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“Yes,” she continued crisply. “I am looking at the image you emailed. And other than the whole thing being bigger, I’d also like Marshall Merriweather’s name to be in a more prominent font. Get me the mock-up of that by the end of the week.”

Roxy hung up the phone without saying goodbye and turned to the visitors waiting outside.

“Come in, ladies, come in!” She motioned to them with obvious excitement, turning her computer monitor toward them so they could see an image on the screen. She seemed to be in an unusually jovial mood. “Take a look at this!”

It was what looked like a sign, with bold blue lettering that read WELCOME TO SILVER COVE, HOME OF MARSHALL MERRIWEATHER, AUTHOR OF STORMY OF SILVER COVE. A slightly cartoonish image of the imposing Marshall Merriweather was in the center of the sign, his beard hanging down to his collar. A palomino horse hung in the periphery.

“It’s a cut-out photo board,” Roxy said, looking pleased with herself. “You know, one of those things where you stick your face into a hole and have your picture taken? These will be huge on tourists’ social media feeds!”

“Nice,” Cam said, trying to match Roxy’s obvious enthusiasm.

“Kids will love that,” Francine agreed.

“We’re going to unveil it at the centennial celebration,” she said. “But it will be on display year-round. And…” she said conspiratorially, “this hasn’t been announced yet, but we’re having a giant mural painted on the side of the old drugstore—you know, the one whose side you see just as you come downtown?”

Both women nodded.

“It will have Marshall Merriweather’s portrait on it!” Roxy looked ecstatic at the thought.

“What about his wife, Ada?” Cam asked, suddenly feeling protective of her ghost. “She played a role in the book, too. Maybe you could include her as well?”

Roxy flipped her ever-present scarf dismissively. “She was his secretary, dear,” she said. “They were only married a few years before she died, anyway.” Roxy said this derisively, as if it were somehow Ada’s fault that she had contracted influenza and perished before her time. Like dying was a sign of weakness. “Ada,” Roxy concluded, “was a mere footnote in the life of a great man.”

She turned the monitor back around and clapped her hands, clearly signaling that this particular conversation was over. “I suppose you’re here for the catering equipment. I had our maintenance man leave it out in the main hall for you.”

Cam and Francine exchanged a meaningful look.

“I think there might be more to Ada that we just don’t know,” Cam countered. “Things can get lost in history, things that—”

“Good day, ladies,” Roxy cut her off firmly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend here. This town doesn’t just run itself, you know!”

“God forbid,” Francine muttered under her breath as they turned around and headed to claim what they had come for. Clearly, Francine shared her feelings.

“So Ada was just ‘a footnote’?” Cam said hotly as they gathered the boxes. “That’s a horrible way to describe someone. She was a person. She must have had hopes and dreams of her own, right?”

“Of course she did,” Francine replied, hoisting a load into her arms. “Don’t all women? Ugh, eff the patriarchy. Even if we do have a woman mayor around here.”

It only took the two women two trips to load the supplies into Trixie. Cam was grateful for the help, and for the vehicle. Of course, on the night of the fete, she would have to ferry the food herself because that was delicate cargo, but on this trip, it was much easier to stack the bulky boxes into the bed of the truck. They puttered the few blocks back to the cafe and carried the boxes into the dining room, where Cam planned to go through them later, checking for chipped plates and examining the chafing dishes to make sure they worked. She would wash the plates and silverware and bring them back to the hall, where she planned on setting up the buffet.

Cam looked around for any sign of Samantha, feeling annoyed. Martina had vouched for her, but not showing up for her first day of work wasn’t exactly a good start.

“You know what, Francine?” Cam asked. “I’m hungry. Want me to make us lunch?” Francine could handle meeting Izzy if their new celebrity lodger happened to make an appearance, she knew.

“Hell yes,” Francine said. “Any chance for a Cam meal, and I’m in. I was going to go home and eat a bowl of cereal.”

“Seriously?” Cam asked.

“I told you I’m not a sophisticated eater,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like trying things. You’re going to make me a real gourmet if you keep this up.”

“How about some Moroccan-spiced ratatouille?” Cam said, thinking about the dish of recipe-testing leftovers she had stashed in Birdie’s fridge.

“I have no idea what those words mean, but if you think it’s yummy, I say move over, Count Chocula!” Francine said.

“Okay, we’ll go to Birdie’s to eat, then,” she said. “Let me just make one quick phone call first.”

Cam stepped into the front of the cafe and dialed Samantha.

A weak voice answered. “H-hello?”