Buy a Whisker (2 page)

I pulled my hands through my dark hair. I kept it in long layers to my shoulders. Without the layers it would have stood up all over my head in the dry air when I pulled off my hat.

“At least we dodged that storm that came down from the Great Lakes,” Glenn said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Jess and I nodded in agreement. My grandmother, who had grown up in North Harbor, said that there were only three topics of conversation in town during the winter: the blizzard that had missed us, the blizzard that was headed our way, and the blizzard that we were standing in the middle of. She was more or less right.

“What can I get you?” Glenn asked as I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of my chair. The little shop smelled like fresh bread and cinnamon.

I glanced at Jess.

“I already ordered,” she said.

“I'll have a bowl of whatever the soup of the day is and a cheese roll, please,” I said.

He nodded. “Coffee, tea or hot chocolate?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jess swipe a dab of whipped cream from the edge of her dark blue mug and lick it off her finger.

“Hot chocolate, please,” I said. “But no whipped cream.”

“I'll take hers,” Jess immediately said, holding up her mug.

Glenn smiled. “It'll be just a couple of minutes.”

I sat down opposite Jess, loosening the scarf at my neck. “So how was your morning?” I asked.

She took a long drink from her hot chocolate before she answered. She was wearing a deep-blue V-neck sweater over a lighter blue T-shirt, and her long brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. She was my height—about five six—and her eyes were blue where mine were brown. Jess had the kind of figure that people described as curvy, where I was usually described as looking athletic.

“Busy,” she said. “I have twenty-five choir robes to alter, plus three bridesmaids' dresses and a cape to finish before Valentine's Day.” She held up a hand. “And I'm not complaining. I'm not usually this busy this time of year.”

Jess was a seamstress. She could and did do everything from hemming a pair of jeans to designing and sewing some spectacular gowns. What she enjoyed most was reworking vintage clothing from the fifties through the seventies. She had a funky, off-beat style and was a whiz with a sewing machine and a pair of scissors. Just about everything she restyled ended up in a little used- and vintage-clothing shop down on
the waterfront that she shared space in with a couple of other women. And she made one-of-a-kind quilts from recycled fabric that we sold for her on consignment in the store. The three-quarter-length cocoa-brown hooded coat tossed over the empty chair to her left had originally been a full-length wrap coat with shoulder pads so wide it could have been worn by a linebacker for the Patriots. Jess had reworked it into something that would have been at home on the pages of a fashion magazine.

“That reminds me,” I said, turning in my chair to stuff my gloves into my jacket pocket. “Mac asked me to tell you he should have a couple of boxes for you by the end of the week.”

Mac and I were always looking for new items to sell in the shop. Families overwhelmed by clearing out their parents' homes had led to some great finds for us, including the claw-foot bathtub that Mac and I had made over into a chair that I hadn't been able to bring myself to sell when it was done. Occasionally we took on clearing out an entire house—something we'd just finished doing for the five children of Janet Bennett.

Since we didn't sell clothing at Second Chance, Jess often bought items she felt she could rework or turn into quilts. She'd been making her own clothes since she was teenager. She liked to say that she'd been an environmentalist before it was cool. Mac pretty much knew her likes and dislikes. Families and seniors themselves tended to just throw up their hands over closets stuffed full of old clothing, and
“Just make it go away” was something we'd heard more than once.

“That'll work,” Jess said. “Thanks. Do you know what he has?”

“I think there are a couple of fake-fur vests, and I know I saw some jeans.”

Her eyes lit up, and I knew she was already dreaming up ideas for everything.

Glenn came back with our lunch then: chili and a couple of sesame breadsticks for Jess, vegetable noodle soup and a roll crusted with golden cheddar for me.

“Thanks,” I said as he set a tall, steaming mug of cocoa in front of me. A small bowl of whipped cream and a spoon were still on the tray he was holding. He put a dollop in Jess's cup, said, “Enjoy,” and left.

“Why don't you just order a cup of whipped cream next time?” I said.

“Do you think I could do that?” Jess asked as she pulled apart one of the breadsticks. “Maybe with lots of chocolate shavings and just a couple of inches of hot chocolate in the bottom.”

I made a face and shook my head at her.

She grinned back at me across the table. “So how was
your
morning?” She pointed at me with half a breadstick before taking a big bite off the end of it.

“Good,” I said. “I sanded a dresser and then I worked on the website.” We were running a small online store through the Second Chance website. I was constantly surprised by the things collectors were willing to buy and pay the shipping for.

