The Murder In St. John

2. Papaya and Coffee

"I will," Charlie stated confidently, strutting towards the door, Coach hot on his tail catching on to the excitement. "If I catch you in a lie, you've got to let me work a few shifts." Charlie winked at her and slipped out the door before hurrying across the street. Coach waited on the sidewalk, checked both ways then hurried after him, reaching George before Charlie.

Hermione watched for a moment, as Charlie trailed after his brother, prodding for details. Before quickly ducking her head when George glanced her way, she shoveled the last bit of the croissant in her mouth and continued jotting in her books.

"Morning, Ms. Granger." Hermione stood, wiping her hands on her scrubs, and welcomed Mrs. Brown into her shop. Who was hauling three great Danes behind her, who were here for their monthly baths.

She was chatting with Mrs. Brown, Lavender's adoring mother, and on dog number two when Charlie bounded back into the store, throwing the door open.

"I'll be here, eight o'clock for my shift boss!" Before spinning on his heel, and racing away, Coach on his heels.

"That Weasley boy is working for you?" Mrs. Brown asked, clearly shocked as she scrubbed behind the ears of her clean Great Dane.

"Seems I lost a bet," Hermione said slowly, peering through the glass at George. Who was still dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, bent over the engine of a slick Cadillac she recognized as being the Mayors. 

His back was tense, and he was putting perhaps a bit more effort into yanking out a coolant line than he really ought to be. Even going so far as to chuck the tube away from him, before diving back in with a wrench in hand.

"Oh, well bless you for trying to wrangle that toad in a hand towel- how's business anyway?" Mrs. Brown asked, beckoning over her third Great Dane to climb in the tub.

"It's good, busy," Hermione replied, yanking her gaze away.  

Hermione chatted aimlessly through her clients for the morning, mainly baths, nails, and one cat with maggots in her ears before she was on lunch. She flipped her sign over, whistled loud and clear in case Coach was within close distance, and hurried across the street. Where George was now under the body of a Honda.

"Charlie seems to think he's working for me tomorrow," Hermione stated, not bothering with greetings as she grabbed George's bench stool and sat on it. "Can you tell me why this is?" Hermione asked, leaning forward to prop her elbows on her legs.

Neither Coach nor Fred had made an appearance yet. George grunted, and grumbled something incoherent before sliding out from underneath the car. His face was smeared with black smudges, and he had a scowl on his lips.

A familiar look, but rarely pointed at her.

"Came over, prodding me for details wondering where I was last night," George grumbled, heaving himself up he strolled over beside Hermione, digging into his toolbox as he continued. "Seems to think I was shacking with you." George quirked an eyebrow in her direction, before pulling out a screwdriver and walking back to the car, only this time he bent over the hood.

As if she was to blame for the thoughts of his idiotic twin brother.

"I told him you weren't," Hermione argued, looking over as Coach sauntered in, panting and dripping wet. He flopped down, laying in a patch of sunlight on the curb, shooting Hermione a lopsided grin.

The lucky bastard caught the late-morning waves.

"I told him I was." George shrugged, turning over his shoulder to gaze at her before turning back. Hermione swore she saw a mischievous glint in his eye but shrugged it off as the glare of the sun before gearing up.