Free Pineapple Lies by Amy Vansant

thought Declan’s restaurant repurposing idea was clever when she met him, but now she wondered if it wasn’t a little confusing. How many people pulled into the parking lot searching for burritos, only to find creepy antique dolls and jewelry? Maybe he should sell food, too. He could have stuffed deer heads with hot dogs balanced on their antlers…serve everything on an endless supply of antique candy dishes…
    She made an illegal U-turn and pulled into the shop’s parking lot. An avalanche of nerves rumbled through her body. Declan was easy to talk to, she had nothing to fear, but she felt weird around him, as though he kept catching her looking at him. When she talked to other people and they looked at her, it felt normal; after all, she was having a conversation with them. When she talked to Declan and he looked at her with those impossibly green eyes, she felt… caught .
    “I’m being silly,” she said aloud.
    She’d so wanted to dismiss him as a money-hungry ambulance chaser, but he didn’t seem like a ghoulish type. He seemed nice. Maybe even a little sad and vulnerable. In addition, didn’t Darla and Mariska go to estate sales all the time to buy items from the dead? Wasn’t that the same thing?
    But wait! Half the residents of Pineapple Port thought Declan was gay, so the idea of coupling with him might be more impossible than it already seemed. Granted, she didn’t think he was gay, but then, she was less likely to jump to conclusions than the denizens of the Port. They thought any man who used hair gel was gay. They probably took one look at Declan’s well-manicured nails and never looked back. Most of them had grown up in a time when a man who wore matching clothes was suspect.
    Charlotte took a deep breath and opened her car door. She needed to talk to Declan. She had every right to be there. Nay, she was honor-bound to be there! First, she didn’t feel right attending the Corpse Committee without his blessing. Of course, she also didn’t feel great about telling him her neighborhood had a Corpse Committee .
    Second, she needed to tell him about the bullet. He deserved to know about any evidence that could help solve his mother’s murder.
    Charlotte opened the shop door to the sound of a bell ringing. Not a gonging bell, like the shape of the building might imply; but an old-fashioned tinkling retail bell tied to the door hinge. The store appeared empty of people, but stuffed with rows of furniture and trinkets. As she stepped inside, she stopped to admire a huge armoire that appeared large enough to lead to other lands. Her mind wandered. Did French children called C.S. Lewis’ book The Lion, the Witch and the Armoire ? What was the French word for lion? Was it Lyonnaise? No, that was a kind of French fry. She definitely didn’t know the French word for witch… Le witch?
    “Hello?”
    Charlotte jumped and found Declan standing beside her.
    “Why are you always sneaking up on me?” she asked, her hand pressed against her rapidly beating heart.
    “I’m pretty sure you just came into my store. I didn’t sneak my store around you .”
    Charlotte let her gaze drop from his eyes to his toes and back again. He wore a red polo and khaki shorts; the polo once again hanging neatly from the slope of his perky pecs.
    So the blue polo wasn’t responsible for making you look well built.
    It had to be what was underneath the polo.
    Dammit.
    Charlotte cleared her throat and looked away.
    “That would be quite a trick,” she said.
    “What?”
    “Sneaking your store around me.”
    “Oh. Right. That’s my point.”
    Declan looked away and then came back to her.
    Why do you look flustered? We can’t both be flustered.
    “Sorry, you’re right. My fault. My mind was a million miles away,” she said, largely to keep herself from saying something even more awkward.
    “That happens with you I’ve noticed.”
    Charlotte nodded.
    “Old habit,” she muttered, looking around the store to avoid his