troublewillfindme

Weir and Lazarus make art.

Bruce’s affinity for bees is the stuff of legends. John won’t source the shop’s honey from anyone else; he swears the quality isn’t the same.

Lizzie wouldn’t be surprised. She’s never met anyone as knowledgable about or dedicated to their bees as Bruce is. She half-suspects the bees might be living more comfortably than Bruce and Jesper, but she’s never quite asked. She’s not sure there’s a suitably delicate way to phrase the question.

The fact of the matter is that Bruce is a gifted apiarist and she has a small plot of land behind the shop that could be put to better use than lying fallow. She wants pollinators, but she doesn’t want to deal with them. Bruce seems all too happy to help.

“Aren’t you missing your usuals?” They ask.

She nods. “Yeah, and I’m a little worried. Last I heard, Will was on a tear about the Speaker. I mean, yeah, he’s sleazy, but Weir was upset. Lazarus was … encouraging it.”

Bruce seems to understand all too well. The whole town is well-aware of Jesper’s fondness for fire; she can only imagine what Bruce has had to dissuade him from setting ablaze.

“I think they might have done something…” Her voice trails off.

“Questionable?”

“Yeah.”

As if on cue, Will’s van pulls up curbside, and Lazarus hops out, followed not long after by Will himself.

She swears she can smell trouble.

“So,” she greets them. “Have … fun?”

“Just errands,” Will says lightly.

She offers Lazarus her best glower, but they remain unphased. “You know, boss. The usual.”

“The Usual. So, you picked up the hot chocolate ingredients?”

Lazarus freezes.

“They were out.” Will rolls his eyes. “Something about disrupted shipping lines. AD-Mart’s usual garbage.”

Something says she doesn’t quite believe him.

“The honey they sell isn’t real,” Bruce says with more invective than she’s ever heard from them. “Who sells fake honey?”

“It’s not real?” Lazarus asks. “No wonder it tastes so bad with the apples.”

“No, it’s fake. Fake! Who sells fake honey? AD-Mart.”

“How do you make fake honey?” Lizzie asks before she can censor herself.

”It’s mostly corn syrup, but they’re labeling it as honey,” Bruce explains.

“That’s … shady.”

Behind her, Will gives a quiet chuckle. “I’d go with sleazy over shady.”

She shrugs and throws him a grin over her shoulder. “I lead a quiet life, okay?”

Before he can respond, AD-Mart’s Speaker bursts through her door. “I want those two arrested!”

She fixes him with her best blank look. “Sorry, my floriograpy’s good, but I’m gonna need time to translate that particular sentiment.”

The Speaker’s mouth twists in displeasure. “Are you aware what your help did?”

“Technically, neither of them are my help,” she corrects. “Mr. Weir runs his own business; he just happens to share space. And Lazarus is an independent artist.”

Alright, so it’s not entirely the truth, but she won’t give the Speaker the satisfaction.

“Are you aware of what they did?”

“Are you aware AD-Mart sells fake honey?” Bruce counters.

“Stop this slander!”

“Ninety-five percent corn syrup!” Bruce pulls up to their full height. “It’s honey in name only.”

“AD-Mart sells only the finest products!”

“In. Name. Only.”

With the Speaker distracted, she catches Will’s eye. “What did you do?” She mouths.

In response, he points to Lazarus.

Again, a silent “What did you do?”

A wide grin cracks across their face. “I made art,” they scrawl on a piece of paper.

“Art?” She mouths.

“Redecorated his car.”

She furrows her brow and turns to Will as the argument between the Speaker and the apiarist turns to shouting.

He offers her a noncommittal shrug.

She turns her attention back to Lazarus, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender.

They take a moment, scribbling something out on paper, then holding it up: a cartoon depiction of egging a car.

Her eyes go wide and she turns to Will.

“Oops,” he mouths, his face devoid of remorse.

“It’s a fraud!” Bruce roars.

“I will not stand for this kind of slander!” The Speaker counters.

“Fraud! You are defrauding the people of this town! And I will---”

No one notices the man slip in the door, impeccably dressed and with the kind of poise that comes from knowing no obstacle is truly insurmountable … with the right tools.

Jesper Jorgenson doesn’t bother to offer the Speaker so much of a nod of the head, simply gathering his partner up, and leading him out of the shop, still yelling.

The Speaker follows after, apparently unconcerned for his tinderbox of an office.