only inherited the pretty name but the store as well, when the older woman had passed away. That’s how things worked in Brookhollow. Businesses were kept in the family.

“Bailey.” Pearl’s greeting was terse as she hung several potted plants on an iron hook above the door before hurrying inside.

Weird. Bailey usually exchanged pleasantries with the woman on Sunday mornings before her weekly breakfast with her dad and brothers. It was just as well; she wasn’t really in the mood to chat after the meeting with the insurance adjustor.

Entering the fifties-style diner, Bailey scanned the crowded room for her family. The Sunday-morning breakfast was a tradition they’d started when she and the boys had still lived at home.

“Hey, Bailey. Your dad’s just in the kitchen, checking out a leaking pipe under the sink. Your brothers are sitting at your usual booth near the window.” Tina Miller set the tray of steaming coffee cups she carried onto the nearest table, then reached forward and enveloped Bailey in a tight hug.

The smell of the woman’s lavender perfume made her eyes water.

“I’m so sorry about the garage...and we were all so relieved to hear no one was hurt.”

“Thank you. It’s been a tough morning,” Bailey admitted, the tray of coffee tempting her to reach out and grab one. With literally no sleep at all the night before, it was a wonder her eyes were staying open.