Claire bumped her fist to his and laughed. “We’ll see how it works out.”
“I think you might be surprised. Thanks for the coffee and pastry.” Rob raised the bag and exited, stopping to untie Spot. As they trotted off, he looked back over his shoulder and gave her a wave.
Claire was still holding onto the piece of paper with Sandee’s number when Hailey wandered over, drying her hands on a towel.
“Is that one of the fosters from the NYC run?” Hailey nodded toward Rob and Spot, who were still crossing the street.
“Yeah,” Claire affirmed. “Did you know that Sandee went down to get them?”
Hailey’s brows shot up in surprise. “Really? I have heard that she’s gotten a lot nicer lately.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “You too?”
Hailey laughed, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe she’s turning over a new leaf or something.”
Before Claire could reply, Hailey spotted a new customer walking through the door. ‘I’ll get them,” she said, scurrying off to attend to the incoming patron.
Left with her thoughts, Claire found herself fiddling with the piece of paper. Taking a deep breath, she dialed Sandee’snumber. Her pulse quickened as the phone rang. “What if this is a disaster?” she thought.
Claire felt a momentary sense of relief when the call went to voicemail. “Hi, Sandee, it’s Claire,” she began, trying to keep her voice steady. “I was wondering if we could meet tomorrow morning at Sandcastles to discuss some business. Stop by around eight if you are interested. Thanks.”
She hung up, placing her phone on the counter. Her feelings were a mixture of relief and tension. Sandee probably wouldn’t even show, she reasoned with herself. But what if she did?
Claire looked up to see Bunny, Sam, and Andie walking toward the door. She picked up the bag of chocolate chip muffins and other pastries that she’d set aside for Andie to take to Tall Pines and pushed thoughts of Sandee out of her mind. Whatever would happen, she’d deal with it tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Andie clutched the Sandcastles bag in her hand as the trio entered Tall Pines. The place was a large complex with interconnected buildings that seemed more like a small community than an assisted-living facility. There were various rooms for the residents to watch TV or do a puzzle as well as a big dining room and several cafés.
Stopping at the reception desk, Bunny said, “We’re here to visit Ellen Quillen. Could you please tell us where to find her?”
“Certainly,” the receptionist replied with a welcoming smile. “Mrs. Quillen is in the assisted-living wing. Just go down this corridor, take a left, and then it’s the third right. You’ll find her apartment down that hall.”
Armed with directions, they ventured deeper into the facility, their footsteps softened by the plush carpeting. As they walked, they couldn’t help but notice the little alcoves outside each door—spaces where the residents could personalize their entries. Welcome signs, pumpkins, and pots of vibrant mums were popular. They even spotted an array of handcrafted Norwegian ornaments and trinkets, courtesy of Olga Svenson.
Finally, they arrived at Ellen Quillen’s door. They knocked and waited. It took a few moments, but the door eventuallycreaked open to reveal a petite elderly lady with snowy white hair, leaning on her walker for support. Her face lit up with a blend of curiosity and warmth.
“Hello,” she greeted them, her voice rising in question at the end.
“Hi, Mrs. Quillen,” Bunny began, smiling as genuinely as she felt. “I’m Bunny, this is Sam, and this is Andie. Father Frank from St. Mary’s said you might be able to help us with something. May we come in?”
“Of course, of course,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she stepped aside to let them enter. “Please make yourselves at home, and please call me Ellen.”
Her small apartment felt like a cocoon of yesteryears—photographs of younger days adorned the walls, a crocheted blanket was neatly folded on the armchair, and a delicate scent of lavender hung in the air.
The layout was simple but thoughtful—a compact kitchenette sat just to the right of the entrance, equipped with basic appliances and a small dining table set for two. The living room was the centerpiece of the apartment, featuring overstuffed furniture.
Ellen’s eyes sparkled with genuine happiness at their presence. “I rarely get visitors these days. Would you like some coffee? I could put on a pot,” she offered, her voice tinged with a gracious enthusiasm.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Bunny replied as Andie handed over the bag of pastries they had brought. With deft movements that belied her age, Ellen carefully unwrapped the pastries, arranged them on a fine china dish, and set it on the coffee table for her guests.
“Now then,” Ellen said, settling into her armchair, “what did Father Frank think I could help you with?”
Taking this as their cue, Bunny and Sam began to recount their quest to find the intended recipient of the unopened Christmas gift and how clues had led them to her doorstep. As they unfolded the story, they produced the old church bulletin that Sam had discovered—articles and all.
As Bunny and Sam unfolded their story, Ellen’s eyes took on a faraway look, her gaze turning inward to memories long stored away. The weight of those years was palpable in her eyes. She nodded along with their recounting as if confirming details to herself, lost in a reverie of a time long past.
Setting out steaming mugs of coffee on the table beside the dish of pastries, Ellen eased herself back into her armchair and began her own tale. “My husband, God rest his soul, was killed suddenly in an accident. It was... unexpected, to say the least. We had two young children, and I was a housewife. Suddenly, there was no income, only a mountain of medical bills and the looming costs of a funeral. The church... oh, they were our saving grace. They helped us so much during that difficult time.”
