Chapter 2
Sabrina Moreau put her cat’s carrier in the passenger seat, buckled the seat belt over it, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. She climbed behind the wheel of her secondhand crossover SUV. “Off to work, Trip.”
Tripod, her three-legged, silver tabby cat, meowed back at her.
She smiled. Trip loved going into the shop with her, and she loved having him there. It was way better than leaving him home alone. He had a bed on one of the shelves across from the register, which ensured he got plenty of pets and loves throughout the day.
The few customers who came in adored him. They usually said hi to him before they greeted her, but she didn’t mind. Especially not when she suspected some of them came in specifically to see him. And if they bought a little something during that visit, even better.
The drive into town was short. She parked on a side street in her usual space, grabbed her tote bag with her lunch, her current repair project, and Trip’s carrier. She nudged the car door shut with her foot, clicked the fob to lock it, and walked to Fiddler Street, where she took a right.
Her shop didn’t open until ten, but she always came in a few minutes early so she could watch the animatronic owl in the storefront next to hers. She had no idea if the owl was for sale or not, but she doubted the owner would want to part with it.
For one thing, the shop was called The Clockwork Owl.
Wouldn’t be right to sell the mascot. For another, it was more likely the owl was there to entice people to stop and come inside.
She wondered if that worked. Maybe she should get Trip to sleep in the front windows.
Surely a live cat beat a mechanical owl.
She believed the shop was owned by a man named Gideon, but that was about all she knew. He was never around. The only time she ever saw him was when he closed up and went home, passing by her windows on his way.
Odd way to run a business, but apparently it was working for him because the shop had been there longer than hers had. He must be doing all right.
Her store, Bits & Pieces, was only a year old. She’d moved to Shadowvale on the recommendation of a friend, who said Sabrina’s troubles would be better understood here. That there would be no need to explain herself.
Sabrina didn’t consider her need to save broken things all that troubling, but it was definitely something.
Her house, a small two-bedroom in a nearby neighborhood, was filled with projects.
Things she’d been unable to leave behind.
Things she was sure she could fix and resell.
Things that didn’t deserve to be discarded just because they had some small thing wrong with them.
Some people would probably consider her a hoarder. She hated that word. It sounded so … unorganized, unintentional, and unclean.
She was none of those things. Her second bedroom might be unusable for anything but storage at this point, but everything in it was neat and tidy. Those things just needed to be repaired.
She stopped in front of her shop and set her tote bag near the door. There was a cardboard box in front of the door. She opened it and found the pieces of a broken ceramic figurine in it. A duck, by the looks of it. There was a single sheet of notebook paper folded in half.
Didn’t matter what it said. Whatever was in that box needed fixing.
She could feel it in her bones, the pull of a broken thing.
It came over her like a siren song that could not be ignored.
And nor did she want to. It was better than the scent of freshly baking bread.
Better than hearing a baby laugh. Better than the first warm breeze of spring after a long cold winter.
She took out the note and read it. Thought you might be able to fix this. If not, please just throw it out.
Throw it away? She’d do no such thing. Even if she couldn’t fix it or the pieces weren’t all there, she might be able to use it for something. What, she didn’t know, but the duck’s head in one corner of the box seemed to be smiling up at her, thanking her for giving it a new home.
Such were her troubles. With a resigned sigh, she put the box next to her tote and checked the time.
Nine fifty-nine.
“Come on, Trip.” She picked up his carrier and went to stand closer to the window with the owl. It was just about time for him to come to life.
Temperance Beeman from the art supply store two doors down came out and waved as she walked closer. “Did it start yet?”
“Not yet,” Sabrina answered. She looked at her watch. “Any second, though.”
Temperance smiled at Trip. “Good morning, you handsome thing.”
Trip rolled over in his carrier, showing off his tummy as much as possible.
The owl began to move, lifting its wings, rising up a bit off its platform, closing its eyes and turning its head, going through its usual routine, the gears gleaming, the blue glass eyes shining.
Sabrina smiled. It never got old.
“Still cool,” Temperance muttered. She headed back to the store. “Have a good day, Sabrina.”
