Bookplate Special (8 page)

“Good morning, Grace. You’re here early.”

“I have so much to do today, and I decided I’d best start early.”

“Don’t overdo, dear,” Mr. Everett said kindly.

Grace reached across the counter to clasp his hand. “I won’t.” She gazed back at Tricia, her expression luminous. She looked back at Mr. Everett. “I don’t suppose you’ve told Tricia our good news.”

Mr. Everett shook his head, a blush coloring his cheeks as his gaze dipped to the counter.

“Shame on you,” Grace scolded. “Shall I?”

Again he shook his head. “It’s my duty.”

Duty? That sounded serious.

Mr. Everett cleared his throat and focused on Tricia’s face. “Ms. Miles, you and Ginny are like family to me. That’s why we want you to be one of the first to know—”

“We’re engaged,” Grace announced, and pulled the leather glove from her left hand, revealing a modest solitaire diamond. “And Tricia, I want you to be my maid of honor.”

Tricia held Grace’s outstretched hand, admiring the stone. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That you’d love to, would be an acceptable answer,” Mr. Everett prompted with a hopeful smile.

Tricia beamed. “I’d be delighted! When’s the happy day?”

“We haven’t set a firm date, but at our age we don’t see much point in waiting,” Grace said. “Either this Sunday or next.”

“What are your plans for the ceremony?”

“Something small and dignified. We have an appointment later this afternoon to talk to the head of catering at the Brookview Inn. That is, if you can spare dear William.”

“Of course you can have the afternoon off,” Tricia told Mr. Everett. “And you must let me know what I can do for the wedding day. Can I provide the cake? The music? The flowers?”

“That is so kind of you,” Grace said, “but I think we’ll have everything in hand.”

“I’d really like to do
something
for you on your day.”

“Just be there. That will be more than enough,” Mr. Everett said, and his eyes shone with unshed tears.

Tricia smiled and threw her arms—gently—around the old man. “You better believe I’ll be there. I’ll close the store if I have to.”

“We chose a Sunday morning so that none of our bookshop friends would have to miss the ceremony. We thought we’d have a brunch reception, and that way we’d also have plenty of time to take an afternoon flight to our wedding-night destination.” Grace actually blushed at this last announcement.

Tricia felt a lump rise in her throat. Here these two dear people—who deserved decades of happiness together, and weren’t likely to receive it—were thinking more of accommodating their guests than of their own circumstances on their most joyous day. Surely no two finer people deserved an abundance of marital bliss.

Tricia clasped Grace’s hand. “Do you have your dress? What are your colors? Where are you going on your honeymoon?”

Grace actually giggled. “I haven’t given a thought to most of the details. I imagined we’d figure it all out this afternoon. After we get the wedding license, of course.” Another titter of laughter escaped her throat. “This is so much fun. I don’t remember when I’ve been this entertained.”

Again, a wave of strong emotion passed through Tricia, threatening to engulf her as the memories of planning her own wedding—what she had always considered the happiest day of her life—gushed forth. “I wish you two many years of happiness.”

“I’ll take what God gives me and hope I live it in relatively good health,” Mr. Everett said sensibly.

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Grace scolded. “I think we’ve both got many years left—especially if we take care of each other.” The fond look she gave her husband-to-be nearly brought Tricia to tears. Weddings—and all they entailed—had that effect on her.

“Now, Tricia,” Grace said, “again, I hope it won’t inconvenience you too much if William has an hour or two off this afternoon.”

“Take as much time as you need. You have my blessing,” Tricia said, and smiled.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you more than a few days’ notice, but I will need a week off work for our honeymoon,” Mr. Everett added in all seriousness.

“I think Ginny and I will be able to manage for a mere seven days,” Tricia said, and smiled. Then again, Ginny was already five minutes late.

A customer came in, and Mr. Everett, who took his job very seriously, excused himself to help the man.

“I was surprised to see you at the Food Shelf dedication yesterday,” Tricia told Grace.

“It’s long been one of my favorite local charities. And who could say no to dear Libby Hirt? Over the years she’s been a guardian angel to so many here in Stoneham. She and her husband are the nicest people. They took in that sick child and raised her. Others would’ve been put off by the prospect of all that surgery, but not Libby. She’s got the biggest heart in the world.”