I remembered something I'd wanted to ask Jess.
“Did those two vanloads of skiers stop in at the store yesterday afternoon?” I asked. “Avery gave them directions.”

Avery was the granddaughter of Liz French, another of my grandmother's closest cohorts. She was living with Liz after some problems at home and going to a progressive high school that only had morning classes, so she worked most afternoons for me. Avery had an eclectic sense of style and a smart mouth, and being around her grandmother Liz and Liz's friends seemed to be good for her. It had always been good for me.

Jess nodded and wiped a bit of chili from her chin with her napkin. “They did. I sold three sweaters and two pairs of jeans.” She smiled. “I love Canadians.”

This winter, due to some weird configuration of the jet stream, Maine had a lot more snow than the Canadian Maritime provinces. We'd had a steady stream of skiers since the first week of December. They were responsible for more than half of my business in the last two months, and I was hoping the weather would work in our favor through February.

“Did you go running last night?” Jess asked, a contrived look of innocent inquiry on her face.

I reached for my cheese roll. “Yes, I did,” I said. “Would you like to hear how many laps I did around the track, or would you rather just ask me what you really want to know, which is did I see Nick Elliot?”

She shrugged. “Okay. Did you?”

Like Jess, Nick Elliot had grown up in North Harbor. Charlotte was his mother. They were a lot alike—sensible, reliable, practical. Unlike Jess, Nick and I had been friends as kids. I'd had a massive crush on him at one time. He'd worked as a paramedic for years, but now he was an investigator for the state medical examiner's office. He was still built like a big teddy bear—assuming teddy bears were tall, with broad shoulders. He had sandy hair, warm brown eyes and a ready smile. He wasn't quite the shaggy-haired wannabe musician he'd been when we were teenagers, but as Gram would say, he cleaned up well.

I dunked a hunk of bread in my soup and ate it before I answered. “No, I didn't. Nick feels pretty much the same about running as you do.”

She smirked at me across the table. “You mean he only runs if someone is giving away free cookies? Go Nick.” She did a fist pump in the air.

“If you think Nick is such a catch, why don't you go out with him?” I asked.

She wrinkled her nose at me. “Not my type. Anyway, whenever you're around, he doesn't notice any other women. We could be at the pub and I could get up and dance on one of the tables in a thong while Sam and the guys did “Satisfaction
,
” and Nick still wouldn't notice me. I think you should at least have a little fling with him.”

“Well, I don't,” I said dryly, “and thank you for putting that picture of you dancing at the pub in my head for the rest of the day.”

“You're welcome,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at me before she bent her head over her chili again.

Jess kept insisting that Nick had had a thing for me since we were teenagers, and certainly Charlotte and some of Gram's other friends hadn't been subtle in their matchmaking efforts, but Nick hadn't made a move, which I couldn't fault him for because neither had I.

“Nick and I are just friends,” I said for what felt like the twentieth time. “Between the shop and working on the last apartment at the house, I don't have time to have a relationship or a fling or anything with Nick—or anyone else.”

Jess grunted around a mouthful of beans and tomato sauce. She swallowed and gestured at me with her spoon. “You make time to eat. You make time to run, for heaven's sake. You can make time for a little tongue wrestling with Nick.”

“That's disgusting,” I said. “I'm changing the subject. No more talking about Nick Elliot's tongue.” I could see Jess was about to say something. I shot her a stern look. “Or any other part of him,” I warned. “Tell me about the meeting yesterday with the North Landing people.”

Her expression turned serious. “Lily still won't even talk about selling the bakery, and there doesn't seem to be any legal way the town council can expropriate the land. And there doesn't seem to be any way to rework the plan around her either.”

“Was she even at the meeting?” I asked.

Jess shook her head. “No, and it's a good thing she wasn't. Time is getting short and people's tempers are even shorter.” She played absently with the end of a breadstick. “You know how tense things have been around town for the last couple of weeks. It was even worse last night. Jon West isn't going to wait much longer. If he can't build here, he's going to take the project somewhere else. He wants North Landing to be his showpiece, a way to entice other towns and cities to build similar projects, but he isn't going to wait forever. Some people are pushing for the council to go to court and find a way to force Lily to sell under eminent domain.”

Jon West owned North by West, the development company floating the harbor-front project. I had a vintage light fixture at the shop that he'd expressed an interest in having us refurbish for the hotel that was planned as part of the development.

