Ginny nodded.
“And it’s the kind of experience you need so you can learn every aspect of running a business—so that you’ll be ready to open your own business one day.”
“Yes, but—”
Tricia shook her head. “No buts.”
A tear trailed down Ginny’s cheek.
“It’s hard to leave what you know and take on a new challenge, but I don’t know anyone else who could do a better job taking over for Deborah than you.”
“But I don’t know her stock,” Ginny protested.
“It’ll take you a week—if that—to learn it,” Tricia amended.
“I wouldn’t know what to order, or the quantities—”
“You. Will. Learn.”
Ginny’s lower lip quivered. “What will you do without me? I’ve been here almost since the day you opened.”
“I’ll have to hire someone else,” Tricia said reasonably.
“But not everybody knows about mysteries—especially vintage mysteries.”
“You didn’t know a thing about them before you came to work here,” Tricia reminded her. She made sure to keep her voice steady as she asked her next question. “Now, when will you take over running the Happy Domestic?”
“If I accept the job, as soon as the paperwork goes through. Antonio thinks it’ll be a couple of weeks—maybe a month.”
“You will accept the job. And it gives me plenty of time to find someone to take your place.”
“What about Mr. Everett? Couldn’t he work more hours—?”
Tricia shook her head. “He isn’t interested in working a full-time job.”
“That’s right,” Ginny said quietly. “I suppose you’ll have to call an employment agency.”
“I suppose,” Tricia said. She knew putting up a HELP WANTED sign in the window wouldn’t work. At least it hadn’t worked for Angelica when she’d been looking for help at the Cookery. But times were different. With so many jobs being shipped overseas, the locals seemed a tad more interested in the shops along Main Street and the retail work they offered. Before she made one call, though, she’d ask Frannie. She was still the best source of information in the village, and she might know of someone who’d like to take the job. And it would give Tricia an excuse to talk to Frannie about Deborah.
So there, Angelica!
Tricia turned her mind back to the problem at hand. “What will happen to Elizabeth?”
Ginny sighed. “Antonio says she can stay on as long as she likes—part-time, of course. I think that’ll suit her, as she intends to stay a part of Davey’s life. That is, if David will let her.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
Ginny shook her head. “Antonio was going to do that.”
“When?”
She glanced up at the clock. “Right about now. I don’t think she’ll be very happy about the situation. I have a feeling she hoped she’d be kept on to manage the store. But would she have the stamina to do that and take care of Davey, too?”
“You’re probably right,” Tricia said, and felt even worse for Elizabeth. First losing her daughter, then her daughter’s store. And was there the chance David might take little Davey away from Stoneham?
Tricia stood. “I think I’ll head over to the Cookery to see if Frannie knows anyone looking for a job. I’d like you to train whoever takes your place.”
“Oh, sure,” Ginny said, and Tricia noticed the tears had dried. Well, did she expect Ginny to pine and wail over her decision to leave Haven’t Got a Clue? If she was honest, Ginny had put her career on hold to stay at this job for far too long.
Tricia took three steps toward the door before Ginny’s voice stopped her. “Tricia?”
She turned.
“I just wanted to say how grateful I am for everything you taught me about running a business. It’s because of you I want to make this my life’s work. You’re my role model.”
Tricia’s smile was halfhearted. She’d lost Deborah, and now she’d lose Ginny, too.
Some days it didn’t pay to get out of bed.
Frannie stood behind the Cookery’s cash desk, waiting on a customer. “Oh yes, Ms. Miles’s next cookbook will be out early next year. Here, would you like a bookmark?”
The man accepted it and gave a parting smile before he turned to exit the store.
“Tricia, what’s up?” Frannie said in greeting.
“Sad news, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, no,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “After yesterday, I don’t think I can take much more bad news.”
“Sad,” Tricia corrected her, “not bad. Ginny’s leaving Haven’t Got a Clue.”
Frannie’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oh no! What happened?”
“She’s been offered another, better job.”
“What could be better than working for you?”
Tricia smiled at that. “Managing the Happy Domestic.”
Frannie frowned. “I thought Elizabeth was taking over for Deborah.”
“Apparently Deborah’s husband has already made a deal to sell the store.”
“But Deborah’s only been dead a day,” Frannie protested.
“That was my reaction, too.”
“I’m happy for Ginny, but . . .” She paused, studying Tricia’s face. “You don’t look happy.”
“I’m happy for Ginny, too, but I’m not happy to be losing such a wonderful assistant.”
“She knows her stuff,” Frannie admitted. “I’m sure she’ll do a terrific job for the new owner.”
“Nigela Racita Associates bought the store.”
“Who else?” Frannie said with chagrin. “Whoever owns that company has deep pockets. Mark my words, it’s out to buy the whole village.”
“I’ve had that same thought,” Tricia admitted.
“You’re not the only one,” Frannie said. “Too bad I don’t go to the Chamber of Commerce meetings anymore. I’ll bet more than a couple of the members will be getting nervous.”
“Or looking for a bailout?” Tricia suggested.
“That, too.” Frannie frowned. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
“Ask. I’d like to hire someone here in Stoneham to take Ginny’s place rather than go to an employment agency. Do you know of anyone looking for a job?”
“Only Cheryl Griffin, but I know Deborah wasn’t very happy having her as an employee. You wouldn’t like her, either.” Frannie leaned forward, lowered her voice, and spoke conspiratorially. “She’s a nut case.” That was easy to believe after the conversation Tricia had had with Cheryl earlier in the day. Frannie straightened. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone else.”
“Thanks.” Tricia sighed. How was she going to bring up Deborah’s name again?
Frannie reached a hand out and touched Tricia’s arm. “We’re all sorry about poor Deborah.” She shook her head and frowned. “That husband of hers.”
The perfect opening.
“I heard they used to fight a lot.”
Frannie leaned forward. “Almost every night lately and always over her store or his supposed work.”
“Deborah said he worked two jobs.”
Frannie scowled. “If you could call what he did work.”
“I thought he was a welder,” Tricia said.
“Yes, but that second job of his doesn’t really bring in any income. He does bad iron sculptures of birds with their wings extended and other weird-looking things. Their backyard is full of them—all rusty and ugly. If I’d been Deborah, I’d have been afraid to let little Davey out in the yard for fear he’d fall over one, cut himself, and get tetanus.”
Deborah had never mentioned that David saw himself as some kind of artist. Just that his second job didn’t pay well. Had she been ashamed of his art? Had she seen it the same way Frannie did?
“These arguments—do you think Deborah and David were close to divorce?”
Frannie shrugged. “I can’t say. But more than once he stormed out of the house and didn’t return home until the wee hours. A couple of times, he never came home at all.”
Tricia’s heart sank, and she wasn’t sure if it was because Deborah’s marriage had been foundering, or because Deborah hadn’t confided in her more. How well had she really known Deborah?