{"id":258874,"date":"2026-07-13T16:33:30","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T13:33:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/drafted-in-deciet-dutch-simone-stier\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T16:33:30","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T13:33:30","slug":"drafted-in-deciet-dutch-simone-stier","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/drafted-in-deciet-dutch-simone-stier\/","title":{"rendered":"Drafted In Deciet Dutch – Simone Stier"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"<\/figure>\n

Meredith asked, looking between us. \u201cNothing,\u201d I said brightly. \u201cI\u2019m just happy for you. Tell us more about dinner. Did you get dessert? Key lime pie? Chocolate something?\u201d Gracie Jean watched me like I was a small animal trying to distract a predator. Meredith folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head with a muffled laugh. Then she slipped her hands into the hoodie\u2019s pockets\u2014and paused. She fished around inside and pulled out a crumpled sticky note.<\/p>\n

She smoothed it out on the counter absentmindedly, eyes scanning the scribble. Then she frowned. \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d I asked. Meredith held the note up between two fingers. Scrawled in messy handwriting: Call Michelle A. My throat went dry. Gracie Jean coughed. Meredith\u2019s brow furrowed. \u201cHuh. Weird.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s nothing,\u201d I said, glancing at Gracie Jean. \u201cProbably an employee thing. Could be anyone.\u201d Meredith stared at it. Then she forced a laugh\u2014a little too light.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right. Michelle could be anyone. An employee. A vendor. An aunt.\u201d \u201cExactly,\u201d I said. Meredith crumpled the sticky note and shoved it back into the pocket. Gracie Jean opened her mouth\u2014about to say something deeply unhelpful, I was sure\u2014but Meredith straightened up and grabbed her keys.<\/p>\n

\u201cI should head out. Another delivery.\u201d She narrowed her eyes at me. \u201cWe\u2019re not done talking, Lib.\u201d \u201cLove you,\u201d I called after her. She waved without turning around, the bell chiming as she pushed through the door. The moment she was out of sight, I exhaled. \u201cI feel terrible keeping my suspicions about Jim from her. But I want to be sure before I blow up her happiness.\u201d \u201cYou should just tell her,\u201d Gracie Jean said. \u201cI will. Eventually. Do you think that sticky note was about Michelle Ahern?<\/p>\n

Too much of a coincidence not to be, right?\u201d Gracie Jean\u2019s gaze drifted toward the windows. \u201cCould be.\u201d \u201cBut why?\u201d \u201cThe question is, is he dancing with her? Or dancing with her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

This book may not be reproduced without the written consent of the publisher. Except for review quotes. This is a work of fiction. All people, places, names, and events are products of the author\u2019s imagination or a mysterious coincidence. Cover art by Mariah Sinclair OceanofPDF.com DEDICATION To amateur sleuths everywhere \u2026 OceanofPDF.com F CHAPTER 1 riday afternoons at Page\u2019s Bookshop reminded me of the last chapter of a good novel. The big scenes were over, the loose ends tied, and all that was left was a quiet, satisfied exhale after a week of shelving books and pouring cups of coffee and tea for anyone who needed a cozy place to read.<\/p>\n

Outside, early spring sunlight glinted off the Cape Fear River. From the shop\u2019s front windows, the view was bright and clear, the kind of day where the air still had a bite, and people kept their jackets close by just in case. Inside, everything felt calm and settled. Cali, the calico kitten who\u2019d wandered into my life right around the time I returned to Southport, was curled in a patch of sunlight on the window seat.<\/p>\n

I smiled as I passed, straightening a display of new paperbacks. Not long ago, I\u2019d been a frazzled editor at a Big Five publisher in New York. After my husband died unexpectedly, I changed everything. I came home to Southport to open a bookshop, and somehow this adorable cat strolled in as if she\u2019d always belonged. I\u2019d offered her food and shelter. In return, she\u2019d offered me companionship. It felt like a fair trade. Two women occupied the pair of worn leather armchairs by the mystery shelves, each with a latte and a paperback.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe knows she owns the place, doesn\u2019t she?\u201d one of the armchair readers said, nudging her friend and nodding toward the window seat. \u201cObviously,\u201d the friend replied. I shifted one of the newest hardcovers to face outward so the gorgeous dust jacket could be seen by everyone. A ridiculous swell of pride rose in my chest as I took in the shop.<\/p>\n

The old Victorian had been one of the historic homes in Southport that needed some serious love. Now it held shelves of books, a cafe in the back and my apartment upstairs. Getting the permits approved and dealing with the historical foundation had been a labyrinth of forms and phone calls, not the easiest thing to navigate from my office in New York City, but we\u2019d landed the happy ending.<\/p>\n

Page\u2019s Bookshop & Cafe had become exactly what I\u2019d hoped for, a place for stories and community.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

\n
\n

Table of Contents<\/p>\nToggle<\/span><\/path><\/svg><\/svg><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/a><\/span><\/div>\n