Free Carol Cox by Trouble in Store Page B

door of the mercantile and listened. Surprised when he didn’t hear any bustle of activity, he nudged the door open farther and eased his way inside. In the days following the fire, his would-be business partner seemed to have lost her initial panic and set her focus on making herself more at home in the mercantile. But today no bright greeting or lively humming met his ears—none of the relentless flurry he had come to associate with Melanie Ross’s cheerful but inexorable takeover of his store.
    Levi edged past him, tiptoeing as if he, too, was unnerved by the unaccustomed quiet. “Where’s Miss Ross, Papa?”
    Caleb shushed him and kept his own voice low. “I don’t know, son.” Let’s just be grateful for small favors.
    He shut the door softly, then took off his jacket and hung it on the nearby peg. “Keep your voice down. Maybe she’s still asleep.”
    He wouldn’t be surprised if she had overslept, considering her level of activity over the past few days. Every morningsince she’d moved into the rooms above the mercantile, he had arrived to find some new change in place—a section of merchandise completely rearranged, new displays set up on small tables scattered about the store. It reminded him of the story he’d heard as a boy about the shoemaker and the elves, where the cobbler came downstairs every morning to make some happy discovery. But the discoveries he’d been making of late weren’t pleasant ones—they were downright irritating. And they hadn’t been orchestrated by friendly elves. These annoying alterations were the work of that human cyclone of activity, Melanie Ross.
    After checking to make sure Levi had taken up residence in his fort, Caleb went to get his apron. His toe caught on some protruding object, and he had to grab at a nearby shelf to keep from falling. He looked around for the cause of his stumble and scowled when he realized he had tripped over one of Melanie’s displays. He had warned her those little tables were apt to cause some unsuspecting customer to take a spill, but she hadn’t paid him any mind. She insisted the display tables made their goods more visible and would draw more interest, and thus help increase their sales.
    It was a disaster in the making—Caleb knew it. A double disaster, since she refused to use the tables to showcase their less expensive items. No, that would be too simple. Melanie Ross’s idea of salesmanship was to bring out the more costly items that hadn’t been selling well.
    And she knew they hadn’t been selling because—in addition to cleaning, setting up a new inventory list, and devising endless ideas for “improvement”—she had been going over the store’s records after hours. Just the thought of it all was enough to make Caleb tired.
    He had no idea when the woman managed to get any sleep. She was some sort of dynamo, one that never seemed to run out of energy. He had seen a light burning in the store every night when he looked out the window of his house before going to bed. And every morning he and Levi arrived to find her busily sweeping the back stoop. Until this morning, that is.
    Apparently even dynamos ran out of steam eventually. And here was the perfect opportunity to undo some of the upheaval she had created. Caleb grinned and rubbed his hands, ready to make good use of the gift of time he’d been given. Where to begin?
    His eyes lit on the case holding the mercantile’s stock of pistols, now partially obscured by a collection of doilies and antimacassars she had arranged on the glass top. He scooped up the crocheted goods and started back toward the shelf where he kept the decorative oil lamps.
    A piercing shriek split the morning quiet, and the doilies slipped from his fingers, raining down onto the floor. Another shriek sounded, followed by the clattering of feet as Levi plummeted down the stairs and dove into his fort.
    Caleb forgot all about the doilies. He dashed toward the stairs, shooting a quick glance