Chapter 11: Eleven Years Left

On Saturday morning there was a line outside Garrard & Daughter, and none of it was for me.

I saw it from the corner with a coffee in my hand.

A dozen people stood on the sidewalk under the green awning, and Darby was handing out paper cups.

She waved at me with a whole sleeve of cups.

"Where did these people come from?" I said.

"The recording," she said. "Two million shares."

"Half of Pittsburgh knows your name, and the other half is pretending it doesn't."

A woman in a puffer coat held up a bouquet of grocery-store carnations.

"I want to buy flowers for my daughter's graduation," she said. "From you. Not from the grocery store."

"I only opened at nine," I said.

"I know. I'm early."

I laughed, and it did not hurt.

I unlocked the door and let them in, and for forty minutes I was too busy to think.

At ten past ten, the bell stopped ringing, because someone had blocked the door.

Cornelia stood on the threshold in her camel coat.

Behind her was a man in a gray windbreaker with a clipboard.

Behind him stood a county deputy in uniform.

The customers went quiet one at a time.

"Mrs. Whitfield," I said, from behind the counter.

"Ms. Garrard." Cornelia lifted her chin. "This is a notice of lease termination."

"You have thirty days from today to remove your property."

"The deputy is here to witness the service."

The man with the clipboard held out a stapled page.

I did not take it.

"Before you hand me that," I said, "I'd like to show these people something."

I pulled the old folder out from under the register.

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