Chapter 4

[I've never once seen her out there working. Her yard is spotless. Not a speck of sawdust anywhere. She buys plywood online and glues the urns together. She'll do anything to make a dirty buck.]

Doug suddenly spoke up: [Now that I think about it, Bridget isn't even from here. She wandered in as a kid, and the old carpenter took her in. We took her in out of the goodness of our hearts, and this is how she repays us? Kick her out! Someone like that doesn't deserve to live in Millbrook!]

The rest of the group piled on.

[Yeah, kick her out!]

[Get out of our town!]

[A crook like her has no place here!]

They even hung a banner outside my shop.

[Fraudulent merchant sells fake urns! Get out of our town! Justice for Millbrook!]

My heart went completely cold. I found the business card and called Neil. "Mr. Compton, I've made my decision. I would like to take you up on that partnership."

The next morning, I packed my things and rolled down the shutters.

Trish and Doug were standing across the street, watching. Trish was leaning against a wall, arms crossed. "What did I tell you? A crook never lasts. She kept trying to hold on, but in the end, she's still running off with her tail between her legs.

"She thought she could go up against me? Not in this lifetime."

Doug's face was full of resentment. "Ungrateful piece of trash! After everything this town did for her! Good riddance! Go wherever you want! Millbrook doesn't need you!"

I did not so much as glance in their direction. I walked straight to the bus stop and boarded the next ride to the city.

…

Three days later, I was scouting locations for the new shop with Neil when my phone buzzed.

Trish and Doug had taken Gail and Hank to her cousin Mitch Torrance's shop. They had posted photos in the group chat.

Gail was gushing: [Now that's craftsmanship. You can tell just by looking. This is the real deal. Trish, your cousin runs a shop this nice and you didn't introduce us sooner? All that money we wasted at Bridget's..."

Hank said: [You can see every single feather on the doves, every little detail. It has real weight to it, too. The wood looks premium, nothing like that flimsy cheap stuff. This is top of the line. My mom would love this.]

Mitch sent a smiley face: [We only use the best materials, and every piece is hand-carved and polished by experienced craftsmen. Multiple rounds of sanding and finishing, no corners cut.]

Trish was smug as ever: [You can see the difference right away. The quality alone is worth the price. Not like the work of a certain someone. She paints plywood black and calls it ebony. If you're going to con people, at least make it convincing. Who buys real ebony for 50 dollars?]

Gail rallied the group, typing: [From now on, everyone should go to Trish's cousin Mitch. He carries all the latest styles from the city. And since Trish put in a good word, he's dropping the price from 2,000 to 1,500 dollars for all of us. No more giving dirty money to people who don't have a conscience.

[We should all thank Trish and Doug.]

The chat lit up.

[Thank you, Trish and Doug!]

[Those two really came through for us.]

[Trish and Doug are the pride of Millbrook.]

Gail sounded like she had just won the lottery: [All of us ordered from Mitch. Urns, funeral garments, the works. A certain someone can't squeeze a single cent out of us anymore. It must be killing her. Well, too bad. We're just not buying!]

I scrolled through the photos. They looked identical to listings on a knockoff bargain site.

I let out a quiet scoff. If urns of that quality managed to hold up, they could count themselves lucky.

I would see how long they had to laugh about it.

I left the group chat without a word and put my phone on silent.

One week later, Hank's mother passed away. Hank placed the ashes into the urn with red-rimmed eyes, handling it with the utmost care. His fingertips barely pressed down at all. He was only cradling the base, but then a crack rang out from inside the urn.

Hank went white. "No!"