“Isn’t this a beautiful day, Sarah?” she said, looking up at the cloudless sky.
Before I could answer she took in my dusty sweatshirt and jeans. “Have you been working already?”
“Yes and yes,” I said in answer to her two questions.
“You work too much,” she said with just a touch of reproach in her voice. “You know what you should do?”
“Meet a nice young man and make babies,” I answered, holding the back door for her with my free hand. “I wonder where I’ve heard that before?”
Charlotte smiled back over her shoulder at me. “I was going to say you should take a morning off and sleep in, but if you’d rather not do it by yourself, that would be fine.”
“Charlotte Elliot!” I exclaimed in mock outrage, putting one hand on my hip and frowning at her.
She gave a snort and rolled her eyes. “Isabel is never going to be a great-grandmother at this rate,” she said. “And don’t waste your time giving me that speech about staying out of your love life. You don’t exactly have one, dear.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “I have all of you. Why do I need a man?”
She struggled to keep a straight face, but I could see a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “If you’re asking that question, then you clearly weren’t paying attention in your personal development classes.”
I laughed and gave her a hug. She smiled back at me, and then her expression grew serious. “Sarah, have you talked to Nicolas?” she asked.
“Not since he was here yesterday. Why?”
She sighed. “To quote Rose, Nicolas has his knickers in a bit of a knot.”
“Did you know what she and Alfred were up to?” I reached over and flipped on the light switches as we stepped into the shop.
“Not for a long time, no,” she said. “I just can’t seem to get it through to Nicolas that we don’t want to spend whatever time we have left just organizing bake sales and growing roses. He’s hardheaded sometimes.”
I smiled and set her bag down by our feet. “When he makes up his mind about something it is pretty difficult to get him to change course.” I tipped my head to one side and studied her face. “I wonder where he got that?”
“It comes from the Elliots,” she said, straight-faced. “They’ve always been a stubborn bunch.”
Charlotte was wearing caramel-colored pumps with her dark brown skirt, which made her several inches taller than I was. I stood on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. “I love you and your britches are starting to smoke,” I whispered.
She smiled and I started for the stairs.
“I’ll open up,” she called after me.
“Thank you,” I said without turning around.
I changed out of my dusty clothes, touched up my makeup and went into the tiny staff room for another cup of coffee. When I went back downstairs, Charlotte had put on her apron and unlocked the front door.
“What do you want to do with the rest of these books?” she asked me.
I’d purchased a box of old hardcover books for two dollars at a yard sale to “stage” an old bookcase I’d bought from one of my regular trash pickers. We’d ended up selling half of the books, but we still had the bookcase.
“I don’t know,” I said. “What do you think?”
Charlotte cocked her head to one side. “What if I rearrange the remaining books and add a few other things?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“I’m going to take a look at the lamp shades that Avery got started on,” I said to Charlotte. “If you get customers, call me.”
I had Avery covering a collection of mismatched lamp shades with some old classroom maps that Charlotte had found in her basement. Avery had a good eye for detail and a surprising amount of patience for this kind of project. She’d covered one small and one large shade and done a meticulous job.
The bag filled with felted wool sweaters was still on the end of the workbench. It reminded me that I needed to call Jess. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and leaned against the side of the bench.
“Hey, Sarah, what’s up?” she said when she answered. Her voice was slightly muffled.
“Those sweaters are ready for you and I need a favor.”
She muttered something I didn’t catch.
“What are you eating?” I asked. “You sound like you have a mouthful of marshmallows?”
“I’m not eating,” she said. “I’m pinning.”
“Tell me you don’t have a mouthful of pins?”
She gave a small grunt and I pictured her leaning across her worktable. “Not anymore,” she crowed.
When Jess was sewing she had a habit of sticking pins in her mouth for a moment instead of back in her pincushion—a purple octopus with sparkly false eyelashes and a black boa. I thought it made her look like Jaws from the James Bond movies.
“So, what do you need?” she asked.
I explained about the church pew.
“One cushion would be too long. You need at least two, or maybe three would be better. I need to see it before I can tell you.” We agreed that she’d try to come by the shop late in the afternoon and I said good-bye.
I was just about to go back out front to help Charlotte when Mac came in the back door. He was carrying his coffee cup and walking quickly. “Don’t laugh,” he stage-whispered as he came level with me. There was a touch of urgency in his voice, but a smile played across his face.
Rose and Mr. P. came in the back door behind Mac. Rose was carrying one of her huge bags as usual. I knew there was a good chance that there was a cake or some ginger cookies inside. My attention, however, was totally focused on Mr. P. Now I understood why Mac had warned me not to laugh.
Alfred was wearing a toupee. It was the color of oxblood shoe polish, which meant it wasn’t anywhere close to the color of real hair. And it was curly. What little natural hair Mr. P. still had was gray and straight.
“Oh my,” I said almost under my breath. I couldn’t look at Mac, because I knew if I did I would laugh.
“Good morning, dear,” Rose said, bustling over to us. “I’m just going up to put the kettle on.”
“I’ll do that for you,” Mac said. “I’m on my way upstairs.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said. She seemed a little frazzled this morning. The edge of her collar was caught in the neck of her jacket.
Mac disappeared into the shop.
“Hold still,” I said, reaching over to fix Rose’s jacket.
“Heavens,” she said. “I’m a little addled this morning.”
“What’s going on,” I asked. “Why are you here so early?”
“Elizabeth has an emergency board meeting,” Mr. P. said.
Don’t laugh, I told myself sternly as I turned to look at him. Up close his hairpiece was even more . . . alarming than it had been at a distance.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
For many years Liz had run the Emmerson Foundation, a charitable organization started by her family, and she was still active on the board of directors.
“Yes,” Rose said, unzipping her jacket. “They have a new offer from the developers for those buildings the foundation holds the mortgages on down on the waterfront and they need to discuss if they’re going to accept it or not.”
“That’s good news,” I said. Over the winter, there had been a development proposal for a section of the downtown waterfront. The deal had fallen apart after the death of Lily Carter, who had lobbied against the plan, but now a new group was floating a similar idea for retail units, a small hotel and some residential space built in an environmentally responsible manner. The first step was to secure all the property they needed.
Mr. P. nodded, which made his “hair” bounce gently on his head. “It is, but it means Liz won’t be available to interview Edison Hall’s neighbors with us.”
“I know Ethan thinks Mr. Quinn’s death is connected somehow to his father’s wine collection, but we can’t afford to get tunnel vision at this point in the investigation,” Rose said.