CHAPTER 2

C HAPTER 2

"I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!"

—Caroline Bingley, in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

I snatched my cell phone from Tegan. "Marigold, it's Allie. Are you okay?" I heard a thud through the line. "Oh, no! She must have fallen. Tegan, wasn't anyone at the bookstore when you left?"

"Uh-uh. Auntie was gearing up for her meeting and wanted privacy."

"Let's go."

I removed my cap, raced out of the kitchen, grabbed my peacoat and threw Tegan her parka, and we hightailed it to the Ford Transit.

Like Dream Cuisine, the bookstore was located on Main Street but closer to Mountain Road. I parked in the public parking on Holly Street and raced to the shop. Tegan slogged behind me, panting heavily. It wasn't the altitude affecting her. Bramblewood was no more than two thousand feet above sea level, but some people, like Tegan, who wasn't a jogger, let alone a runner, could suffer.

"Slow down if you have to," I said. "I've got this." I took extensive hikes weekly and tried to run at least two miles every other day. A caterer needed to keep fit .

I jammed toward Feast for the Eyes. Posters for the upcoming Celtic Festival were everywhere. Unlike Asheville's festival, which was held in the winter, our Celtic Festival occurred in the spring, both indoors and outdoors at the Bramblewood Park and Rec Center, which abutted the park. Posters, such as Get in touch with your Celtic roots ! Dress up! and Immerse yourself in the history!, abounded . Tegan and I had discussed joining in the fun. Over the years, we'd attended many Renaissance fairs and other costumed occasions.

The CLOSED sign on the bookshop was visible, but the door was ajar, not locked as I'd expected it to be. "Marigold!" I called upon entering. I dashed past the year-round book tree decorated with miniature book ornaments and yelled again.

The floor plan of the shop included four aisles to the right and three to the left, plus a reading nook fitted with an L-shaped couch, an assortment of beanbags, and midcentury modern upholstered chairs. A display island was positioned in front of the sales counter. The stockroom and office were beyond it.

I peered down the first aisle to my left, its shelves packed with books. Marigold wasn't lying on the floor. She hadn't fallen off the rolling ladder. "Marigold!"

No answer.

I peeked down all of the other aisles and into the reading nook. Empty. I checked inside the customer bathroom beyond the nook. It was vacant.

"Tegan, where's Chloe?" I asked. She was the other clerk. "Didn't she come in today?"

"Yes, but she left for a dental appointment."

"Marigold!" I yelled again.

Maybe she was in the office. It was visible from the main shop, although the blinds on the picture window were drawn.

Someone moaned. I peeked past the island of books and caught sight of feet in black ballet slippers jutting from behind the sales counter .

"Oh, no!"

I darted to Marigold and bent down. She was lying faceup, eyes open, mouth agape. Her wispy silver hair haloed her aging face. The diamond pendant she always wore was askew. Her aqua-blue painter's smock was bunched around her black trousers. Pencils and Post-it notepads had spilled from the smock's pockets.

I took her hand and patted it. "Marigold, it's me, Allie." Having catered at the Eatery, I'd seen my fair share of people passed out from overdrinking alcohol, overeating, and the like. I was trained in CPR. I was familiar with how to check for a victim's responsiveness and other life-threatening conditions. And I knew enough to turn a victim struggling for breath onto her back. Fortunately, I didn't have to in this case.

Marigold's eyes blinked open. She focused on my face.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured. "I think so, dear."

"Allie!" Tegan yelled. "Where are you?"

"Over here." I kept my focus on Marigold. "What happened?"

"I'm not exactly sure." She licked her parched lips. "I must have fainted."

"Is it possible you had an episode?"

"I don't think so. I never have."

Her eyes were moist. I checked her pulse. It was weak.

"Auntie!" Tegan rounded the counter, chest heaving. "Is she okay?"

I nodded. "Marigold, smile." She did. "Raise both arms." She complied. "Say ‘I love books.' " She repeated the words. Phew. She hadn't had a stroke. I said, "Have you been drinking enough water?" People often forgot to keep hydrated.

