The late autumn sun slanted through the front windows of B-Sharp Vintage Records. I stood behind the counter, watching people drift through the store. My store. Today was our soft grand opening, and the turnout was better than expected. I had forgotten that in a town this size, everyone shows up to see what's new. I didn't know if they were actually interested in vinyl records, or if it was more the fear of missing out being a real thing in Flat Rock, Minnesota. Or maybe they just came for the free punch and cookies, courtesy of the Bear Claw Bakery. There wasn't much other excitement around here.

"You did good, Tony." Mason White clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm and friendly. Mason owned both White's Hardware Store and the building we were in. He was also the father of a young man I'd helped clear of murder charges two months ago. "Really good."

"Thanks to you," I said, gesturing at the custom-built record bins he'd helped install. "Couldn't have done it without the lumber discount."

"That's what friends are for." Mason took a sip of his punch and surveyed the room. "Emma and Ryan wanted to come, but couldn't make it today. They made me promise to tell you they'll visit soon."

I smiled, remembering the last time I'd seen the six-year-old. She'd been carefully examining album covers like they held secrets. "Tell her I'll save her something good."

Mason nodded and drifted toward the country section, browsing through the Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson albums I'd managed to find.

I watched him go, still adjusting to this new reality. Five months ago, I'd been an investigator with the Army Military Police. Upon returning home after my discharge, I bought a cheap box of records at an auction that turned into over a dozen more. Now, just eight weeks later, I had enough vinyl to open a store. Or at least a good start. It hadn't been the plan. Plans didn't seem to matter much anymore. The last couple of months had been spent getting the shop ready. All the cleaning, organizing, and paperwork that came with opening a business.

Brenda appeared at my elbow, holding two cups of punch. She handed me one. "You look like you're thinking too hard."

"Just wondering how I ended up here."

"You ended up here because you're terrible at saying no to Jeremiah's suggestions." She smiled, that easy warmth in her eyes that made everything feel less complicated. "And because Mason had an empty storefront and you had more records than any sane person knows what to do with."

"So, you're saying I got pressured into this."

"I'm saying that you fell into something good." She clinked her plastic cup against mine. "Cheers to falling."

She'd been my rock these last few weeks, helping however she could, even though our relationship was still fairly new.

Ms. Loring appeared beside us, holding up a Doobie Brothers album—Toulouse Street. "I haven't listened to this in ages."

"It's great," I said. "'Listen to the Music' is on there."

"Oh, I know that one. I always tune into KCHL. You know, Conrad Bishop's show, Vinyl After Dark, on Friday nights? He played it a few weeks ago." She set the album on the counter. "I'll take it."

I rang her up, still getting used to the ancient cash register Mason had found for me in the hardware store's basement. Ms. Loring tucked the album under her arm and smiled.

"The library is just down the street if you ever need anything. Research, recommendations, whatever. We're neighbors now."

"I appreciate that."

She carried her bag back into a small group of townspeople, all talking about the transformation of the once-empty space, and Caleb Novak sidled up to the counter. He worked at the pro shop at Twin Oaks Golf Club, but I knew him better as the guitarist in a local band that played covers at bars around the county.

"Nice setup," Caleb said, nodding at the store. "You thought about promoting local music? Like, having bands play here or selling their stuff on consignment?"

I hesitated. After my experience with Backroad Saints and getting their guitarist out from under the murder rap they were hanging on him, the idea of getting involved with local bands again made me uneasy. "I'd have to think about it."

"No pressure. Just putting it out there." He picked up a Led Zeppelin album from the display. "You've got good taste, at least."

"Thanks."

The man was in the middle of selling me on the idea of hosting a ‘Battle of the Bands’ when a weird noise cut through the music. Caleb and I both turned to see Kent checking the pager on his belt. The police chief caught my eye briefly, gave me a nod, and turned towards the door, hurrying out into the afternoon. Something had pulled him away, but whatever it was would have to wait. I had a party to host.

Caleb set the album back down and moved toward the rock section, browsing with the casual intensity of someone who cared about what he was looking at.

The record on the turntable—Chicago's Greatest Hits—spun through "Saturday in the Park," and Jeremiah appeared from the back room carrying a stack of albums he'd been organizing. He set them on the counter and looked at the turntable.

"Are we still letting people pick what plays next?" he asked.

"Your idea," I reminded him.

"Right. Good idea too. Keeps things interesting." He pulled an AC/DC album from the stack. "I'm putting this on when Chicago's done."

"No Beatles?" Ms. Loring asked from nearby, a slight smile on her face.

"Not if I can help it," Jeremiah said. "Overrated."

"I suppose we all have our opinions." She moved back to her conversation, clearly unbothered.

Jeremiah grinned at me. "She'll come around."

"She's the town librarian, and you just insulted the Beatles. I don't think she's coming around."

"Give her time." He set the AC/DC album beside the turntable, ready to swap it in.

Brenda turned to me from where she had been talking with Mason and squeezed my arm. "I'm going to check on the cookies."

"Okay."

She kissed my cheek and disappeared into the crowd. I watched her go, feeling that familiar mix of gratitude and disbelief that she'd stuck around through everything—the murder investigation, the chaos of opening the store, all of it.

The Chicago album ended, and Jeremiah moved to the turntable, swapping it out for his selection. The opening of "Back in Black" filled the store, and a few people looked up in surprise. I gave Jeremiah a look and turned the volume down. He rolled his eyes and walked toward the punch.

The bell above the door chimed. Delores Krensky from the antique shop next door poked her head in, surveyed the crowd with obvious disapproval, and left without a word. Outside, the sun continued its slow descent. More people arrived. It was nearly six o'clock when Stacy pushed through the door, slightly out of breath. She made her way over to the counter.

"Sorry, I'm late," she said. "I got held up closing the bakery."

"You made it. That's what matters." I glanced around. "Brenda's here somewhere."

Stacy scanned the room, then nodded. "I see her." She lowered her voice. "Hey, did you hear? Marge from Mabel's Diner texted me. She said she saw three police cars heading out of town with their lights on. East on Third Street, heading out past the high school."

"Did Marge say where they went?" I asked.

"No, she lost sight of them." Stacy looked at me. "You think it's serious?"

"It could just be an accident out on the highway." I shrugged, though the timing nagged at me. "Hard to say."

Jeremiah appeared at my elbow, holding the empty punch bowl. "We're out. Want me to make more?"

"No, I think we're good."

The music played on, and I stood behind the counter of the store, watching people browse through vinyl. My record store.

 

-End of Chapter 1-

 

 

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