Julia Brewster had owned a bookstore. It had been small. Not hugely successful. And the first books she’d placed on her shelves had been the twelve books she’d written about a curious penguin named Monty. In fact, the first title had been just that. Monty the Curious Penguin.
Nell could still remember the vaguely dusty smell of the books as well as her horror when her father had sold the store and most of its contents lock, stock and barrel only months after her mother died.
Nell had spent years tracking down the Monty books. She had recovered them all except one. The tenth. Monty Meets Mary. In the eleventh book, Monty and Mary get married. And in the last book of the series, they have twin baby penguins.
Nell trailed her fingers along the colorful dust jackets, pausing between volumes nine and eleven. The books had been mildly successful for the two years when they’d been published thirty years ago. But there had been only the one printing and the publisher had gone out of business when Nell was still a teenager.
She’d finally had to give up on ever finding a copy of Monty Meets Mary.
Shaking off her melancholy, she placed the books in an empty box that she’d picked up at the grocery store. It smelled vaguely of the apples that it had originally contained, but that was better than bananas. And Nell had no room to be picky. With the books packed, she tucked in a few winter sweaters that she didn’t figure she’d need in the next month, and carried the box downstairs.
She was just in time to meet the mail carrier, who seemed consternated over Nell’s open door—it meant he couldn’t push the postal items through the mail slot. She leafed through the small stack he’d finally put in her hands. Circulars and bills.
Sighing, she tossed them onto the side chair. It was the only piece of furniture left in the living room after Ros had taken her stuff.
Until the room was nearly empty, Nell hadn’t put much thought into the fact that her roommate had chosen and paid for nearly everything on the first floor of the condo. Ros had liked a particular style and could afford to get what she’d wanted and Nell had never had a reason to argue with her.
She didn’t even own a television. Not that she really needed one. A person could get all the news they wanted on their phones these days and Nell had always been more of a reader than a viewer.
With a legal pad and a pencil in hand, she took her glass of water and went out the back door to sit on the step. She drew a line down the center of the page. She wrote Stay at the top on one side of the line and Go on the other.
Then she began to enumerate every point she could think of on each side of the decision.
Unfortunately, the exercise didn’t garner any information she hadn’t already thought of. She tossed the yellow pad of paper onto the cement step beside her and propped her elbows on her knees.
“You look like you’re still fourteen years old.”
She jerked, turned around and looked up to see Archer standing on the threshold of the back door. Apparently he’d just waltzed right through the apartment, meaning he’d been in her condo twice now in the span of six weeks. It was a record. And she was far less shocked to see him than she ought to have been.
“What are you doing here?”
He held up a package wrapped with brown craft paper and twine. “A care package from Meredith for Ros. But considering the lack of furniture in there, I’m assuming she’s moved. Naturally, she wouldn’t bother informing us about it. So I don’t know where to take it.”
“Could take it to her office,” she pointed out waspishly.
“Yes, but then I’ll have to breathe the same air as her father, and I’ve already suffered that experience more than once this year. You know, anyone and their mother’s brother could walk in through your open front door.”
“Anyone did.”
He leaned over and picked up her glass of water, then sat down on the step beside her.
She gave him a frowning look. “Seriously. What do you want?”
A hint of annoyance clouded his perpetually amused expression. “Seriously, maybe I don’t want anything. That so hard to believe?”
“You are one of the busiest attorneys in the state.” And how he managed it with only a few employees based in Denver totally escaped her. “You probably bill by the half second.”
His lips twitched. “Every other minute.”
She rolled her eyes, then reached past him. “Give me the pad.”
He handed it to her.
She flipped to the next page and quickly wrote out Ros’s new address. Then she tore off the page and extended it toward him. “She’s living with Jonathan these days.”
Archer glanced at the address, then folded it into a square that he pushed in his back pocket. His shoulder brushed against her when he did so and she tried hard not to react.
“How’s the job hunting?”
She shrugged and was glad that her Stay/Go list was flipped over and away from his too-observant eyes. “Haven’t found the right fit just yet.”
He sipped her water as if he had every right to do so. “What really happened between you and Pastore?”
“I told you.”
“You said you didn’t make partner. That doesn’t explain why he’s been dropping little nuggets here and there about your professional fitness.”
Her face burned. “Maybe I’m not fit.” She hadn’t yet reported Martin’s actions on the Lambert estate to the bar association, and it should have been the first thing she did. But Ros had been right about one thing. Lambert’s wishes with regard to his estate had been ultimately fulfilled regardless of the money Martin had accepted to manipulate the probate.
“Don’t be stupid.” For the first time, Archer looked and sounded impatient. “You’re a good lawyer. Better than Pastore deserved, for damn sure.”
Her eyes
