“So are you Jenny?” Oliver asked. “No,” the man said. “Wait. What?” “Your store is called Jenny’s,” Sutton said. “Is Jenny the owner?” “No. Jenny is dead.” Sutton gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “It happened in 1998. I’ve dealt with it. She was a good friend, good enough to put on my sign out front. I’m Josh. The owner.”