A sick child? “I’m sorry I didn’t get an opportunity to meet and talk with her.”

“She’s a real asset to this community.” Grace glanced at her diamond-studded watch. “Oh, my, I must dash. I want to speak to the florist. Oh, I have so many things penciled in on my to-do list—I just hope I can accomplish them all before the end of the day.” The excitement in her voice was contagious.

“Well, do let me know if I can be of any help. It would be an honor and a privilege,” Tricia said.

“Don’t worry, dear. I will.” Grace crossed the store to join her fiancé and, scandalously, gave Mr. Everett a quick peck on the lips.

“My dear!” he scolded.

Grace grinned. “I don’t think your employer minds one bit.”

“Minds what?” Tricia asked, and looked up at the decorative tin ceiling, pretending she hadn’t noticed a breach in store decorum.

“Good-bye, dear,” Mr. Everett said, and Grace waved as she exited the shop.

Tricia risked a glance at her employee. Mr. Everett’s cheeks were quite pink. He cleared his throat.

“I think I shall go back to work,” he said, and, with head held high, went in search of his lamb’s wool duster.

The shop door opened with the soft jingle of the bell that hung over the door. A couple of women bundled in heavy sweaters bustled in, adhesive name tags identifying them as being part of an Apollo Tour.

“Good morning, and welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue, Stoneham’s—”

“Mystery bookstore,” one of them finished. “We read all about you on the Internet.” She reached into her purse. “I’ve got a long list of books I need to find. Could someone help me?”

“I’d be glad to.” Before Tricia could even inspect the list, a breathless Ginny burst through the shop door. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, already struggling out of the sleeves of her jacket. She raced to the back of the store and hung up the jacket, then hurried to join Tricia with the customers.

“Tricia, I’m sorry, I—”

“We’ll talk about it later. Perhaps you could help this lady here.” She pointed to the other customer.

“Sure, I’d be glad to. What author were you looking for?”

“Rex Stout. I’d like a copy of
The Golden Spiders
.”

“I’m pretty sure we have that in stock. Follow me, please.”

Twenty minutes and three hundred and forty dollars later, the ladies departed the store, their shopping bags bulging with books. Despite the good start to the retail day, Ginny’s anxious expression kept Tricia from mentioning her tardy entrance—at least for the time being.

“That was an excellent couple of sales,” Mr. Everett said, approaching the register with a tray of the store’s cardboard coffee cups. “We should celebrate.”

“I agree,” Tricia said, grateful for the opportunity to cheer her other employee.

Mr. Everett passed around the cups. “Here’s to a wonderful day.”

They raised their cups and took a sip. “Mr. Everett, wouldn’t you like to tell Ginny your good news?” Tricia suggested.

Mr. Everett blushed, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. “Grace and I, we’re—well, we’ve become engaged.”

Ginny’s mouth drooped. “Engaged?”

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful? They’re going to get married in the next week or so,” Tricia said.

“Married?” Ginny repeated, her voice cracking, and then she burst into tears.

Tricia grabbed Ginny’s coffee before she spilled it onto the carpet, while Mr. Everett stood rooted, stricken.

“Ginny, what’s wrong?”

“We can’t afford to get married,” she wailed. “Brian’s working two jobs, I’ve been trying to find a second job, and somehow we have to find the time to work on the house. And . . . oh, everything is all messed up.”

“If I thought the news would upset you, I never would have mentioned it,” Mr. Everett apologized, obviously distressed by Ginny’s reaction. His words only made her cry harder.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Everett. I’m very happy for you and Grace,” Ginny managed. “And I hate myself for being so terribly jealous, but I can’t help it.”

Tricia pulled Ginny into an awkward embrace. “You and Brian will get married someday, and I’m sure it’ll be a lovely ceremony.”

Ginny’s sobs increased, and she waved her ringless hand in the air. “We’re not even officially en-en-gaged.”

“Oh, dear—oh, dear,” Mr. Everett said.