“I don't see how that would work,” I said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Me neither,” Jess said. “And even if it did. It would be so ugly.” She dipped the end of her breadstick in her soup and took a bite. “The weird thing is there was a proposal for the waterfront almost five years ago, right after Lily opened, and she didn't have a problem with that.”

“People change,” I said. “She's being hassled at the bakery, you know.”

“How do you know?” Jess asked.

“I stopped for coffee this morning. Someone had egged the big front window.”

Jess just shook her head.

“I wish there were some way to change Lily's mind.” I pushed my empty bowl away. I couldn't read the expression in Jess's eyes—frustration, maybe, mixed with a little sadness.

“It's not going to happen,” she said flatly. “As far as Lily is concerned, the development will destroy the charm of the waterfront. I think she's wrong, but . . .” She shrugged. “On the one hand, I kind of admire her for sticking to her principles. On the other hand, I think the development would be good for business, and it's not like I have a money tree in my backyard.”

I reached for my cup. “Vince said pretty much the same thing to me yesterday.” Vince Kennedy played in The Hairy Bananas with Sam Newman, who owned The Black Bear pub and who had been a second father to me since my own dad died when I was five.

Jess ate the last spoonful of her chili and nodded. “Lily holding out is a lot worse for him. He'd be able to unload that old building his father still owns. He'd be free of the taxes, and I'm guessing with his father in that nursing home, they could use the money.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think the development offer on that old warehouse is pretty much the only offer Vince has had in the last four years.”

“I have a feeling this is just going to get uglier than it already is,” Jess said. “I wish Lily could see what holding out is doing to the town. People are desperate to make North Landing happen.” Her mouth twisted to one side. “And when people get desperate, they do stupid things.”

I checked my watch. I needed to get back to the shop. I got Mac's soup and sandwich, plus a cinnamon-cranberry muffin for myself. Jess wrapped herself in her chocolate truffle coat and wrapped me in a hug.

“We're still on for Thursday-night jam?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“If you get a better offer and you need to bow out, that's okay,” she said as she pulled out of the hug, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

I put a hand on one hip and gave her a wide-eyed look of mock surprise. “What could be better than spending the evening with you?”

She laughed and shook her head. “You're such a suck-up,” she said. “I'll see you Thursday night.”

Thursday-night jam was a musical jam session Sam hosted every Thursday night in the off-season at The Black Bear. You could count on Sam and the guys from The Hairy Bananas being there, and from time to time other people would show up with a guitar or bass and sit in for a few songs.

Mac was in the main workroom/storage area when I got back to Second Chance.

“You'll probably need to warm up that soup in the microwave,” I said, handing him the brown paper takeout bag.

“I'm sure it's fine,” he said, setting down the screwdriver he'd been holding.

I could hear voices, agitated voices, coming from the store.

“Do I want to know what's going on in there?”

“I've been asking myself that same question,” Mac said with a smile. “So far the answer is no.” He hooked a nearby wooden stool that I'd just primed the day before and sat down, lifting the container of soup from the bag and pulling off the lid.

I leaned against the dresser he'd been working on. “You don't have a spoon,” I pointed out.

“Not a problem.” He lifted the waxed cardboard cup to his lips as though it were a cup of coffee.

I glanced over toward the door that led to the main part of the building. I could still hear the voices. I couldn't really make out more than a few odd words, but I recognized Rose's voice along with Avery's and Liz's.

Rose was a tiny white-haired dynamo, barely five feet tall in her sensible shoes. She—along with Charlotte—worked part-time for me, mainly because they were both reliable and hardworking, and I wasn't good at saying no to Gram.

Mac leaned over and set his soup down on the floor. “I'll go see what's going on, Sarah,” he said.

I put out a hand to stop him. “It's okay,” I said. “I'll go.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“This is not my first rodeo,” I said, straightening up and pushing back the sleeves of my sweater.

“Okay. Yell if you need backup.”

There were no customers in the store. Charlotte was behind the cash desk with a cloth in her hand and a set of sherry glasses on the counter in front of her. She still had the bearing and eagle-eyed gaze of the high school principal she'd been. Even in flats she was taller than I was. She had soft white hair and warm brown eyes behind her glasses. Right now those dark eyes looked troubled.

When I'd left for lunch, Charlotte had told me that she was going to dust and polish all the glassware in the store. Now she was frowning and her glasses had slid halfway down her nose. Rose had her apron in one hand. The other hand was on her hip, and she was looking up at Liz, who had several inches on petite Rose.