“You too, Temperance.” Sabrina unlocked her shop, flicked on the lights, and switched on her neon open sign before carrying her cat, the box with the duck, and her tote to the checkout counter.
The lemony furniture polish she used on the nicer pieces was a welcome scent.
She unzipped the carrier and set Trip free. “There you go, baby.”
He jumped down and went to explore like he did every morning. That amused Sabrina. Did he really think there’d be something new, or was he just patrolling his domain? There were no mice that she knew of. She’d never seen signs, and Trip had certainly never caught one. Thankfully.
She took her lunch back to the small fridge in the back room, which was also filled with items awaiting repair, and put it away, then filled Trip’s water bowl with fresh water and topped off his bowl of dry food.
He’d had half a can of wet food at the house this morning, but sometimes he wanted a little nibble before dinner.
The bell over her door rang. She already had a customer. Fantastic. She went out to greet them. The man by the counter was rather distinguished-looking. “Welcome to Bits & Pieces. Looking for anything special today?”
He was barrel-chested and stocky with salt-and-pepper hair, and he had an air about him that made Sabrina happy he was smiling. A scowl might have made her not want to leave the back room. He nodded. “I am. I’m looking for Sabrina Moreau, the proprietor of this shop.”
“That’s me. What can I do to help?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Moreau. I’m Beckett. I understand you have a way with things. Especially older things in need of repair.”
She didn’t know the man, but there was something familiar about the name. “I do my best. Do you have something that needs fixing?”
“My employer does. It’s an antique music box and a recent purchase. It’s very old and not in great shape. She would very much like to see it restored to working order.” He took his phone out, tapped at the screen, then turned it around for Sabrina to see.
“Wow, that’s beautiful.” The old ceramic music box was shaped sort of like a pumpkin, baroque in style and painted with idyllic scenes of frolicking nymphs in a forest setting and shepherdesses in fields with sheep.
The paint work was badly faded, and much of the gilding had worn off.
“It looks French, possibly Victorian era.”
He nodded. “Correct on both counts. Is it something you can do?”
“I think so. I’d need to see it in person.”
“Of course. My employer is Amelia Marchand. She anticipated you’d want to see it. She lives at Indigo House, 17 Hollows Lane. You’re welcome to come any time. I’ll give you the number. Just call before you come so we know to expect you. Are you available to come today?”
Amelia Marchand. Only the witch who’d built the entire town. This was big. A job like this could get Sabrina’s shop great word of mouth and could mean serious sales. “I could come after my shift is done at six.”
Beckett made a small face. “Is there any way you could come sooner? Amelia is eager to have the clock seen to.”
“My employee comes in at two. I could probably get away then if the shop isn’t busy.” It wouldn’t be more than one person could handle—it never was—but Sabrina didn’t like admitting that.
“That would be wonderful.”
Trip came running from somewhere, meowing. Probably because he thought Beckett was a customer who’d yet to greet him. He rubbed along Beckett’s legs, making the man smile, despite the traces of silver-gray fur left behind.
“Hello there,” Beckett said. “Aren’t you a friendly fellow?”
“That’s Trip.” Sabrina cringed, wondering how quickly she could find her lint roller. “Sorry about the fur.”
“No worries,” Beckett said. “Ms. Marchand has a cat herself. Although it is a touch larger.” He kneeled to pet Trip, giving the cat a scratch under the chin. Beckett smiled and said something softly that Sabrina almost didn’t catch. “You be careful with those last eight lives now.”
He stood up. “We’ll see you around two thirty then?”
“Yes. Thank you very much.”
With a nod of his head, Beckett was out the door. Sabrina scooped Trip into her arms. “I’d better brush you.” He rubbed his head on her chin. She stared toward the sidewalk. “How did he know you’d already used up one of your lives?”
Trip had been hit by a car, which had resulted in his front left leg being amputated, something Sabrina knew because that’s what she’d been told at the rescue where she’d found him.
She’d adopted Trip because she hadn’t been able to resist him.
He was broken, after all. More than anything, though, she’d worried that he’d get passed over by people looking for a perfect pet.
She kissed the top of his head. “You’re perfect for me, aren’t you, baby?” After another kiss, she set him back down on the floor. “Let’s see what we can do for this duck.”