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without the spectacles. I’ve seen a few northwest turtles in the wild, but I’ve never tried to approach one.
    “I haven’t even been open a month.”
    “This is a tough business environment—”
    “Thanks, Harvey. I appreciate your help. But I’m confident I can make it work.”
    So that’s what he’s called, Harvey. I’ve never understood the human need for a name. Or two, for that matter.
    Harvey’s eyebrow twitches. “If it helps at all, my wife enjoys stopping in. She’ll tell all her friends.”
    “Very nice of her.”
    “But you’ll need more than her friends.”
    “I know. I’m optimistic.”
    But I sense a current of fear beneath her words.
    “Optimism. That’s a bonus in this down economy.” Harvey leaves the file folder on the counter and closes his briefcase. “Call me if you have any questions.” He takes his briefcase and heads to the door. I could leave with him, slink past his legs unnoticed, but the sad woman and the spirits keep me rooted to the spot.
    Harvey pulls up his hood as he steps out into the rain.
    Lily gazes at the door with a glazed expression, the look people get when they’re thinking too hard. She looks uptoward the ceiling, as if praying, but I’ve already seen what it took her much longer to notice. A moth, fluttering! I didn’t mean to reveal my presence, but I can’t help darting through the shop and jumping onto a table, knocking some ridiculously fragile object to the floor, where it shatters into a rainbow of tiny pieces.

Chapter Seven
    Lily
    How had this fluffy white cat slipped into the shop? Was this the shadow she’d seen, the slight movement at the corner of her eye? Was it the same cat that had scratched at the front door in the middle of the night? Had the poor thing been lurking near the cottage for days?
    For a moment, as the light caught the cat’s fur, she thought she saw an aura, a subtle rainbow of color surrounding the cat, as if the creature was not of this world. Most peculiar and ethereal—one lambent eye was blue, the other green. An angel cat.
    But when the cat moved into shadow, Lily saw merely a furry animal with dirty paws—a vagrant in search of sanctuary. The cat could be feral, sick, or rabid. And now a precious vintage tea set lay in pieces on the floor—a broken wedding gift from Josh’s mother. The jagged shards reflected the sunlight, forming a chaotic mosaic on the floor.
What a grand opening for my boutique. A tea set worth a fortune, destroyed in a heartbeat.
But then, anything beloved could shatter without warning, without hope of repair. Lily knew this only too well.
    She had to get rid of the cat, so she propped the front door open. The island air rushed in thicker than usual, like syrup. She waved at the cat, trying to shoo it toward the door. But the cat would have none of it. The stubborn creature jumped onto an antique oak table and batted at a moth. The moth must’ve been inside the shop the whole time, unless Harvey had brought in the insect as well. Now the moth fluttered upward and landed on the ceiling fixture.
    Lily didn’t have time for this, not when her shop phone was ringing. Not when she needed to set up a window display, maybe a sidewalk sale, carousels of little black dresses. She wondered what to do. Call Animal Control? Was there even an animal control in this small town? Maybe if she pretended to ignore the cat, it would go away.
    But part of her longed for a companion. What if she allowed the cat to stay? Would it keep destroying things? As Lily swept up the pieces of the ruined teapot, the fluffy creature stretched and plopped down on an original Tabriz vintage carpet.
    “No, not that one.” Lily yanked the rug away and brushed off the fur. The carpet held precious memories. Josh had found the rug, a rare specimen, at a north Berkeley estate sale in California. Now the weave was marred by muddy paw prints.
    The cat gazed at Lily then opened its mouth, but only a ragged squeak came out. She