What a Girl Wants. Jennifer Snow

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.