"You too," I told him, and watched them walk out of the store, Ted holding the door for his new flame. They were halfway down the front walk before he reached for her hand and squeezed it.
"That certainly was a grand opening," my mother said, putting a hand on my shoulder; she'd joined me without my noticing. "Are you doing okay?"
"Not exactly," I confessed. I told her what Cal Parker had said, and her eyes widened.
"Oh, Maxine. That's not good news. What are you going to do about it?"
Find someone more supportive to talk to, for starters, I thought but didn't say. "I should probably look at the letter he said he sent."
"Probably," she said. "But you can't do anything about it tonight. Why don't you look at it first thing in the morning? And if you need an attorney, I understand Nicholas specializes in real estate law."
"That's right," I said.
"I saw you talking with him tonight," she commented. "I always thought he was a cute boy when you were a kid, but now he's a handsome man."
"He is," I agreed.
"I'd still love it if you and Ted got back together, of course," she said. "Not right now, obviously, but once the glamour of being with a gorgeous author wears off, I'm sure he'll realize how much he misses you."
Wow. I didn't even bother responding. "We should probably get the rest of the cookies cleaned up," I said, changing the subject.
"I don't think there are any left to clean up," my mother said. "They just loved my coconut cookies. I'll leave you the recipe if you like."
"Thanks," I said mechanically.
I spent the next hour cleaning up. People had managed to stash napkins and plates in the most interesting places; a few children had liberally decorated Blueberries for Sal and Make Way for Ducklings with crumbs and spilled punch, and the antique flatiron I used as a doorstop had somehow vanished into thin air. I got things in as good order as I could before I gave up, double-checked that all the doors and windows were locked, then grabbed the letters I'd been avoiding from the desk and retreated to my box-infested quarters above the shop.
There were several ads, a few bills, and two letters I dreaded opening.
Still, I had to face them, so I took a deep breath and opened the first envelope. It was from Board of Selectmen of the Town of Snug Harbor, telling me that it had come to the town's attention that I had done renovations without permits and that I would need to have the place inspected if I wanted to continue doing business. The deadline? Two weeks, or else I'd have to shut down the shop and/or pay hefty fines. Cal Parker hadn't been making that up, alas.
The other was from Scooter Dempsey, Esq., who evidently had managed to somehow get a law degree in addition to putting together a development company since last we'd met. The letter was on behalf of Agatha Satterthwaite, and informed me that the property did, in fact, not belong to me, and that I would need to reimburse Agatha for half of its appraised value I planned to continue doing business. He then went on to suggest that a portion of my receipts might be on the line as well.
It was even worse than I thought.
I read the letters a second time and then jammed them back into their envelopes. What was I going to do?
Nothing, right now. I just needed to deal with it in the morning.
I did a cursory and (in retrospect) pointless teeth brushing, changed into PJs, and with Winston snuggled in beside me, ate cookies and read a James Herriot book before turning off the light and trying to go to sleep.
Trying being the operative word.
And it wasn't just because I was listening for sounds of another break-in downstairs.
After all, how can you sleep when your ex-husband just turned up with a glamorous author; you've been told your business doesn't really belong to you; and the town council is trying to shut you down when you’ve only just opened?
I finally gave up at around six a.m., having drifted into light off-and-on sleep. Mostly off. Light was leaking in through the curtains, brightening my bedroom; I got up and made myself a cup of coffee, then tossed on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, leashed up Winston, and slipped on my tennis shoes. Maybe getting out for a walk would help dispel the cloud that had settled around me ever since I found out about my legal problems.
The air was cool and crisp and kissed with salt as I opened the door, the morning sun bright and full of promise. I took a sip of coffee from my thermal mug and locked the door behind me, feeling my spirits rise already.
I took Winston first up Cottage Street to Main Street, watching a few shop owners sweeping their front porches and getting ready for the day; the smell of bacon wafted to my nose, and the nasturtiums and lobelia in their planters glowed like jewels in the sunshine. The sky was blue and clear, and the sea breeze played with my hair as I walked past the ice cream store, and then the coffee shop where Denise had told me she was manager—it was pretty much the only thing open at this time of day, and seemed to be doing a brisk business. I glanced inside, but didn't see her; since I already had coffee, I walked on. From the card Nicholas had given me I remembered his address as being on Tourmaline Street; I took a
