some kind of comment, but Dinah had said nothing. That wasn’t like Dinah as she usually had something to say about everything. She mumbled something about not being able to deal with Sheila’s problem just then. I heard noise in the background. How stupid of me to assume she was alone.
Dinah was divorced and unlike me, anxious to find a new partner. She’d been trying online stuff and coming up with nothing but duds. Maybe her luck had changed. I apologized for interrupting and said I’d thought maybe we could all go to the Cottage Shoppe with Sheila the next morning to give her moral support. I suggested we arrive when the store first opened, and I ended by telling her with a wink in my voice to “have fun.”
All she said was, “It’s not what you think,” before she hung up.
I tried CeeCee next. She was gung ho about doing something for Sheila as long as she didn’t have to be part of it.
“Dear, I have to be concerned about my image. And there’s the issue of the paparazzi. All I need is someone to get some photo on their cell phone of me in the middle of some kind of fracas. Sometimes being a celebrity is such a pain.”
I gave her the details anyway, even though I wasn’t sure she was listening.
I didn’t know whether to include Patricia since I wasn’t even sure she was really going to join the crochet group, but I didn’t want her to feel left out, so I called her. Someone answered the phone and took a message.
I had put off calling Adele until last. Things never went smoothly with her, and this was no different. When she heard I’d basically been turned down by everyone, she said, “I guess majority rules, Pink. You’re on your own.”
I was glad I hadn’t called Sheila first to propose the idea. It would have been a real punch in the gut to tell her everyone was going to come and then have to call her back and say they’d all begged off. So, I called and just offered my services.
“Oh, Molly, thank you,” she said with a gush of relief. “I want to confront Drew Brooks, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do it. He’s a nasty guy. But if I know you’re there, it’ll be easier to face him.”
THE NEXT MORNING AT THE APPOINTED TIME, I stood outside the Cottage Shoppe. Banners on every window blared enticing messages. One urged people to come in and check out the unique merchandise, another mentioned there were new arrivals daily, and the last one announced the coveted items from the Hearston Estate were coming soon. I didn’t remember Mrs. Brooks being so hard sell.
It was another silvery morning, and I was glad to have my jacket protecting me against the damp chill. I glanced around wondering if Sheila had gotten cold feet, and saw a woman approaching the shop.
“I know I said I wasn’t going to come,” CeeCee said, coming up next to me. “But I couldn’t leave you two alone. Sometimes my status comes in handy. Maybe it’ll mean something to that jerk.” She zipped up her amber velour jacket and glanced around. “Where’s Sheila?”
Before I could answer Dinah showed up. I opened my mouth to ask her about the background noise from the night before, but she beat me to the punch. “I’ll tell you about it later,” she said with a hint of distress in her voice. She looked around for Sheila, too.
Adele marched up with a knowing nod. “I knew it. I thought the rest of you would come, and I wasn’t going to be the only one who didn’t show. So, what’s the plan?”
“First, we need Sheila,” Dinah said.
I was about to say that perhaps she’d gotten cold feet, but CeeCee gestured. “Here she comes.”
Sheila was walking across the parking lot with Patricia.
“I was just giving her some advice,” Patricia said when they reached us. “I told her to just go in there with her mind set on the outcome she wants. And not to give up until he gives in. And if all else fails, maybe if we all came in it would help.”
“I want to speak to him on my own,” Sheila said. “But it really helps to know you’ll all be here.”
Adele led the way up the two steps to the tiny front porch. The bell on the door had a jingle fit from so many of us going in at once.
I told Sheila to go ahead and that we’d be hanging around waiting for her. I squeezed her hand for good luck, and with her hair swinging, she walked toward the sales desk. Rather than just standing around, we all started looking around the store. “If there’s something rotten going on here, it sure doesn’t show,” I said to Dinah. The inside of the store was as charming as the exterior.
Dinah and I stuck together as we walked into the first room. Since the shop was a house, the items for sale had been arranged in the rooms for which they were suited. We had entered the living room, where a pair of antique maple rockers sat in front of the small fireplace. Both had knitted throws draped over the arms. One was a heathery blue that was soft to the touch. I looked at it quickly, afraid Adele would make a scene if she saw me admiring it. There was also a wood bench with purple velvet cushions and shelves with all kinds of interesting doodads. I already owned enough doodads and kept my distance. In an alcove off the living room a gorgeous leaded glass lamp in shades of green sat on a craftsman-style table next to a love seat covered with needlepoint pillows. Everything had a price tag.
I pointed out Sheila’s scarves displayed on a mannequin and on top of a dresser in the “bedroom.” A case held some vintage jewelry pieces and an array of perfume bottles. Dinah admired a sequined evening wear top that was draped over one of the drawers. There were a few other articles of vintage clothing, all of which were unusual and in mint condition.
I had to admit it was a lovely store. Everything was displayed in an artful manner. Even the floors were nice—hardwood throughout with a dark stain and an occasional oriental rug.
“Whoever arranged everything did a wonderful job,” Dinah said, looking at a basket filled with picnic items complete with a compass and a book on local parks.
“I have a feeling it wasn’t Drew Brooks,” I said as we made a full circle of the display rooms and came back to the entrance hall. The dining room was across from us and had been turned into a small refreshment area. A number of wrought iron bistro tables and chairs were placed strategically about. A bar had been built into the room and was set up with a selection of bakery items covered with glass domes. It also featured an espresso machine and a chalkboard listing the coffee and tea options along with an announcement they now had “Soup by Kevin.” Today’s offering was lentil.
The door to the kitchen was behind the bar. Apparently it was actually functional rather than another display area for merchandise.
Dinah and I went in and found a table. Dinah still hadn’t discussed the night before and seemed tense, but every time I asked her what was wrong, she said it wasn’t a good place to talk. She laid her leather tote on the table and pulled out some papers and started to grade them.
Gradually the rest of the group drifted in and pulled up chairs. CeeCee took out her crocheting. She must have finished the donut pincushion because she was now working on an iridescent white baby blanket. Patricia was checking her watch and going over her calendar. Being a candidate’s wife appeared to be a busy business. Adele was crocheting red flowers out of the stuff that looked like string. Judging by the way she kept holding them up to her ear, I gathered they were going to be earrings.
Sheila reappeared a few minutes later. All of her good spirits were deflated.
“I asked to talk to him.” She was talking fast, the words tumbling out. “He and his brother have offices upstairs. One of the saleswomen went up there to tell him I was here, but he said he was busy and I would have to wait. I finally figured out it was just a stall.”
We all started talking at once, offering advice, but we were interrupted when a tall bald man wearing a well- fitting dark suit and carrying a Harrods shopping bag roared through the store. We could hear him bellowing as he found a salesclerk and demanded to talk to the owner.
“I guess that’s the kind of voice you have to use,” CeeCee said.
I saw one of the clerks come out from the small sales office and rush toward the stairway. Before she’d gone up three steps, the bald guy pushed past her and went up on his own. “I’m guessing you’re not the only one Drew Brooks tried to cheat,” I said.
A few moments later, the same man came down the stairs, this time with another man who I assumed must be Drew Brooks.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” the bald man said.