The shop door opened, the little bell above it jangling cheerfully. Two women stepped into the store, took in the scene, and quickly retreated.

“Oh, dear—oh, dear,” Mr. Everett repeated, his heavily veined hands clenched, no doubt to keep from wringing them.

“Come on, Ginny, let’s go upstairs,” Tricia said, and guided her employee toward the back of the shop and the stairs leading to her loft apartment.

“I’ll take care of things here,” Mr. Everett called with relief.

Tricia opened the door marked PRIVATE and led the way up the stairs. She unlocked the apartment door and Ginny followed her in. Her sobs had wound down to sniffling, and Tricia led her to one of the stools in front of the kitchen island. “Would you like some cocoa?”

Ginny wiped a hand over her eyes. “Yes, please.” She sounded about twelve years old.

Tricia filled her electric kettle with water and plugged it in. She watched as Ginny snatched a paper napkin from the holder and blew her nose. She blinked a few times and took in the kitchen with its sparking white, painted cabinets, granite counters, and thirteen-foot ceiling. “Wow, this is a great space,” she managed, and hiccuped. “And there’s no drywall dust or exposed wiring. I’d almost forgotten how real people live.”

“When you’ve finished all your renovations, you’ll have a lovely home, too.”

Ginny sniffed and shrugged.

Tricia took a couple of mugs from the cabinet and found the cylinder of Ghirardelli Chocolate Mocha Hot Cocoa mix. She measured out the powder. The kettle was starting to sound like an engine—a prelude to boiling. “It won’t be long now,” Tricia said.

“I wish I led a charmed life like you,” Ginny said, and sighed.

“Me? I’m divorced, my sister lives next door, and I keep discovering dead bodies. How charmed is that?”

“At least you
have
your sister nearby. Since Mom and Dad moved south, I sometimes feel like I’m all alone here in Stoneham.”

“What about Brian?”

“He works so much we hardly ever see each other.” She let out another shuddering sigh.

“Seems like you need to make plans for the future. Give yourself a goal. How big a wedding do you want?”

“Not big at all,” Ginny said. “I’d like to have our friends, our parents, and some of the people here in the village—like you and Mr. Everett and Grace, and Frannie and Nikki, and our friends Pete and Lisa. Nothing really big.”

“Have you ever heard of a potluck wedding?”

Ginny shook her head. “No.”

“You could rent a picnic shelter, invite your friends to bring a dish to pass—just like an old-fashioned wedding.”

“Is that what you did when you got married?”

Tricia thought about the cathedral, the eight attendants, the five-tiered wedding cake with masses of colorful fondant flowers, and the princess gown and veil. “Not exactly,” she said. “But if I had it to do over again, I’d have a much simpler affair.” Easy to say, now that the marriage had failed. And, the truth was, she’d loved every minute of the preparations, the ceremony, and the reception. Ending the marriage hadn’t been Tricia’s idea.

“If simple is what you want, I’m sure it can be arranged. Just pick a date—preferably in warm weather—and start making plans. I’m sure all your friends would love to pitch in. I could get Angelica to help with the food. She’s spoken often about starting a catering service as part of the café—once she gets established.”

“Angelica would not be happy about you volunteering her services for me.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, she’s angry with me because I don’t patronize her café. But it costs money to do that and, besides, it’s always crowded with tourists. I pack my lunch and eat it in my car.”

“You can’t do that much longer—it’s getting cold.”

“Where else am I supposed to go?”

Tricia thought for a second. “You could use the storeroom downstairs. We could put a table in there. And I’ll get one of those dorm fridges and a microwave. It would give you and Mr. Everett somewhere to go on your breaks and save you money at the same time.”

“You’d be going to an awful lot of trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. You’re both valuable employees. I want to keep you.”

Ginny dabbed at her nose with the napkin. “Thank you.”

The kettle began to whistle. Tricia unplugged it and poured the hot water into the mugs. “I can’t make it happen today, but I’ll see what I can do about getting it pulled together in the next couple of days.”

“You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.”

“If I was, I would’ve thought of this a long time ago.”

“You always have a lot on your mind. Especially since yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”