“Coffee?” Sicily said, indicating a silver pot. “Have a cinnamon twist.” She pushed the plate toward Charlie. “It’s their new recipe, and it’s wonderful.”
The little café had opened only a month ago, when a dress shop moved out, to larger quarters. Sicily and the new owner had decided to join forces, and had been joined, as well, by the bookstore next door, which now opened to the café on the opposite side, through a second archway. The three owners had named their enterprise the Hub, and though the gallery had been there for years and was one of the busiest in the village, the new joint venture was an exciting addition. All three businesses opened to the back garden, where additional small tables welcomed patrons.
Some sour-minded people said a gallery and café and bookstore wouldn’t mix, that none of them would do well. But the complex was indeed becoming a hub, as the owners had anticipated. Sicily’s had already been popular; and the new bookstore was well stocked and cozy, with a warm, attentive staff who really knew books, who were eager to do special orders, and who paid a singular attention to all the local writers. Charlie, glancing from their table through to the bookstore, could see copies of her new book stacked high on a front table before a poster of the book jacket, awaiting Saturday’s signing. Charlie’s drawing on the jacket showed a startled, big-eyed Kit, one tortoiseshell paw lifted, whether in alarm or surprise, Charlie had left to the imagination.
“They already have a long reserve list,” Sicily said. “Customers wanting signed copies.” She sat observing Charlie. “You haven’t said a word. Aren’t you excited?”
“Excited? I’m ecstatic! My second one-man show, and my first book signing-and one of your wonderful parties.” She took in Sicily ’s costume, delighted as always by her friend’s choice of clothes. Her jewelry today was silver, wooden beads and small, handmade clay medallions, her tunic nipped in by a wood-and-silver belt, her dark hair piled high and held by silver clips.
“You’ve finished the gallery work,” Charlie said, looking back through the archway at the new, movable walls all freshly painted-all waiting for Charlie’s drawings and prints, most of which were stored in the back.
“Cora Lee’s cousin Donnie did the remodel,” Sicily said. “The arches, everything. Didn’t he do a nice job? When I found I’d have to wait weeks for Ryan, that she’d be able to start only about now, Donnie stepped right in. He’s good, Charlie. Someone’s going to snatch him up for full-time work. Maybe Ryan herself, when she sees this. Look at the detail, and the molding.”
“He’s cute, too,” Charlie said, watching Sicily.
Sicily grinned. “Those big blue eyes and that nice crew cut. I love blond hair with a touch of gray-when it’s set off by a good build and a nice tan.”
Charlie laughed. “Donnie French has to be pushing sixty, he grew up with Cora Lee. He is cute, but…I hate to tell you, but Gabrielle is wearing his engagement ring. As of yesterday, I think.”
Sicily shrugged. “Well, cute is cute. And maybe I still have a chance. From what I hear he’s a shameless flirt, comes on to every attractive woman he meets. Maybe Gabrielle won’t tolerate that for long.”
“And would you?” Charlie said, teasing. “How long would that last, with you?”
“Not long,” Sicily said, laughing. “I just said he was cute, not that I have my sights set on him. Although…” They both laughed. But Sicily Aronson wasn’t a fool over a good-looking man; she was a keen businesswoman, clever and skilled and no pushover for just any cute guy.
“He has done nice work,” Charlie said, considering the beautiful plastering job around the archway and the smoothly installed, curved molding. The gallery was done in off-white, the tall white exhibit panels reaching, on one side, to within a few feet of the balcony where smaller paintings and drawings were hung. “He seems skilled at so many things. You’re right, I don’t know why Ryan hasn’t hired him. She’s always complaining about having more work than she has reliable men.”
“Maybe Donnie doesn’t want to tie himself down,” Sicily said. “He was in, this morning, for a minute, to pick up some tools he’d left, said he was headed for the city on a job interview. He said something about a child, that Detective Davis had stopped by their place with a little girl in tow. What was that about?”
Charlie looked blankly at Sicily. “I don’t think Davis has any grandchildren, but I could be wrong.” She shrugged. “Some of the other officers have little kids. Maybe Davis is babysitting. On company time,” she said, laughing.
She had no idea why Juana Davis or Cora Lee hadn’t warned Donnie not to talk about the child, when Max wanted the little girl protected. “Well,” she said, trying not to telegraph her unease, “Donnie French is attractive, and he’s just as kind and friendly as he can be.” She didn’t know what it was about Donnie French that bothered her. Probably some pointless association that had no basis. Inwardly shrugging, she busied herself with her cinnamon twist.
“And what was that about, in the paper this morning?” Sicily said. “A body someone thought they saw, under the village tree? That’s pretty bizarre. Some prankster call, I bet. I heard the sirens-what a pity, to bring out practically the whole department for nothing, on a stormy night.”
“Max left so early, and I had the horses to feed-we didn’t talk much this morning. I was hoping that, during Christmas, Max and the men might have some time off.”
“It would be nice if you and Max could have a little vacation. If you don’t even have time to talk to each other…You’re not…Having problems?”
Charlie laughed. “We’re fine, Sicily.”
“You were cheated out of your honeymoon.” Sicily picked up the empty pot and signaled the waitress for more coffee. Then, more gently, “Maybe you’ll have time, now, to get away. With the book long finished and this exhibit put together-and already three great reviews on the book-you do need a breather. When you leave here, go on over to the station, Charlie, see if you can entice Max away for an early lunch. He can’t be that busy.”
“It’s a thought,” Charlie said. She was used to Sicily ’s managing ways, they didn’t usually annoy her. And she would like to stop by the station to see if anything more had turned up on the Greenlaws’ break-in. She couldn’t get her mind off the danger the two older folks might have been in last night, couldn’t shake her sense of unease for them.
She didn’t mention the incident to Sicily. That, too, was not yet public knowledge. She would talk to no one about it except those who already knew-including three nosy cats, she thought uneasily. Probably the cats were at the station right now, slyly absorbing newly arrived electronic intelligence-fingerprint information, DMV records…She was more than a little curious, herself.
“Why the grin?”
“Thinking about the show,” Charlie lied. “About Saturday night, about these rooms crowded with people, about the wonderful parties you always throw.” But then suddenly a wave of panic struck her. “What if… Sicily, what if no one…?”
Sicily laughed. “Have you ever been to one of my openings that wasn’t packed, and with the most elegant and influential people?”
“Never,” Charlie said, smiling in return. “I just…”
“Nerves,” Sicily said, patting Charlie’s hand like a solicitous mother. “Go have lunch with Max. Go shopping, spend some money, buy something frivolous, that’ll brighten your day.”
But Charlie wasn’t in a mood for shopping. Leaving the gallery, she headed straight for Molena Point PD. Maybe Max could tear himself away, if not for lunch, then for a late-morning coffee break-and maybe she’d see Juana, and the little girl. She wanted to tell Davis and Max that Donnie French was talking indiscreetly about the child.