I knew by her stance and the way her chin was jutting out that Rose was arguing about something with Liz. Liz was standing in the middle of the room. She was wearing a vivid cardinal-red coat and a soft, butter-colored hat. As always, she looked polished and elegant. Her nails were manicured and her blond hair curled around her face. Unlike Rose and Charlotte, Liz refused to let her hair go gray.

“If the Good Lord hadn't intended me to be blond, he wouldn't have created Light Golden Blonde,
number thirty-eight,” she'd said emphatically to Rose when the latter had suggested Liz let her hair “go natural.”

Beside Liz, Avery was engulfed in an oversize black parka I knew she'd bought for eight dollars at Goodwill.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Liz said, waving one hand as though she were shooing away a bug. “Just call him.”

“No,” Rose said. I knew that tone and that body language. Liz should have as well. The two of them had been friends for most of their lives even though they were very different. Rose dressed for comfort; Liz was all about style. Rose favored sensible shoes, and Liz had never met a pair of heels she didn't like.

“Call who?” I asked.

Rose turned to look at me over her shoulder. “No one,” she said.

“Josh Evans,” Liz countered.

I looked at Rose. “Why do you need a lawyer?”

When Arthur Fenety had been murdered back in the fall and their friend Maddie Hamilton was arrested for the crime, Rose, Liz and Charlotte—unhappy with the way the police were handling the case—had investigated, with some help from Alfred Peterson, who had to be the world's oldest computer hacker, and, well, me. Nick had argued vehemently with his mother about it. I'd tried my best to rein them in, but somehow I'd gotten pulled into the investigation myself. Josh had taken on Maddie's
case when I'd asked, and Liz had quietly covered the bill.

“I don't need a lawyer, dear,” Rose said. “As usual, Liz is overreacting.”

“What would be the harm in at least talking to him?” Charlotte asked. As a former school principal, she was often the voice of reason.

Rose pointed a finger from Liz to Charlotte. “Both of you need to have your hearing checked because I've told you twice now. Josh is a very nice young man, but I don't need a lawyer.”

Liz made an exasperated snort and shook her head.

I turned to Avery. “What's going on?”

She shrugged. “Rose got kicked out of her apartment. Nonna and Charlotte want her to make a stink about it.”

I turned back to look at Rose again. “You were evicted?” I said.

Silently, she pulled an envelope out of her pocket and held it out to me.

I took out the single sheet of paper inside. It was an eviction notice. Rose had until the middle of February to vacate her apartment at Legacy Place. There was no reason given.

Legacy Place was the former Gardner Chocolate factory—“A little bite of bliss in a little gold box.” In the early nineties the company had built a new manufacturing facility just on the outskirts of North Harbor. The old factory had had a number of lives in the next twenty years, and then about three years ago
the Gardner family had renovated the building into a much-needed apartment complex for seniors. Rose derisively called the place “Shady Pines.”

“Rose, they have to at least tell you why they've asked you to leave,” I said, gesturing with the envelope. “Maybe it's not a bad idea to call Josh.”

Josh Evans had grown up in North Harbor. Not only had he been Maddie Hamilton's lawyer when she was accused of Arthur Fenety's murder, but he'd known Rose—and Liz and Charlotte and my grandmother—since he was a kid. I knew he'd be willing to help.

Rose laid a hand on my arm. “I don't want to fight this,” she said. “I don't want to make a big fuss.”

I knew she'd only originally agreed to the move to the seniors' apartment complex to put her daughter's mind at rest. Getting evicted was the perfect out for her. I looked at her without saying anything. Her cheeks grew pink and her gaze slipped away from mine. I was right.

I looked at the letter again. It was dated the second week of January—two weeks earlier. “How long have you known about this?”

“A while,” she hedged.

“Why didn't you say something?”

“She's stubborn,” Liz said, a frown forming between her perfectly groomed eyebrows.

I turned my head to look at her. “Pots and kettles, Liz,” I said, raising one eyebrow.

Her mouth moved, but she didn't say anything else.

“I wanted to get my ducks in a row before I told you all,” Rose said, looking around at all of us. She sounded a little less defiant and a little more embarrassed than before.

“And did you?” I asked gently.

She sighed. “Not exactly.”

“Rose, do you have somewhere else to live?” Liz asked.

“Not yet.” Her chin came up. “I'm still weighing my options.”

“Well, while you're weighing them, you can move in with Avery and me,” Liz said, nodding her head as though everything were settled, which I knew it wasn't.

“Say yes,” Avery immediately said, a huge smile stretching across her face. “Please. Right now I'm the only one who cooks. If Nonna made a cake, even a dog wouldn't eat it.”

