Things I should not do when meeting a septuagenarian:
- Jump on them.
- Lick their sweet, wrinkly, old face.
- Knock off their hat.
- Attempt to eat their hat.
- Succeed in eating part of their hat.
“Capone, leave Mrs. Norris alone.” Miss Josie grabbed my collar and pulled me away from the elderly woman who’d entered the shop. “Sit.”
I jumped at the harsh tone of her voice. I hadn’t meant any harm. I wanted to greet my new friend, but I’d never seen anyone quite so wrinkled before, or so small.
“It’s quite all right, dearie,” said our visitor. “I like dogs. But when I heard you had a puppy, I didn’t expect such a large one. Is he dangerous? He won’t bite, will he?”
“No. Capone will lick you though, and sometimes he destroys private property.” Miss Josie picked up the rather large hat I’d knocked off Mrs. Norris’s tiny head. “I’m so sorry about your hat, Mrs. Norris.”
Curse my insatiable curiosity.
I’d crushed the brim of the hat and dented it on one side. I also stepped on it, sat on it, and ate one of the beautiful feathers decorating the top. I already regretted that particular decision. It hadn’t been as tasty as it looked.
Mrs. Steele came rushing from the back. “Are you all right, Henrietta?”
Mrs. Norris smiled at her. “I’m fine, Lucy. He didn’t mean any harm. What’s the sense of owning a haberdashery if you can’t fix your own hat?”
“Speaking of which,” said Miss Josie, wincing at the damage to the hat, “how are things going at your shop?”
“It’s been challenging lately. I love the new coffee shop, but…” She paused, as if not sure what to say. “Well, parking has always been a headache, but now it’s nearly impossible. I’m managing, though.”
Poor Mrs. Norris. I felt sorry for her. I also felt kind of queasy.
Note to self: Do not eat feathers from old ladies’ hats.
“You and Mr. Bartleby were good friends, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Norris put a hand on the frothy bit of lace near the collar of her blouse. “Dear, sweet Benjamin. I miss him so.”
“Me, too,” said Miss Josie. “Did he ever mention anything to you about having a safety deposit box inside the shop?”
“Isn’t a safety deposit box usually found in a bank?” she asked, her voice tight. Something in her demeanor had changed. Maybe she was annoyed at Miss Josie for asking so many questions, or maybe she was annoyed at me for eating part of her hat. It was probably the latter.
“He specifically said he had one in the shop. If it exists, I’m hoping it might contain his most recent accounting ledger.”
“Oh, that man,” said Mrs. Norris, rolling her eyes. “Organization was never his strong suit, and it only got worse as he got older. Such a brilliant person, and yet fighting a battle against the one enemy we all face.”
“Which enemy?”
“Time,” she said with a little smile. “The problem is you always think you have enough of it.” She sounded so melancholy, I gave her a lick on the hand. She tasted strange, like talcum powder and menthol joint cream. She patted my head. “You’re a rather nice puppy when you’re not trying to eat my hat.”
“I apologize,” said Miss Josie. “Again.”
Mrs. Norris waved her words aside. “No worries, dear. But I got so distracted, I didn’t tell you my news.” She took a long, deep breath. “I’m closing the haberdashery.”
Miss Josie’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why?”
“Well, because I’m nearly eighty. I love my shop, but I want to enjoy what time I have left. The offer from First Impressions came at the right moment.”
Miss Josie, who’d been sorting piles of books, froze. “What offer from First Impressions?”
Mrs. Norris scratched me behind the ear, my favorite spot. “This branch is going to be their flagship. They talked about it at the last city council meeting a few months ago.”
“I missed it,” said Miss Josie. “I had the flu. What did they say?”
A customer entered the shop and browsed through a display on local history. When Mrs. Norris spoke, she kept her voice low. “It wasn’t so much what they said. It had more to do with what I saw. They brought their expansion plans with them. Eventually, they’ll need a bigger place, you see, and city ordinances don’t allow buildings over three stories tall on the main street. They don’t have a choice.”
Miss Josie’s eyebrows furrowed into a worried frown. “Their expansion plans included tearing down your lovely shop?”
Mrs. Norris reached out and placed a wrinkled hand over Miss Josie’s smooth one. “Not only my shop, pumpkin—your shop, too.”