I introduced Abigail to Mom and she was immediately pulled into the conversation with Susan and Mary. I’d given Ben my keys so he could put Mom’s suitcase in the truck. “I’m just going up to my office to get my things,” I said.
“Could I see your office before we go?” she asked.
“Of course,” Susan said. She had a pink plastic cocktail fork stuck in her updo. I was never quite sure if the odd things she used to secure her hair were her way of thumbing her nose at convention or if she really did just grab the first thing she saw on any given morning.
“Kathleen has a beautiful view of the water and of course the gazebo that’s at the back,” Mary said.
“You have a gazebo?” Mom said.
Abigail nodded. “One of the performances is going to take place out there.”
Mom’s eyes lit up. “What a wonderful idea! I love performing outside. John and I did Bard in the Park last year. How big is this gazebo?”
“It’s about, what, twelve feet across?” Abigail looked at Mary for confirmation.
“Fifteen,” I said.
“Small, but not impossible to use as a stage,” my mother said. “Could I take a peek at it?”
Susan nodded. “Like Mary said, you can see the gazebo from Kathleen’s office.”
“Splendid,” Mom said. “Let’s go take a look.”
They all moved toward the stairs.
I cleared my throat. “Someone has to stay at the desk,” I said.
Mary shook her head. “I’ll stay.” She leaned forward and smiled at Mom. “It was wonderful to finally meet you, Thea.”
“You too, Mary,” Mom said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “As soon as I get my schedule sorted out I’ll call you and we’ll have tea.”
“Looking forward to that,” Mary said. She brushed past me on her way to the checkout desk. “I like her,” she said softly as she went by.
Susan and Abigail gave Mom a quick tour of the second level and showed her the gazebo from my office window. I gathered my briefcase and jacket and only managed to steal her away from them by promising to bring her back the first time she was free.
“I like your library and I like your staff,” she said as she settled on the passenger side of the truck. Her carry-on was at her feet and her suitcase was in the bed of the truck, covered with a tarp because it was spitting rain.
“You cut your hair,” I said as we drove up the hill.
“What do you think? It was the executive producer’s idea.”
“I like it.”
“I’m supposed to look rich and ruthless,” she said with a laugh. “When I e-mailed your father a photo, he said I looked like Helen Mirren.”
I shot her another quick look. She actually did look a bit like the British actress. They had the same hair now and the same beautiful posture. “Maybe a little,” I said.
She brushed a bit of lint off her sweater. I hoped it wasn’t cat hair. “He’s just trying to charm me into doing a British accent. He’s always thought a British accent is sexy.”
I shook my head. “Way, way more information than I need to have.”
She laughed and the sound filled the truck.
I smiled at her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too, Katydid,” she said.
Owen and Hercules were waiting for us in the kitchen. Mom walked over to them, stopping a couple of feet in front of them. “Hello,” she said. Both cats eyed her, whiskers twitching.
“Merow,” Owen finally said.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” Mom said. “You’re even more handsome than your pictures.”
Owen knew what the word “handsome” meant. He did his I’m-so-modest head dip, watching her with one golden eye.
“And, Hercules, you look like you put on your best tuxedo to welcome me. Very dashing.”
Hercules wasn’t immune to compliments, either. He sat up a little straighter and gave Mom a look of kitty affection.
“What would you like first?” I said. “A bath or a cup of tea?”
She straightened up and stretched. “Oh, sweetie, a cup of tea would be wonderful.”
I reached for the kettle.
“Is it all right if I look around?” she asked. “I do like your house.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
She headed to the living room with Owen and Hercules right beside her. I put tea bags in the little china pot I always kept for Maggie and set a couple of Rebecca’s blueberry muffins on a plate. By the time Mom came back to the kitchen the tea was ready and I’d made a cup of cocoa for myself.
She sank into the chair opposite me and reached for her cup. “Umm,” she said after taking a sip. “That’s lovely tea.”
“It’s Maggie’s favorite, so I keep some in the house,” I said.
“When do I get to meet Maggie?”
“Probably tomorrow. She’s in Minneapolis at a meeting.” I reached for one of the blueberry muffins. “What time are you meeting Ben in the morning?”
Mom pulled up one leg and tucked it underneath her. “Eight thirty. That’s almost civilized compared to the time I have been getting up.”
“We could ask Maggie to join us for breakfast,” I said.
“Yes,” Mom said, putting the other muffin on her plate.
I got up and went to the cupboard for the small bottle of orange marmalade I’d gotten for Mom from the Jam Lady. I gave her the jar and watched her unscrew the lid, put a dab on her plate with her knife and then take a tiny taste with one finger. She reminded me of Owen. He and his brother were sitting between my chair and Mom’s, probably hoping one of us would drop something.
Mom took another taste of the marmalade. “This is good,” she said. “Where did you get it?”
I sat back down. “There’s a woman who lives farther out this road called the Jam Lady. She made it.”
She smeared a thick layer of marmalade on half her muffin and took a bite. “Tell me about Hugh Davis. You didn’t say much and when I talked to Abigail on the phone, I noticed she very skillfully changed the subject. So did Ben, for that matter.”
I picked up my mug and threaded my fingers around it. “He was shot.”
“Shot? What happened? Was it some kind of robbery?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “He was shot down by the marina. There’s a lookout by the water.” I set my hot chocolate down on the table again. “There’s something I didn’t tell you on the phone.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “You found Hugh’s body.”
“Actually, I did,” I said. “But that wasn’t what I need to tell you.” I took a breath and let it out. “Andrew’s here.”
She frowned and put down the piece of muffin she’d been holding. “Andrew? Your Andrew?”
“He’s not my Andrew anymore, but yes.”
“Why?”
I folded my arms over my chest. “He wants me to come back to Boston when my contract here ends and give us another chance.”
“And you said?”
“I said no.” I glanced down at Hercules and Owen. The bag of sardine crackers was on the counter. I leaned sideways, snagged it with a couple of fingers and gave each of them two crackers. “I care about Andrew,” I said, straightening up and brushing off my fingers. “But I’m not getting back together with him. I’ve changed.”
“I know you have,” she said, adding a little more tea to her cup. “And Andrew’s not Detective Gordon.”
“What?” I said. I could feel my face getting red. I’d told Mom about feeding the cats with Marcus, but I hadn’t said anything else.
“Remember the pictures you brought when you came home?”
“I remember.” Ethan had teased me because I’d printed copies of the photos instead of just showing them on my phone.
“There was one of the detective. Whenever you were showing the pictures to someone, when you got to that one of him, you smiled. I don’t even think you know you did it, sweetie, but you did.” She leaned forward and smiled at me. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”
I shook my head. “No, there isn’t. We had dinner a few times, but Marcus is a police officer.” I sighed. “And that just keeps getting in the way.”