Fiona took a moment to taste her own brew, wondering how much of the contents of the letter she should divulge. Not that there was anything that important in it, she reminded herself, but she felt odd sharing the nostalgic words from the old man. Not even H. Gideon Nath, the Third, knew what was in the letter.
She finally decided on prevaricating. “He didn’t say much, other than that he knew her long ago. Hence my questions.”
“I’ll ask my mother if she knows,” he promised. “My father is dead, and he was Nevio’s nephew, but she might recall the name. And I can also ask Uncle Arnie and Aunt Vera.”
“That would be great. It’s just something that bothers me a little, in a curious sort of way.” She gave him a dazzling smile and noticed when a light of interest and appreciation flared in his eyes.
“I’ll give you a call next week,” he said, taking the napkin on which she wrote her mobile phone number. Then, with a glance over her shoulder, he stood. “So sorry—my campaign manager just arrived, and it’s show time.” He shook both of their hands, adding, “I hope I have your support on November 7.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a money clip, flipped through several large bills to find a twenty, and tossed it onto the table. “I’ll be in touch, Fiona, if I learn anything about this mysterious Gretchen.”
“Good-bye,” Fiona said, and returned her attention to Winona as Bradley joined his posse of handlers. Her friend was looking at her through narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“So, what—is he the reason you don’t want to meet the lawyer I want to set you up with? He’s not bad looking, but seems a little…not your type. Especially with him being a politician.”
“What is it with you and setting me up? I go out enough. I don’t need to be set up, Win.”
“I know you go out quite a bit, but when you do, it’s a different guy every time. Don’t you get tired of the casualness of it all?”
“I like the casualness. Just because you found Mr. Perfect doesn’t mean that I’m interested in that. I’m not. I like things just the way they are. And besides,” Fiona added, “now that I have a business to run, I’ll have enough responsibility in my life. I don’t need to be responsible for a man, too.”
* * *
Well. This was it.
Fiona gripped the cluster of keys, took a deep breath, and unlocked the door of the shop.
She’d debated about whether to enter through the back, alley-side door or to come in through the front, and decided that her first impression of her new life should be from the same perspective of her potential clients.
So here she was, standing in the little alcove between the two bay windows and unlocking the front door. Her stomach was filled with butterflies and her hands were clammy.
Geeze, Fi. Get a frigginggrip.
She pushed open the door, and to her relief, it swung inward easily as delicate chimes tinkled above.
She stepped into the long, narrow shop. The smell of age met her nose: the scent of mothballs and mustiness, old wood and worn damask. The space was dark, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the faint light. She could see shapes of furnishings and lamps hanging from the ceiling, vases and chests, and other objects unidentifiable in the dim light.
Whatever was here washers.
Allhers.
A tingle of trepidation swirled through her middle, curling and squeezing in her stomach. She’d never been responsible for anything this important before. Thisbigbefore.
Heck, she’d hardly been able to keep an orchid alive—and everyone knew they could go weeks without water.
Her palms were sweating…but a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Claudia was going to freak when she found out that her daughter owned an entire store.
A business.
Fiona closed the door behind her, locking it, and in the dim light, found a table on which to rest her leather bag. Then, feeling cautiously on the wall just inside the doorway, she groped for the light switch that she hoped was there. Her fingers brushed rough paneling, fumbling over molding and across a myriad of cords that no doubt attached to the collection of lamps that were suspended above.
That front wall of paneling ended, giving way to the chalky brick and mortar of the side, and Fiona had still not located a light switch.
Then, suddenly, with a little laugh, she pulled her hand back to her side. “Fiona, you are an idiot!” She shook her head at her own silliness and reached for a nearby lamp, slipping her hand under its shade to find the switch.
A welcome glow of light filtered into a small area, highlighting the flecks of dust and mites she’d stirred up with her investigation.
In the silence, Fiona heard the floor creak and groan as she moved slowly through a warren of items into the center of the store. Maybe the light switches were in the back. The ceiling hung lower now, giving the back half of the shop a more confined, cozy feeling.
She noticed that there was an unobtrusive staircase on the left side of the space that led to a second floor, which explained why the front part of the store had high ceilings and the rear seemed close and dark like a cave. She began to climb the stairs, hesitating when she looked up into the dark, cavernous stairwell.
