Time Will Tell: A Merchant Street Mystery Series, #1

By Cindy A Christiansen

An excitable woman. A sexy homeless man. A person willing to kill for a worthless clock. Only time will tell who's in danger and who's in love.
     
Story-line: Being paranoid, Holly Waterbury just can't handle all the suspicious behavior centered on Merchant Street in Salt Lake City. Being volunteered to help her hoarding Uncle Kipp recover after a fall and finding out he has a dog is not helping to calm her excitable nature either..
     
But, it's really Zach Abberley, the good-looking, take-charge homeless man, her uncle hired to help clean up his clock shop that has Holly baffled. Just why are his teeth so white? Throw in a not-so-valuable clock everyone is willing to kill for and Holly's imagination runs wild.
     
Only time will tell just how long it takes before Holly will figure out the mysteries of Merchant Street, including the sexy homeless man.

This book is a contemporary, clean and wholesome, action/adventure romance! If you love romance, action and suspense, then you will enjoy this book! 

     

Time to buy a good book today!  

                 

"Thank you for the many enjoyable hours of reading. If you haven't read Cindy's books, please do so. ENJOY!" - 4 out of 5 Stars, Donna Jo Fong, Amazon Reviewer
     
"Enjoyed this book a lot! Cindy has a way of taking you right into the middle of the book with her making you fall in love with her characters and enjoy every moment of the story!" - 5 out of 5 Stars, Amazon Reviewer
     
"...characters had great personalities. A fun read, and a book I would recommend to others. Great setting." - 4 out 5 Stars, Secret Pearls Reviews
     
"Entertaining! Lots of laughs in this book. Really enjoyed it The author knows how to get your attention and keep it." - 5 out of 5 Stars, AHZ, Amazon Reviewer

           

Time to buy a good book today!  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragonfly Spirit Books
• Release date: Sep 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516335053

Cindy A Christiansen

Bestselling author, Cindy A Christiansen, has combined her love of dogs with her joy of writing to create an award-winning combination. Her novels always include canine characters both in the pages and on the cover, an extension of the credit she gives to her extraordinary rescue dogs for their part in helping her overcome numerous challenges. In a reciprocal gesture for their love and devotion, a portion of the proceeds from her books are donated to assist abandoned and abused dogs. She lives in Utah with her loving husband, two creative children with autism, and a pack of rambunctious dogs. Here's what her books give you: A clean read with no bedroom scenes or offensive language; a tantalizing, fast-paced plot; a story without a lot of boring description; down-to-earth heroes and heroines with everyday jobs; a rollercoaster ride of emotions you face right along with the characters; a special dog to steal your heart; a few added facts, a good message, and that important happily-ever-after ending.

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Dragonfly Spirit Books

Time Will Tell: A Merchant Street Mystery, Book 1

Copyright © 2015 Cindy A. Christiansen

First E-book Publication: August 2013

Cover design by Dawné Dominique

Edited by Lori Paige

Proofread by Renee Waring

All cover art and logo copyright © 2015 by Dragonfly Spirit Books

Dedication

To all of those who have believed in me.

Chapter One

WHAT THE... NOT AGAIN. Zach Abberley stopped his truck short of the large dumpster blocking the narrow access behind his store. He punched the palm of his hand hard against the steering wheel. Old man Waterbury. Thoughts of finding a noose and a tree occurred to him again. He smiled. The members of the merchant organization had considered the idea on more than one occasion concerning old man Waterbury. They’d deemed him public enemy number one.

Zach pulled his rusty Ford as close to the building as he could and parked. He wasn’t about to unload and carry all his furniture from here to the thrift store two doors down, especially not in this heat. He’d just have to talk to the old man and get him to move the dumpster and all the trash lying about so he could get through. After all, there was an ordinance about blocking the narrow alley, even if the old man never followed it.

Downtown Salt Lake City, especially Merchant Street, had very little accessible parking. The shop owners had been fighting the city for years to open up more parking for visitors. Their idea of help had been to complicate the streets with TRAX, a light rail system. He’d like to know how he, or his customers for that matter, was supposed to haul, say, a hundred-year-old bedroom furniture set on a train. He scoffed.

Zeke, his annoying older brother, stepped out the back door of their antique shop just as Zach stormed up.

Do you see it? Zach asked him. Old man Waterbury again. I can’t get the truck through.

His brother looked him up and down. I thought you were working here today?

I-I-I am. I’ve been working on a few pieces for the thrift shop all weekend.

You look like you belong at an on-ramp with a cardboard sign, begging for money. I’ve told you before, you’re not setting foot in here looking like that. We have an image to maintain.

