research on her hadn’t turned up any family connections apart from the Crown’s previous owner, Jack Bateman. “Need a hand?”
Arty looked up and grinned. “Mr. Patel, good morning.” He stretched his back and winced. “My guy who usually loads the truck is off today. If you don’t mind...?”
“Just Shane, please.” He placed his own bags on the ground and hefted one of the heavier boxes into the van.
“And just Arty to you, young man.” The grocer craned his neck and spine with an audible pop. “Thing about getting older, you feel a lack of sleep a lot more keenly.”
The man had unwittingly provided the perfect opening for Shane’s queries. “Did Ms. Bateman have any more issues after I left?”
“Mira? Not at all. In fact, the sheriff tracked one of those kids down already. Local boy, barely sixteen. Ralph will probably be calling on you to ID him later.”
“How was Ms. Bateman after I left?”
“Mira’s tough,” Arty reassured him. “Gets it from her grandpa, God rest his soul. Stubborn as a mule. If I haven’t said it, thank you for rushing to her rescue.”
“It was nothing.” After all, he’d been the one who needed rescuing in the end. “I’m glad to hear she hasn’t suffered from the incident.”
Arty regarded him speculatively. “So you’re here ’cause you want to buy the Crown?”
“The company I represent has been pursuing Ms. Bateman the past six months, but so far, she’s refused all offers.”
“Yeah, she showed me the letters.” His tone revealed nothing of his opinion. “What’re you doing with the property once you get your hands on it?”
“I think you’ll like it. Sagmar has plans for a twelve-story living complex with ground-floor retail space, more than sixty family-sized units—”
“Condos,” Arty summarized with a frown.
Shane smiled tightly. For some reason, people reacted negatively to the term. “Well, yes, but—”
The grocer gave a dry chuckle as Shane handed him another box from the shopping cart. “You may have spent summers here, son, but clearly no one told you that you need to get to the point around these parts if you want to try to sell us anything.”
“My team has spoken at length with the mayor about redeveloping that vacant block. This project has been in the works for a long time.”
The older man shrugged. “I’m not sure people will welcome a condo as readily as you think. We’ve had a lot of change around here lately—all the water main construction, the wind turbines, the old businesses shutting down...it’s been difficult. Putting up condos, though, is another thing.”
Shane knew that. No matter where Sagmar built, they always faced opposition from not-in-my-backyarders—or NIMBYs—environmental groups, heritage preservationists, even religious groups. His specialty was answering questions, presenting facts and changing minds. It was why he was the top negotiator at the firm. His record for closing the deal was perfect; he wasn’t about to break that streak.
He finished loading Arty’s van. The grocer offered him a ride back to the B and B, and Shane accepted.
“I’d like to give Ms. Bateman a gift to apologize for my intrusion last night,” Shane ventured as Arty drove. “Would you happen to know what she’d like?”
Arty scratched his chin. “To be honest, I don’t know that a gift would get you out of the dog house. I did mention she’s stubborn, right?” He sent him a loaded though not unfriendly look. “But you can’t go wrong with flowers and chocolates. Women like those. Visit the Main Street Florist. Talk to Janice. She’ll take care of you.”
Shane suppressed a smirk. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the old man was trying his hand at matchmaking. Not that he wasn’t above a little flirting to grease the wheels on the deal—a smile and a wink could be just as effective as a firm handshake. “Main Street Florist. Gotcha. Thanks, Arty.”
* * *
“FLOWERS AND CHOCOLATES?” Janice Heinlein rolled her eyes. “Really, Arty, that’s about as subtle as telling him to buy her a diamond ring.”
“Don’t see what’s the big deal. And anyhow, I’m sending business your way. Can’t argue with that, can you?” He picked up the bucket of bouquets the florist had put together for his shop. Janice could have sent one of her boys to deliver them to the grocery store directly, but he liked to visit when he could and see her in her natural habitat—a rare orchid among dandelions.
Now that’s what you call maudlin claptrap, he scolded himself for his bad poetry. Jack would’ve laughed him out of the store.
“You know, if he gets here before you’re gone, he’ll know you’re up to something.”
“Up to something? Me?” He grinned. “Whatever could you mean?”
“Don’t play coy.” She gave him a lopsided grin. “You want Mira to find a man.”
Arty smirked, not denying her allegation. They’d both worried over Mira since Jack’s death. She’d had a rough start to life, and as much as she’d grown and matured, she’d never really come out of her shell entirely and had only seemed to retreat further since her grandfather’s death. Finding a man who’d look after her wasn’t out of the question, but he wasn’t entirely ready to push Mira out of her comfort zone, either. The girl was sensitive.
“If you want my advice, you need to steer the man toward other avenues. Women like men who put a little thought and creativity into their gifts. Miriam needs more than fresh-cut flowers if you want her to be wooed out of that cave of hers.” Janice shook her head. The sunlight through the flower shop window made her white-blond hair glow as it tumbled around her ears. Arty longed to touch her. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets instead. “Anyhow, what makes you think this Shane Patel is any good for her? Sounds like he’s only after her property, and I doubt he’s the kind to stick around.”
“A man knows when another man is interested,” he said firmly. “He lit up like a lightbulb when he saw her last night.”
“Maybe it was just the paint from that paint gun. You should take that thing away from her before someone loses an eye.”
“And do what? Give her a real gun? She needs some kind of protection, but hell if I give her anything worse than a BB.”
“What she needs is to move out of that place.” Janice huffed. “I know Jack would be grateful for how you’re looking out for her, but he wouldn’t have wanted her alone in that old theater for the rest of her life.”
Arty’s chest ached, hearing Janice’s wistful tone. They all missed Jack Bateman. Miriam’s grandfather had been a fixture in Everville, a grinning beanstalk of a man who was as at ease camping with his granddaughter as he was running the projector at the Crown. He and Arty had been friends since childhood. The man would have known better how to handle Mira.
“I think Mira is happy,” Arty said gruffly. “Her definition of it, anyhow.”
“She