"I had tea."

"I've told you before, that doesn't count. I know others have warned you, too. "

"You're too bossy," she said, and winked.

"I'm cautious." The manager at the Eatery had required us to take hours upon hours of emergency training. The instructor who'd led my group reminded us often that tea, coffee, and soda were never substitutes for water. "Tegan, stay with her. Hold her hand."

Tegan obeyed.

I raced into the mini kitchen in the stockroom, filled a glass with water from the faucet, and returned just as a middle-aged woman was entering through the front door.

"Wow, what a place!" the woman raved as she spun in a circle and took in the shop. "Such high ceilings and so many books. And the entryway on the street is so whimsical"—she twirled a finger—"all fitted out with plaster-of-Paris book pages. Very clever. Oh, gee! Is that entire section devoted to classic mysteries? I love Dorothy L. Sayers."

"Sorry, ma'am, we're closed!" I yelled.

"But the door was ajar."

"Closed for a medical emergency," Tegan explained. "Come back tomorrow. Thank you."

I returned my focus to Marigold and asked if she could sit up. She said she could. I carefully slid an arm around her slender torso and propped her in a sitting position against the counter. "Any bruises? Broken bones? Twinges?"

"No. I think I slumped. I didn't crash."

I'd heard a pretty substantial thud over the cell phone and doubted a slump could've caused the noise, but I didn't press. She seemed alert. I held the water to her lips and she sipped. "I should call Noeline."

"No, don't bother her." Marigold had confided once that when she and her sister were growing up, she, being the eldest, had acted like a mother hen to Noeline. Heaven forbid the tables turn and Noeline baby her.

"What's going on?" a woman hooted. I recognized the voice. It was Vanna, Tegan's older half sister. No one else on earth had such a piercing tone, something akin to a crow squawking or a crane whooping. "Auntie? What happened?"

She rushed toward us, the tautness of her silver-gray pencil skirt preventing her from taking long strides. The matching peplum jacket didn't help. How she moved around a kitchen in clothing like that was beyond me. Perhaps this was the outfit she wore to pitch her business to local shops. With her strawberry-blond hair secured in a fashionable knot, her eyes outlined heavily in black, and her lips daubed with ruby-red lipstick, she reminded me of an exotic bird. I couldn't remember the last time I'd put on lipstick. I was a lip-gloss kind of girl.

"Out of the way, Allie." Vanna tried to gracefully lower herself to the floor, but her four-inch heels threw her off-balance.

Honestly, four-inch heels? The town's sidewalks were brick and uneven. I steadied her by the shoulder.

Vanna thanked me curtly and said, "Let's get you to your feet, Auntie." She seized her aunt's wrist.

"No!" I restrained her. "Your aunt needs to remain seated to get her bearings."

"Isn't that exactly like you, Allie, forcing your will upon others?" Vanna sniffed and rose to her full height.

I flashed on one of my least favorite characters in all of literature, the eldest Bingley sister from Pride and Prejudice. She was persnickety and rude.

"Hello?" a woman said from the front of the store. "What's all the hoopla? Isn't the tea tomorrow, or did I mess up on the calendar? Is it today?"

I peeked around the counter. Noeline Merriweather sauntered to us, wrapped in a belted white coat and matching boots. She wore a handsome indigo-blue scarf looped around her long neck and was sporting a new hairdo. A bob. All my life, I'd only seen her with long, wavy hair. The shorter hairdo suited her. It was flirty .

"You didn't mess up, Noeline," I said. "It's tomorrow, Saturday, but your sister had an incident."

"An incident?" Noeline skirted the sales counter. "Sis!"

"She's fine," I said.

"Don't worry about me. I'm dehydrated, that's all," Marigold said, accepting my diagnosis.

"Tegan." Noeline was a warm, caring woman with a gentle voice and easy demeanor. "Why didn't you call 911?"

Vanna said snottily, "I was going to ask the same thing."