Zach sighed. Yeah. He was pretty sure he’d heard that one before. He’d never let Zeke’s ranting stop him before. His brother only wore three-piece suits from the most expensive shop in town. He kept regular hair and manicure appointments, and every day he proudly wore the rare 1919 Patek Philippe 18K gold antique pocket watch that Pop had given him. He fit the image of their high-end antique shop perfectly. Zach’s Girard Perregaux 14-karat gold pocket watch remained at home in a drawer. He had other ambitions.

He rubbed his stubbled face and looked down at his stained, ratty shirt and jeans. He’d been sanding and staining furniture for his thrift shop all weekend, which was not unusual. Life had become pretty routine and predictable—work and no play. What would be the point? All women were gold diggers, and he’d given up thinking differently.

I just need to unload, and then I’ll get cleaned up, he told Zeke. Besides, you can handle things here.

Ah, there you go again. His brother took out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. "This is our family business. I’m not supposed to be running it alone. Your little sideline keeps getting in the way. Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t focus on the money. Your little thrift shop is costing us, bro."

Zach clenched his fists and then slowly opened his fingers one by one, taking in a deep breath. He’d heard it all before, not just from Zeke, but Pop too. They resented him opening up the thrift shop, especially next door to their high-end antique shop. No one could see the logic in his thinking except him. With the thrift shop close, he could help out at both places. What pieces they acquired for the antique shop that weren’t of exceptional quality could be sold at a reduced price at the thrift store to those in need.

Your little venture is a failure, his brother continued.

Not everything is about money.

So says you. Zeke cocked his head and sighed. Look, if you want to throw away your money, that’s your business. But Abberley Antiques is your bread and butter. You need to focus your attention here. His brother walked over and slapped him on the shoulder. Come on in. We’ll keep you hidden in the back, he said, grinning. Have a pastry before you face old man Waterbury.

Zach tried not to let his brother’s words get to him. They just didn’t think alike. Zeke seemed to put status and money above all else, just like Pop. Zach wanted to contribute to the world, to make a difference. Helping families in these difficult economic times was his way of giving back, and he wasn’t about to change his view on the subject. He just wished he didn’t have to do it alone. Still, despite being lonely, he was better off than unhappily married to a woman who only loved him because of his money.

Old man Waterbury had the right idea. He’d never married and lived his life just how he wanted.

Zach opened the door. Did Aunt Adele get lemon-filled?

Zeke smiled. Of course. She knows they’re your favorite. That’s why I ate them before you got here.

HOLLY WATERBURY LOOKED at her watch and scoffed. Precisely eight o’clock and not one clock in her uncle’s clock shop chimed on time...or ticked...or probably even worked right. She retrieved an elastic band from her pocket and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She exhaled at the wave of heat blasting against her skin like a boiler room furnace. Could it get any hotter this summer?

Clutter. Clutter everywhere. The sheer amount of mess left her senses overwhelmed. Clocks, clock parts, boxes, wrappers, magazines, files of paperwork, newspapers, garbage, dust, and no telling what else littered the shop to the point that she didn’t even know what flooring lay beneath the shop, or the apartment upstairs for that matter. Since the shop dated back to the late 1800s, she might even find a beautiful hardwood floor. At this point, it was impossible to tell.

Some of the stacked boxes stood as tall as her, and she felt like a mouse in a maze. She couldn’t even take a step without bumping into...useless trash. Besides feeling claustrophobic, the musty hot air made her breath drag in her throat. How on earth could Uncle Kipp live like this?

She strangled for air. Why her? Just because she’d been laid off from her job at Idaho Bank and Trust about the same time Uncle Kipp fell and broke his leg certainly didn’t mean her dad should’ve loaned her out like some work hand. She hardly knew Uncle Kipp, and her parents knew darn well she didn’t like traveling.

She needed a vacation before she started her next job. Despite the poor economy, she had landed an excellent job with her accounting degree, experience as a corporate accountant, and good references. So it was for some arc welding company in Pocatello. Accounting was accounting. And just because she didn’t need to start for another month didn’t mean she had nothing to do. Instead she found herself in Salt Lake City taking care of Uncle Kipp and his clock shop after his leg surgery.

She had arrived in town yesterday, picked him up from the hospital and struggled the rest of the evening getting him up into the apartment above the shop. Boy, what a night that had been. The doctor had adamantly insisted no stairs, but what could they do? Uncle Kipp had no health insurance and had to pre-pay his medical bills. He had no money for lodging somewhere else more convenient. Now that she’d gotten him upstairs, he’d just have to stay there until he recovered. She’d have to do all his leg work for him.

