Chapter 12
THE SHOP BELL tinkled and Genevieve groaned quietly to herself. She was on her knees behind the counter, and while she’d like to think that it was a customer, so far this morning all she’d had was a steady trickle of people popping in en route to the post office or the Spar, looking for updates on Conor Kelly’s situation.
Gen had absolutely no idea how or why everyone thought she would have the latest news from the hospital, but it seemed linked to her being admin of the forum. That made less sense still, but then the local gossips didn’t always take logic as the first path.
She’d even had someone call in to complain about a loose dog down beside the pub. She had no idea why that should be her problem.
Perhaps she should put up a sign charging for citizens’ advice.
Crawling backwards from her inspection of the deep drawer under the counter where she held lay-away items for anyone who needed to spread payments – a totally ridiculous idea in Clarissa’s book – Genevieve looked out over the top of the counter.
‘Good morning, Katie-Lou, what brings you in on a Friday? Have you got a few hours free to help me out?’
Pulling the skirts of her flowing dress up around her so she didn’t step on them as she stood up, Gen struggled to her feet in a jangle of jewellery. As she appeared over the top of the counter, Katie-Lou jumped sideways as if she’d been caught with her hand in the sweet jar.
What on earth?
Standing in the middle of the shop with her baby pink handbag looped over her elbow and her phone in her hand, Katie-Lou had turned a delicate shade of pink herself. Obviously up to something, she swished her long, white-blonde hair over her shoulder and laughed in that slightly insane, giddy way she had that drove Clarissa nuts.
‘No, I was just . . .’ She raised her heavily darkened eyebrows innocently and pointed at the chessboard laid out on the mahogany dining table that dominated the central section of the shop. ‘Did you notice someone’s moved these pieces?’
‘Don’t touch them.’ Gen’s reaction was a little too explosive. ‘Sorry, that’s Clarissa’s pet project.’
Katie-Lou looked at her, frowning hard. ‘Oh. I see. I’d noticed they’ve moved a bit before. I, er . . . Sometimes I moved them, too. Is that bad?’
Gen faked a smile. ‘It’s fine, Clarissa seems to keep track. Just perhaps don’t touch it?’
How many times had she said not to go near the board?
Gen resisted the temptation to roll her eyes, and instead took in Katie-Lou’s freshly applied fake tan, emphasised by a white gypsy top and skin-tight jeans, shell-pink toenails peeping from her high-heeled mules, matching her long fingernails.
Katie-Lou took a step backwards, both hands raised in the air in mock terro