"We just got here," Tegan said. "I was on a break, visiting Allie. When Auntie telephoned, we rushed right over. Auntie, I'm going to cancel your meeting with the donors."

"Yes, do that, dear." Marigold struggled to her feet. "What are you doing here, Noeline?"

"I was taking a morning stroll."

Marigold said, "Liar. You hate walks. You came to check on me."

"Did not."

"You think I'm withering in my old age. You think I won't be able to balance the books," Marigold said. She was seventy; Noeline was ten years younger.

"That's not true." Noeline owned a quarter of the bookshop, a gift from Marigold, although she was a silent partner, since she had her hands full with the bed-and-breakfast. "And you know it."

"Do I?" Purposely, Marigold pulled a prunish face, then laughed.

Noeline chuckled, too, in the identical throaty way.

Their laughter wasn't their only likeness. They had the same fine features and inquisitive eyes, and now their hairdos were similar, although Noeline continued to dye hers blond.

"Mother," Vanna said. "I was at the mayor's house going over a menu and thought I'd stop in and check on Auntie." She couldn't help dropping names of Bramblewood's high and mighty. "Good thing I did. "

Good thing, indeed, I reflected.

"Noeline, sweetheart." A handsome, silver-haired gentleman, with prominent cheekbones and an easy smile, came into view. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes." Noeline grabbed hold of his hand.

"Who are you?" Tegan asked abruptly.

"Rick O'Sheedy," he replied.

Noeline beamed. "Rick is a—"

"A financial consultant for Alta Barlow Hospital," Marigold cut in, her tone sharp. Evidently, she had rebounded. Did she disapprove of Rick's being an advisor or of him personally?

Rick nervously smoothed the silk tie that lay beneath his pin-striped suit and pocketed his key ring. I noticed the key ring had a red fob on it and tamped down a giggle. I'd seen comparable ones on dog collars of persons who walked their furry pets in the dark. Did Rick get lost often?

Tegan gave me a curious look, probably wondering why I was pressing my lips together.

Noeline said, "Rick is prepping the hospital so they can issue bonds to raise money."

The Alta Barlow Hospital was a newer concern and more like an emergency clinic, consisting of three floors with approximately one hundred beds. It was situated north of the police station and fire department on Mountain Road. Its sister facility in Asheville was much larger. Each of the rotating staff was top-notch.

"Rick has been meeting with the finance teams to ensure a good rating," Noeline added, signaling him to continue.

"We're allowed to temporarily issue thirty million a year in tax-exempt, bank-qualified bonds," he said. "These deals not only expand a hospital's credit power, but because we can bring them about quickly, they take as few as sixty days to close—"

"Rick," Noeline cut in. "Don't get technical. Broad strokes. "

He petted her cheek fondly. "Of course. They're good for the hospital. Enough said."

"You two are certainly spending a lot of time together," Vanna said.

"Togetherness is important if you want to get to know someone," Noeline replied with an alluring lilt.

I glanced at Tegan, who was sizing up Rick. The shop's phone rang. She moved to answer it.

Noeline approached Marigold. "Sweetie, truth. What happened? Were you overexerting yourself? I told you no one cares if you change the shop's décor. It's perfect the way it is."

"No, I wasn't," Marigold said tartly.

I rose and let the two of them rehash the scenario. Marigold reiterated my diagnosis: dehydration. Noeline huffed as if that was the lamest excuse she had ever heard. Vanna mimicked her mother. I leveled her with a look. She wrinkled her nose in defiance.

"Help me, Rick," Noeline said to her date, and the two of them guided Marigold into the chair behind the sales counter.

"Marigold," I said, "you're in good hands. I have to get back to work."

"Don't forget the tasting cups of custard, dear," Marigold reminded me.

"I wouldn't dare." Okay, I had forgotten about the custard, but I had plenty of staples at home to make it. I hurried to Tegan, who was hanging up the shop's phone. I spied a compendium of Dashiell Hammett's works on the desk behind the sales counter, which included Red Harvest, The Glass Key, and The Thin Man. I didn't see a note assigning it to a customer. "Who do you think that's for?"