She tried to relax her stressed muscles. She’d been forced to step out of her comfort zone, and she didn’t like it. Meanwhile, she couldn’t stand all this disorder. That’s why she liked being an accountant. All the numbers lined up in perfect rows and had to balance. That’s the way things should be—logical, orderly, predictable. She scrubbed a hand over her face, wishing she were back home.

She despised all this untidiness. So maybe she obsessed a little and had to have everything just so, but it beat this disaster. Uncle Kipp had something called compulsive hoarding. He kept everything. It had something to do with being afraid an item might come in useful in the future. There. So the rest of the family wouldn’t talk about it out loud. Or Aunt Matilda’s bipolar, or Uncle Henry’s ADHD. And especially not cousin LuLu’s...well, suffice to say she was a few peas short of a casserole.

Thank goodness Holly’s dad had turned out to be the sane one in the family. If you could call loaning out your oldest daughter to your cantankerous, mentally unstable brother, any part of sane. He had said the family’s quirkiness came from his father and their Hungarian background.

Holly? Uncle Kipp bellowed down to her.

Yes, Uncle Kipp?

The converter remote to change the television station, I cannot find.

Surprise. Surprise. In this mess, a person couldn’t find an elephant in the bathroom.

The bell over the door jingled. Darn. A man with nervous eyes and tattered clothes darted inside, carrying two clocks. He glanced around, looking for a place to set them down.

Holly? her uncle called again.

Just a minute, Uncle Kipp. She turned to the customer. I’m sorry, sir. We’re not exactly open for business. Holly twirled her ponytail, mentally kicking herself for not relocking the door.

I need to sell these clocks, the man said. He moved to the counter and heaved the first clock on top of a stack of papers.

Well, my uncle owns the shop, and he’s been injured.

I need to sell these clocks, he said more vehemently. He slammed the other clock down amongst the clutter and the hammer chimed against the bell.

And I said we’re not open for business. Jeez. Forceful devil.

Holly glanced at the two clocks. She had to admit, she didn’t know a great deal about clocks, but these looked to be fine antiques to her. He shouldn’t be handling them so roughly.

Heavens above. Over the show will be before you get up here, Holly.

Look, she said, stepping closer to the man.

He grabbed for the pocket of his shabby jacket. She stiffened, wondering if he was reaching for a-a knife or gun. Of course, he wouldn’t bring in two valuable antique clocks to sell if he planned to rob the place. She took in his shifty eyes, his unshaven face and trembling hands as he reached for another coat pocket and brought out the pendulums and keys for the clocks.

Who might be down there? What must be going on? Uncle Kipp yelled.

Someone wants to sell a couple of mantel clocks, she called to him.

Give me two hundred bucks for the both, the man said, frowning his bushy brows. That’s a steal.

Two hundred dollars? Based on the price tags she had seen in the shop, one clock would easily cost that.

She cleared her throat. Let me talk to my unc—

No. Just give me the money. He did a give me sign with his hand.

But—

Heavens above. To him, give the money and come to change the channel.

She walked over to the doorway that led to the stairs. Uncle Kipp, I don’t know anything about clocks. What if—

Must I walk on my leg that is already broken? Give him the money.

Yes, she knew what it would mean. His recovery would take longer. Nevertheless, two hundred dollars?

Don’t you at least want to see— she began.

Heaven forbid I see television show. Give him the money, my niece, Uncle Kipp repeated.

Fine. Except it seemed like an unorthodox way to run a business to her. What was she saying? Just look at this place. There was nothing orthodox about anything Uncle Kipp did, her whole family on her father’s side for that matter.

She worried that she’d turn out like her aunt Matilda or cousin LuLu. How did a person know whether or not they were mentally ill? Holly had spent her life worrying about just that.

She marched over to the cash box under the counter and opened it, lifting up the drawer and pulling out two one-hundred-dollar bills. As she handed the money to the man, she could actually see him salivate. He licked at the corner of his mouth.

His hands shook, his bloodshot eyes gleamed. Thanks, lady. He slipped the money into his pocket as he darted out the door.

Holly shrugged. Strange. However, it wasn’t her clock shop. All she had to do was fulfill her family obligation by taking care of her uncle until he could fend for himself. If he wanted to buy clocks sight-unseen, that was his business. She didn’t care if she didn’t sell one clock during her stay. And to look at things, she’d be surprised if an ordinary person would even cross the threshold into this place. She knew she wouldn’t. Honestly, how had Uncle Kipp managed to stay in business all these years? She sighed. She would just have to cope until he got back on his feet, and she could get back to her own life.

She turned the lock on