Liz shot her a look. She could actually cook. She just didn't see why she should.

“Sorry, Nonna, but that's true,” Avery said with an offhand shrug.

“Thank you both, but no,” Rose said firmly. She looked directly at Liz. “How long have we been friends?”

“Not as long as it feels, sometimes,” Liz retorted.

“If we lived together, I'm sure I'd try to smother you in your sleep by the end of the second week,” Rose said, her expression completely serious.

Liz narrowed her blue eyes. “Are you implying I'd be difficult to live with?”

“I'm not implying it,” Rose retorted. “I'm coming right out and saying it. You would be difficult to live with. I don't want to ruin our friendship, and I don't want to go to prison because I put a pillow over your face.” She leaned toward me. “Although I could probably get off for justifiable homicide.”

“I heard that,” Liz said. “And I am not difficult to live with.”

Beside her, Avery gave a loud snort.

Liz fixed her gaze on her granddaughter and held up two perfectly manicured fingers. “Two words. Boarding school.”

I knew she wasn't serious. So did Avery.

Avery held up her hand, the fingers spread wide apart. “Five words, Nonna,” she countered. “You can't program the DVR.”

“Rose, would you live with me?” Charlotte asked.

Rose half turned to smile at her friend. “Thank you,” she said, “but you don't have anywhere to put me, and I'm not putting you out of your room.”

An ice dam on the roof of Charlotte's house just after New Year's had caused a leak in her spare room. The roof had been patched and Nick had pulled up the soggy carpet, but the ceiling and one wall still needed to be repaired, and given Nick's schedule, who knew when that would be.

Rose held up a hand. “And before anyone gets any ideas, I'm not living in sin with Alfred. He already offered.”

Avery opened her mouth to say something, but Rose cut her off.

“And we're not getting married, either, in case anyone has any ideas.” She leaned toward me again. “Remind me that I need to get some Bengay. I think Alfred pulled something getting up off his knees.”

I couldn't help smiling at the thought of stoop-shouldered, bald-headed Alfred Peterson, whose pants were generally up around his armpits, getting down on one knee to propose to Rose.

“Everyone, please, there's no need to overreact,” Rose said in a louder voice. She gestured toward a notepad sitting on the counter by the sherry glasses Charlotte had been dusting. “I went online and made a list of apartments for rent. I'm sure I'll find something.”

“You wouldn't have to find something if you'd stop being so pigheaded and move in with me,” Liz retorted.

Charlotte had been studying Rose's list. She looked up, caught my eye and gave her head a slight shake.

Charlotte knew North Harbor better than I did. If she didn't think any of the places on that list were acceptable, that was good enough for me.

I rolled my neck from one side to the other. My shoulders were tying themselves in knots. “We'll find something for you somewhere,” I said to Rose. Maybe Jess would know of a place, I thought. Or Sam.

“Why can't Rose just take that extra apartment you have?” Avery said.

Elvis had wandered in from somewhere, and he
loudly seconded her suggestion as she bent down and picked him up.

“Oh, I can't do that,” Rose said. “And Sarah's not finished renovating that apartment anyway.”

My house, an 1860s two-story Victorian, was divided into three apartments. I lived in one. My grandmother lived in the other when she wasn't traveling with her new husband, John. The third apartment was where my family—my brother, Liam, my mom and my stepfather—stayed when they came to visit. I hadn't finished the renovations in that space, but I wasn't that far from being done, either.

Liz walked over to the cash desk and picked up the pad with Rose's list. She scanned the page.

“You can't live in any of these places,” she said. “Two of them are too far from downtown, and another is so—” She made a face. “Well, let's just say even the cockroaches won't live there.”

“We don't have cockroaches here. It's too cold,” Rose said matter-of-factly, shaking out her apron.

I sighed softly. Rose was family. They were all family—Rose, Charlotte, Liz and Avery. A family that was more like the Addams Family than the Waltons sometimes, but family nonetheless. I loved them all.

I turned to look over my shoulder at the door to the workroom. Somehow I'd known Mac was there, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. A look passed between us.

Sometimes it felt as though Mac could read my mind. This was one of those times. I dipped my head
ever so slightly in Rose's direction. Mac gave me an almost imperceptible nod in answer to my unspoken question.

Rose and Liz were still arguing. I came up behind them and wrapped my arms around Rose's shoulders. “Come live with me,” I said. “Mac will get the apartment ready, and since we won't be living in the same space, you won't have to put a pillow over my face in the middle of the night.”