Chapter Three
Crystal Ridge Hardware had inhabited the same creaky upstate house for nearly eighty years. No one remembered who’d built the place or who’d lived there previously. It had, at some point, been intended to be a house and not a hardware store. People by and large felt comfortable looking for pool toys in what was obviously a kitchen and bags of mulch in a downstairs powder room.
“Mister Kriminger . . .”
Ben was heading for the back of the store when he heard the cringe-inducing title echoing behind him. “Mister Kriminger . . .”
Ben turned and found Stevie, the store manager, rushing up behind him.
“Stevie, buddy, you’re my boss . . .” Ben huffed with a forced smile. “You have to stop calling me that.”
Stevie brushed bangs away from his spot-dotted face. “It’s just how I w