"Got me."

"Hold it for me if no one else claims it."

She agreed.

On my way to the door, I nearly rammed into Lillian Bellingham, a contemporary of Tegan's and mine, and owner of Puttin' on the Glitz, the clothing and accessories shop next door that tailored to high-end buyers. Recently I'd provided a week's worth of personalized meals for Lillian and her bestie from college. Like Tegan, Lillian couldn't cook, but she sure did know how to dress. Today, in her baby-blue Coach trench coat, black rain boots, and black leather gloves, she looked like a million bucks. I clasped her elbow and tried to prevent her from entering.

"Hi, sugar. Is the shop open? The Closed sign is hanging on the door." Her voice was a breathy mix of Marilyn Monroe meets Sharon Stone, with a tinge of a Southern accent. For a brief moment, she'd lived in Hollywood and had starred in a couple of B movies. I hadn't seen either of them. I preferred watching classics. She tired quickly of beating the pavement and, like me, moved back to the Asheville area. With her family's help, she opened her business. In her off-hours, to keep active in the arts, she helped make and organize costumes at the community theater.

I said, "Marigold had an incident."

"Poor thing. She can be so clumsy." Lillian wriggled from my grasp. "Why, last month, I saw her fall off the ladder and twist her ankle. It was the itty bitty three-rung ladder, but a woman her age . . ." She tsk ed. "Who's tending to her?"

"Her sister."

"Noeline. A lovely woman. Good, good. I've sent many clients to her bed-and-breakfast. Charming place. Hi, Marigold!" Lillian flitted a finger. "I have a few books to purchase for my nieces. I'll come another time. I can't wait for tomorrow's tea."

Marigold didn't respond. She was glancing between Noeline and Vanna as if weighing how to deal with them.

I said, "I think that would be a good idea, Lillian," and once again clasped her elbow.

"Are you kidding me!" Vanna shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Vanna, hush," Noeline said .

"I won't hush. Auntie hired Allie to cater the tea?" Vanna leveled me with a vile look and turned to her aunt. "How could you? I'm the best in town. Everyone knows that."

I couldn't catch Marigold's response, but it must have incensed Vanna.

"Give me a break!" She threw her arms wide. "No one bakes better cookies than I do!"

For the record, my cookies, every last one of them, were excellent. I paid extra special attention to insure they were. I adored cookies.

Noeline jutted her head for me to leave and gestured that she would fix things, but I didn't have a chance to reach the door before Vanna came flying at me.

"Don't move, Allie!"

Tegan reached for her sister but missed.

Lillian rasped, "Gotta go," and raced out of the shop.

Chicken, I thought.

"For your information, Miss Catt," Vanna continued, "I can throw a better tea party than you any day. Any. Day." Her shrill tone could have shattered crystal.

A quote from my high-school English teacher came to me: "Deflect to conquer when confronted by a bully."

I said, "I'm sure you can, Vanna. You're a wonderful caterer."

"But Auntie hired you. "

"Because I know the clientele. I come to book clubs and special events and—"

"Big deal. I can memorize people's names."

"Plus I think she wanted to do me a favor. You know, to pad my pockets so I can buy myself a birthday present. I will turn twenty-six in a few weeks." I'd been born on Mother's Day. What a thorn that must have been in Fern's side! "Marigold thought—"

"Stuff it." Vanna wagged a pointy fingernail in my direction. If it had been any sharper, she'd have to register it as a weapon. "In the future, don't say yes to any offers from my aunt. "

"Or what?" I asked.

Tegan joined me and repeated the question. "Or what?"

I elbowed her to keep quiet. I didn't need Vanna more riled than she already was.

"Or Dream Cuisine"—Vanna gave me and my pal a withering look—"might earn some bad reviews."

"Are you saying you'll damage my reputation?" I asked, truly appalled by the threat.

"That's libel," Tegan added.

"Libel, schmibel. Beware." Vanna aimed two fingers from her eyes to ours. "I'm watching you."