CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - Straw Love* 1 *
Ivan Barrand tacked the last of his nails to the plywood covering his broken front window.
He kept track of how many nails he used and how much paint he used to make the plywood pretty and how many times he whacked his thumb. He fully intended to bill it all to the Crossfall Police Department.
He stepped back to appraise his handiwork. It looked like a strip of flattened s**t stretched thin over a soap bubble.
Damn it.
What kind of hardware storeowner was he? He couldn’t even nail plywood. The damn thing was crookeder than a broken dogleg. He was a lousy carpenter, a worse plumber a middling painter and just forget about electronics. That was why he’d opened the store. He’d hoped something would stick. He’d hoped he’d learn it through osmosis.
Onl
