The Sole Suspect (A Cobblers’ Corner Cozy Mystery #2)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Iflipped the “CLOSED” sign to “OPEN” and stepped back to survey my domain.
The shop looked exactly as it had for decades, shelves lined with an eclectic mix of vintage and modern footwear, the worn wooden counter gleaming with years of care.
Sunlight streamed through the newly replaced front window, its pristine surface erasing all visible traces of that fateful night two months ago.
Yet something felt different. Maybe it was me who had changed.
The memory of the brick crashing through my window, the terrifying message it carried, was fresh in my mind’s eye. The recollection of that incident still made me shudder. But it wasn’t just the threat that haunted me.
No, what truly kept me awake at night was the memory of what happened right before that brick came flying through my window. The heat of Dominic’s skin against mine, his scent—crisp pine and spicy cinnamon—enveloping me as we...
I shook my head, willing the thoughts away.
It had been a mistake, a moment of weakness.
Dominic Steele was the enemy, a corporate shark who’d lied to me, who represented everything that threatened my beloved Historical District.
The fact that he’d been the one to take my virginity, to make me feel things I’d never experienced before, didn’t change who he was.
Outside, Millcrest’s Historical District buzzed with pre-election energy.
Colorful campaign posters adorned shop windows, their cheerful faces a stark contrast to the tension simmering beneath the surface.
The upcoming special mayoral election had split the community, with longtime residents and newcomers at odds over the future of our town.
Adelaide Fairfax’s silver-haired profile beamed from posters promising “Preservation with Purpose,” her vintage cat-eye glasses and collection of signature brooches a comforting familiarity.
Opposite her, Blake Harrington’s polished smile and baby-blue eyes promised “Progress for Prosperity”—though something in that practiced grin set my teeth on edge.
His tailored suits and corporate success story might have charmed newcomers and longtime locals alike, but I now knew better than to trust a shark in designer shoes.
The bell above the door chimed, jolting me from my thoughts. Penny burst in, his pink hair styled in a fluffy quiff. As usual, he was a tornado of energy.
“Leo! Have you seen the latest polls?” he exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “It’s neck and neck between Adelaide and that dreamboat Blake!”
I couldn’t help but smile at my friend’s exuberance. “Morning to you too, Penny. I take it you’ve already had your morning coffee?”
Penny waved off my comment, his eyes sparkling. “Who needs caffeine when we’ve got the most exciting election in Millcrest history happening right under our noses? Come on, even you have to admit this is thrilling!”
I leaned against the counter, raising an eyebrow. “Thrilling might be a bit strong. Interesting, maybe.”
“Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket,” Penny chided, perching himself on the edge of my workbench.
“This election could change everything for Millcrest. Just think about it—Adelaide Fairfax with her decades of experience versus Blake Harrington, the charming CEO who could become our youngest mayor ever. It’s like a political soap opera! ”
I felt a twinge of unease at Penny’s words. “Change isn’t always a good thing. Adelaide knows this town, knows what we need. Harrington... well, he’s an unknown quantity, isn’t he?”
Penny’s expression softened. “Is this about the Historical District? You know both candidates have promised to protect our heritage.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Promises are easy to make during a campaign. It’s keeping them that’s the hard part.”
Penny gave a small, understanding smile. “I should head back to Vintage Vogue. Got a shipment of ‘50s cocktail dresses coming in today.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” I said, grateful for his friendship. He helped keep my mind off of Dominic by just being… well, Penny.
“Anytime. We’ll talk later, yeah?” He squeezed my shoulder as he passed, the scent of cotton candy and citrus lingering in his wake.
A comfortable silence fell over the shop, broken only by the distant sound of traffic and the gentle creak of the old floorboards beneath my feet.
I couldn’t help but think of Dominic, of his absence these past two months.
Had he left town for good? Was he still working behind the scenes for his company, plotting ways to “revitalize” our district?
Questions swirled through my mind, each more painful than the last. Had he forgotten me so quickly, cast aside like a broken shoe that couldn’t be fixed? Had another omega caught his eye, someone more polished and sophisticated than a simple cobbler?
My face burned at the memory of that night in my kitchen—perhaps my inexperience had disappointed him. The way I’d melted at his touch, gasped at every kiss... I’d probably seemed desperate, too eager.
