“Doesn’t he have, like, staff? Lawyers make good money.”
“He’s an estate attorney in the middle of nowhere, not some corporate lawyer in LA.”
Her mouth twists, brows dipping. “So, what, he does everything by himself?”
“He has an office aide, but she works during the day.” Why do I even bother trying to explain things to her? You would think she was the out-of-touch-with-the-world celebrity.
“It’s just that I slipped outside already, and I think I hurt my ankle. I’m not sure I can carry all the bags. I had to get the people at the airport to help me and?—”
I tune her out and walk toward the door, holding out my hand as I pass her. “Where are your keys?”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve lugged her three giant bags upstairs to the apartment, and she has been yapping at me the entire time. “Will you put that over there? Make sure the handles are up. This is so rustic. It’s quaint, I guess. What’s wrong with the bathroom? That is the tiniest fridge I have ever seen. Why didn’t you stay at the inn?”
“It was full. The power got knocked out in a neighborhood and . . .” I stall out. I don’t want to tell her about Beverly’s house or the theater.
How will she use it against me? Maybe not Audrey herself, but she’ll tell Mother.
I have been keeping the details of the inheritance and the related duties under wraps from everyone. Only Daphne and I have all the details, but there’s no way Audrey won’t be able to piece together some of it while she’s here. It’s inevitable. The whole town is talking and speculating, and I am obviously involved in the theater and will be moving into Beverly’s house when it’s ready, which is going to be really soon.
She’s going to figure it out. Most of it anyway.
“And there weren’t any rooms at the inn, so Spencer was kind enough to let me stay here for a bit.”
“What are you doing here, anyway? Mother thought it might have something to do with her stepmom passing away.”
Of course she does. “What does it matter? How did you even know I was here?”
“There was a mention in the local paper about an event you’re doing this weekend. You know Mother has a Google alert thing set up. So I came out here and asked around at the diner. Imagine my surprise when they said you are staying here, with some rando attorney.”
I have to tell her something. I settle on a partial truth. I might as well tell her what she’ll hear around town anyway. “You know Beverly owned The Palace. Now that she’s passed, someone needs to manage it.”
“Why do you have to do it? Didn’t she have other people to do that? Did she leave you the whole theater?”
I push myself to my feet. “I am too tired for all of these questions. Come on. Let me help you pull the bed out.” Because there is no way I am telling her everything, and there’s no way she will be able to figure out a couch bed on her own.
Daphne pops her head into the office. “You are not going to believe this. We’ve almost sold out.”
I look up from the computer where I’ve been trying to make sense of quarterly business taxes and payroll. “Really?”
She strolls in and plunks down in the chair across from me, propping her boots up on my desk, and crossing her feet at the ankles. “If I force my brothers to bring dates, I think we’ll be there. You should have seen the line when we opened up for the printed advance tickets. Half the town was waiting.”
The seat creaks and squeaks as I lean back. “Now we just have to make sure Graham shows up.” The first part of the task, selling the tickets, was easy. Easy-ish.
It’s getting Graham out of his house and into the theater and staying put that’s got my heart racing and my blood pressure rising.
What if he doesn’t care about the appropriation of his life’s work? What’s to stop him from just . . . not showing up?
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I’ve asked this question at least 367 times.
“It’s going to work.” Daphne has uttered those words at least 378 times.
“What if he doesn’t show?”
“He’s going to show.”
I lean forward. “But what if he doesn’t?”
Daphne blows out a noisy breath, sending a strand of dark hair flying. “Then we try again. And again. And again until it works. If all else fails, I have a pointy object.”
