Angelica laughed. “I’ll make a cook out of you yet, darling Trish. And I’ve always found that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You might want to try that approach yourself.”
Tricia broke off another piece of the candy and ate it. The stuff was seriously addictive, even if it did stick to her molars. Still, she hardly needed Angelica’s advice when it came to men. And she remembered a conversation she’d had earlier that day.
“Were you serious when you said you were going to call your agent tomorrow?”
“Of course. Why?”
“I spoke to Harry this morning. He’s still writing. And he’s looking for a literary agent.”
“He’s not getting mine,” Angelica snapped, and opened the fridge to make room for the baking tray. “Let him get his own agent. And why in the world would you want to help him, anyway, after he left you, his family, his publisher, and his agent in the lurch twenty years ago? What’s to say he wouldn’t go and do it again-especially with a murder rap hanging over his head?”
“He hasn’t been charged with anything,” Tricia pointed out.
“Yet,” Angelica countered, and collected her jacket. “Grandma always said, ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’ Besides, you have enough men problems without adding him to the mix.”
Tricia hated to admit Angelica was right. She ignored her. Anyway, Artemus owed her a favor, and she could call or e-mail him herself…but she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to do that. Angelica was right about that, too. Had Harry changed, or was he likely to just cut and run again?
Harry Tyler was going to have to prove himself. And how long was that going to take, and how was Tricia to know he was worthy of her friendship, let alone anything deeper?
“Now, about this candy,” Angelica said. “Leave it in the fridge for an hour. After it sets, you can break it up into pieces. It’ll be something fabulous to offer Mr. Everett and your customers tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Tricia said grudgingly.
Angelica pouted. “Trish, forget Harry. Forget Grant Baker. Concentrate on being the best shop owner Stoneham has ever seen.”
“And be lonely for the rest of my life?”
Angelica shook her head. “I’m done talking at you, since it’s obvious you have no intention of listening to my golden words of wisdom.” She grabbed her coat and headed for the door to the stairway. “Think about what I’ve said, though. Good advice is seldom taken-and that’s the only kind I have to give.”
Tricia got up to follow her, but Angelica held up a hand to stop her. “I can see myself out-and lock up and reset the security system downstairs. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
Angelica closed the door and, frowning, Tricia locked it behind her.
She absolutely hated it when Angelica was right.
TEN
Tricia’s morning started as most mornings did. A run on the treadmill, a shower, getting dressed, feeding the cat, and drinking half a pot of coffee with a breakfast of black cherry yogurt. Only this morning Tricia extracted most of the candy Angelica had made the night before, put it on a plate, and took it down to the shop with her. It was too tempting to keep it all in the apartment. And as Angelica said, Mr. Everett and her customers would probably enjoy it.
Down in the shop, Miss Marple settled herself on a chair in the reader’s nook while Tricia checked voice mail and found a message from the employment agency. They were sending over a new candidate at ten thirty and awaited a confirmation. She quickly returned the call. Would this person be the one to finally replace Ginny? All she could do was hope.
Tricia had just hit the button on the coffeemaker when Mr. Everett arrived for work several minutes early, still looking as sad as he had the day before. “Good morning,” he greeted Tricia, but there was no heartiness in his voice.
Tricia waited until he’d donned his Haven’t Got a Clue apron to approach him on what might be a sensitive subject. Mr. Everett wasn’t usually one to wear his heart on his sleeve. That he was visibly unhappy meant something was definitely out of kilter. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“It’s hard to keep anything from you, Ms. Miles. Like the protagonists in many of your favorite mysteries, you would have made a fine detective.”
“It doesn’t take great sleuthing skill to see that you haven’t been your usual chipper self of late. Is there something I can do to help?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps you can. A man my age has outlived most of his friends,” Mr. Everett admitted. “Except for Grace, I have no one else to confide in.”
Oh dear. It didn’t sound like an announcement of good news was on the way. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” Tricia said in all sincerity.
His cheeks colored, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “It’s…my marriage to Grace.”
Oh no! Trouble in paradise. They were the one couple she thought would never experience marital strife.
“You see, Grace is so preoccupied with running the charitable foundation, she has very little time for me any more.”
Hmm. “Have you spoken to her about it?”
“On several occasions. She laughed it off.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I hate to put you in the middle of our marital discord, but…is there a possibility you could speak with Grace? She values your opinion.”
“Oh, Mr. Everett. If it were on any other subject…” But then the old man’s bottom lip began to tremble, and if there was one thing Tricia didn’t think she could handle, it was Mr. Everett’s tears. She sighed. “I’d be glad to.”
His eyes widened but were still watery. “Thank you, Ms. Miles. She’s in her office right now,” he said, looking hopeful.
“Now?” she asked, her voice rising. That didn’t give her much time to prepare something to say.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he encouraged.
She sighed again. “Of course.”
“I’ll get your jacket,” Mr. Everett volunteered, and headed for the back of the shop.
If she had to go out anyway, Tricia decided she’d combine the visit with a trip to the bank to deposit the previous day’s receipts. Stuffing her blue bank pouch into her purse, she was ready to go after Mr. Everett helped her on with her jacket.
“Thank you, Ms. Miles. I really appreciate this.”
“While I’m gone, help yourself to a piece of chocolate toffee. It’s homemade.” She indicated the plate sitting on the counter of the beverage station.
A look of panic came over Mr. Everett’s face. “Did you make it?”
Tricia frowned. “Don’t worry-it’s safe to eat. Angelica made it last night.”
Mr. Everett looked relieved, took a small piece of the candy, chewed, and brightened. “Your sister is a marvelous cook.” Tricia could envision the thought balloon over his head that might’ve said, Why can’t you cook, too?
“I’d better get going,” Tricia said, then smiled wanly and headed out the door.
The air was brisk as she crossed the street, heading for Booked for Lunch. She peeked through the window, but all was dark in the dining room, although she could see a glint of light in the back where the kitchen was located. No doubt Tommy the cook was already preparing the day’s soup.
Tricia stopped at the door that led to the building’s other tenants on the second and third floors. The wall inside the small alcove held mailboxes and a short directory for the tenants. The Everett Charitable Foundation had offices on the second floor.
Tricia trudged up the stairs to the second floor, dreading the confrontation to come. She hadn’t had a chance to visit the newly opened office, and if it weren’t for the imminent conversation, she would have been looking forward to it. She opened the frosted glass door. Inside was a small carpeted area, a door leading to the inner sanctum, and a reception desk behind a half wall with a glass window that was closed. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a doctor’s office, and not at all welcoming, which surprised her.