My fingers traced idle patterns on the worn counter as these thoughts pecked at me like hungry birds.
I glanced at the antique clock on the wall, its brass hands ticking steadily.
The bell chimed again, saving me from my spiraling thoughts.
An elderly woman hobbled in, clutching a pair of well-worn loafers.
“Mrs. Simmons,” I greeted her with a warm smile. “What can I do for you today?”
She held out the shoes, a sheepish expression on her weathered face. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit hard on these old things, Leo. Do you think you could work your magic?”
I took the loafers, examining them closely. The soles were worn thin, and one of the heels had come loose. Nothing I couldn’t fix. “Of course. I’ll have them good as new by tomorrow afternoon.”
Happiness smoothed her wrinkles as her lips curved upward. “Oh, thank you, dear. These shoes and I have been through a lot together. I’d hate to part with them now.”
I watched Mrs. Simmons shuffle out of the shop, her weathered hands clutching her purse. The bell above the door tinkled softly as it closed behind her, leaving me alone with my contemplations once more.
I began working on Mrs. Simmons’ shoes, my hands moving with practiced ease. I found myself thinking about Millcrest, about the changes looming on the horizon. If Millcrest were to undergo “revitalization,” how long before quaint little shops like mine were replaced by sleek boutiques?
I finished the repair quicker than expected, the familiar task soothing my frayed nerves.
The image of Mrs. Simmons beaming at her refurbished loafers lifted my spirits, coaxing a real grin from me.
As I tucked the repaired footwear into tissue paper and nestled them into a cardboard container, the clock on the wall caught my eye.
Lunchtime already.
I fished my cellphone from my apron’s pocket, thumb finding Penny’s number without a second thought. The line crackled to life after a single ring.
“Hallo!” My friend’s upbeat tone greeted me through the phone’s speaker.
“Hey,” I called out as I flipped the sign back to “CLOSED.” “Fancy grabbing lunch at the Hideaway?”
“You know I never say no to their lavender latte!” Penny’s voice lowered slightly. “Hold on a sec while I wrap up with a last minute walk-in. I’ll be ready to go in no time flat.”
The walk to the Hideaway was short, but it gave us a chance to soak in the pre-election atmosphere of the Historical District.
The cobblestone streets echoed with a mix of familiar and new voices, long-time residents mingling with curious tourists drawn in by the election buzz.
Penny and I strolled past the quaint storefronts, their windows reflecting the bright glow of the midday sun.
“Did you hear about old Mr. Finch?” Penny nudged me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Apparently, he’s considering selling his antique shop.”
My stomach clenched. “What? But he’s been here forever.”
A group of tourists with cameras slung around their necks shuffled past, their excited chatter about the ‘charming old-world feel’ of our district momentarily drowning out our conversation.
“I know,” Penny sighed once they’d passed. “It’s this whole revitalization nonsense. He’s worried about keeping up with potential rent hikes.”
We paused at the corner, waiting for a horse-drawn carriage—one of the district’s main attractions—to clop by. The rich scent of leather and hay mingled with the aroma of fresh bread wafting from Wilson’s Bakery.
“First the vandalism, now this,” I muttered, my jaw tightening. “Has Finch mentioned anything about potential buyers? Any whispers about who he might be selling to?”
Penny absently fiddled with the lucky penny pendant around his neck, twisting it between slender fingers—a telltale sign he was mulling over some juicy tidbit of gossip.
“Well...” he drawled, glancing around us as if looking for eavesdroppers. “I did overhear him muttering about some bigwig from the city. Didn’t catch a name, but whoever it is apparently has deep pockets.”
I felt my jaw clench. “Of course they do. Rich predators, every last one of them.”
The late autumn breeze tousled Penny’s pastel pink hair. His eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint I knew all too well.
“Yeah, and they’re circling,” Penny said, tugging at my sleeve. “C’mon, let’s get lunch. My treat. I want my lavender latte fix.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. Penny and his caffeine addiction. But I had to admit, the idea of a warm, fragrant latte did sound tempting. “Alright, lead the way.”
As we made our way across the street, I glanced at the storefronts we passed, each one a piece of our community’s shared history. How many of them were at risk?