“Text?” Fiona reached for her bag. “I didn’t get any text from you.” She began to rummage in the depths of the satchel. Or did she? If she could actuallyfindthe phone…
“Did you lose your cell again?” Win shook her head in mock dismay. “I don’t know why I bother trying. I should just stick to face-to-face or calling you at work. Not that you’ll be at work any more, starting next week anyway…”
“So what’s going on Tuesday that you texted me about?” Fiona asked, still feeling around amid the jumble for her phone. Whenwasthe last time she’d seen it?
“There’s a guy I want you to meet,” her friend replied, her dark eyes dancing with humor. “He’s very sweet and down to earth, and he’s never been married.”
But Fiona was already shaking her head. “That lawyer you told me about? Vince? No way. You know how I feel about the attorney breed. And I don’t trust any blind date you arrange for me anyway, especially after the guy who was supposed to be a veterinarian. The man had hands like the Tin Man—big and knuckly and creaky.” She shuddered.
“Girl, you are so weird about hands. And you know that blind date was only to pay you back for sending me flowers from Colin Farrell.”
Fiona smirked, remembering how Winona had called her, babbling uncontrollably about the dozen red roses she’d received the day after meeting Colin Farrell at a charity function Win had managed.
“That was a good one, wasn’t it?” she said with a laugh.
“Not as good as the vet I setyouup with—the one who performs hypnosis on dogs and cats.”
Fiona snorted and flapped her hand. “You are nowhere near as good as I am when it comes to great practical jokes. It’s because of my inner imp.”
“Anyway, this lawyer—”
“Speaking of lawyers,” Fiona said, bent on changing the subject. She leaned closer, over her beer. “Why is an accountant better than a lawyer?”
Winona rolled her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“At least accountants know they’re boring.”
Winona chuckled in spite of herself, and just as she opened her mouth to speak again, she snapped it shut. Fiona realized why when a deep voice reached her ears. “Ms. Murphy?”
She looked up behind her just as Brad Forth stepped into her line of vision. “Well, hello,” she greeted him, surprised that he would approach her.
“I thought that was you,” he said, smiling down at her and then over at Winona. “Mind if I join you for a quick minute? I wanted to see how everything was going with the inheritance—the shop and all.” His grin was infectious and impossible to ignore.
Fiona shrugged and flickered a glance at her friend, who seemed to be bursting with curiosity. “Have a seat. This is my friend Winona Reed. Win, this is Bradley Forth, the grand-nephew of Mr. Valente.”
Winona looked a little confused after the introduction, and it took Fiona a moment to realize she’d probably assumed the man was H. Gideon when he’d mentioned the inheritance.
Forth took a seat, and the waitress was upon them in a second, obviously eager to take the order of the well-groomed, attractive man. Or maybe she recognized him as a political candidate.
After ordering a local IPA, he returned his attention to Fiona. “Did Nath take care of everything with you today? All the paperwork is signed and finished?”
“Yes. We’ve got everything squared away, and Win and I were just having a little drink to celebrate. You too? I’m guessing your paperwork—which is clearly more complicated than mine—would be all finalized as well.”
“Yes—signed, sealed, and delivered. I’m meeting a friend—who’s bringing some potential supporters—for a private dinner, and my handler and I got here a little early.” He glanced over and Fiona saw the fresh-faced intern, standing near the wall with a clipboard. He was wearing a tie that looked like it was about to strangle him, it was so tight.
“When I saw you, I thought I’d take a moment to say hi. It’s always nice to chat with a potential constituent.” Brad beamed at Winona, then explained, “I’m running for State Senate in this district. Election’s almost four weeks away, so the more people I can meet, the better.”
“I’m glad you stopped by, Mr. Forth, because I have a question about your uncle,” Fiona said.
“Please, call me Brad. I’m hoping to be your state senator soon, and I like to be on a first name basis with my supporters.” He flashed his smile again. “At least, IhopeI’ll have your support.”
“Um, well, I suppose I’ll have to look at your platform,” she said, feeling guilty that she didn’t already know who was on the ballot for the state elections. “Anyway, I was wondering—do you know who Gretchen was?”
“Gretchen?” He looked at her with genuine confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“Mr. Valente left a letter for me, sort of explaining his reasoning for putting me in his will, and he mentioned someone named Gretchen. I thought she might have come up at the reading of the will, but she didn’t, and I didn’t get a chance to ask then. I just wondered if you knew who she was because your great-uncle spoke very fondly of her in the letter.”
Brad looked surprised. “Fondly?” He shook his head, glancing up to smile at the waitress who set his beer in front of him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who that could be. Quite frankly, Fiona—that’s such a lovely name; I hope you don’t mind if I use it—anyway, frankly, I can’t imagine my great-uncle feeling fondly toward anyone.” He lifted the beer and sipped, then lowered it and shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard mention of a Gretchen. Did he say anything specific about her?”
