Faun arrived on foot before the sun and found her way to the cash office without having to flip any lights. She focused on the neat list in her head of all the tasks of the day…. but what about King Leopold?
It had not crossed Faun’s mind once to believe the king could be anywhere but with Grant
and since Grant was nowhere to be found, it seemed a moot topic until she found Sheila’s handwritten yellow post-it note laying stuck to—right on top of the shop’s electric bill: “almost forgot to tell you—Guy called saying he is dropping off King Leopold”
which threw a wrench in her plot to stay focused on her to-do list and not get distracted
Nevermind the donation boxes of books cluttering up the path to the public bathrooms that needed to be inventoried and shelved or tossed, not a safety hazard but —by early mid- morning even this was to be evaded by a surprise policeman visit
Sullivan and Pierre Reaux both arriving through the shop’s front doors and one glaring her down as Faun dealt with a line of people whose only literary interest was reading the price out of their expected lattes
Out of nowhere, Sheila arrived too, appearing from the stacks and saying,
“I’ll take care of the line, why don’t you take Mr and Mrs Smith over there?”
“You have great timing,” Faun looked up and without argument stepped away from the counter and headed out to the floor over to the ‘Smiths’
“Can I help you with something?” Faun glanced first at officer Sullivan and then at the French Canadian
“Perhapz ve can ‘av a word in a more private eh—rroom, nes pas?”
Faun glanced at Sheila who waved with a wink and then looked over at Sullivan whose eyes looked serious
“Great,” Faun said
