The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“Yes, sir,” Faye tells him. “When I got up this morning and came down to make coffee like usual, the back door was open a hair. The rug was caught at the bottom, and that got my attention because I remembered locking it last night without having to fix it.”

“You’re positive?” Weston asks.

“Cross my heart. The rug’s old and likes to get caught on the bottom every so often. I need to buy a new one that’s not so thick. Still, I’m always careful to make sure the door is shut tight. And another thing, there’s this...”

She points to an empty blue china bowl on the counter.

“Something significant about it?” Drake asks, picking up the bowl to inspect it.

“There’s a stray cat in the neighborhood I’ve been feeding—Mr. Whiskers—and every evening I bring the bowl in and lock the door after he’s had his din-din. I did that last night like always.”

Drake sets the bowl back on the counter before kneeling down to examine the door and the doorjamb intensely.

“He’s a calico baby, barely bigger than a kitten. It’s so rare to find a calico boy,” Faye explains. “He just showed up one day crying for food. The poor thing was so scrawny I had to feed him. With Hercules living at Weston’s now, it’s nice having an animal around again, especially a free spirit.”

I loop an arm around hers.

“I’m sure it is. How about you sit down at the table and I’ll make you some tea?”

“Oh, thank you, dear. I’d like that. My heart’s been racing fit for a marathon ever since I noticed the gun was gone...”

My own heart swells with sympathy.

I lead her away from the door to this cute little breakfast nook just off the side of the kitchen with a round table and two chairs with pink padded cushions.

“After seeing that rug caught in the door this morning, I walked straight into the living room to check the front door. I knew something else was different right away. It was the old sitting chair, back in place, but a little crooked...like somebody moved it to help get to the fireplace more easily. My heart sank before I even looked up, knowing what I’d find missing.”

I find tea bags and a cup, then start the water after she’s situated.

“Weston warned me about letting strangers in the house for my sales and I’ve been as good as my word. No exceptions, not even for the folks who come to look at my things who are always so nice,” she continues. “Everything I’ve ever sold stays in the garage. Even the items I posted online, I had Weston carry them out to the garage. He just brought the oak bookcase out of the living room the other day. Funny, the young man who was interested hasn’t come back to buy it yet, even though he said he’s staying in town. But then again, these Craigslist folks can be awfully flakey...”

Weston and Drake are back in the living room, and that young man part sticks with me.

“You’ve been posting stuff on Craigslist, Faye?” I ask, just to confirm.

“Oh, yes! It’s been a godsend for keeping my sales going past summer. The librarian told me about it over at the county library. I wanted to put up a notice about my garage sale on the bulletin board there, but they don’t have a sellers’ board anymore. She said people post everything online and showed me how to do that with my phone. I got my pictures of everything for sale together and double-checked my email address. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve misspelled it, believe me,” she says with a good-natured laugh.

Ugh. There are a lot of great online markets, sure, but also no shortage of horror stories.

My stomach churns, imagining Faye getting ripped off by some unscrupulous scammer. There’s no shortage of desperate little monsters who love to prey on the elderly, even in tiny North Dakota towns.

“Like the bookcase?” I ask, checking the water on the stove.

“Yes. That young man was picking through my record collection originally. He was well dressed and rather well spoken,” she says with a smile I can’t bring myself to return.

That definitely sounds like Carson Hudson.

But would a man like him who breathes money and seems knowledgeable about flipping valuables for profit even think about resorting to petty theft? It seems absurd.

“He asked if he could see it when I mentioned my lovely old furniture. I said no to him coming inside then, but told him he was welcome back after I got my nephew to carry it outside. But he hasn’t shown up again for a second look.”

“You took a picture of it while it was in the living room, right?”

“Yes.”

“And posted it online for sale?”

“Sure.”