“By the way, Lucy, I don’t think I ever asked you for a pledge. How about it?”
“Oh, sure, put me down for twenty-five dollars.”
“Do you think you could make it fifty? Or a hundred? I’m supposed to raise five thousand.”
“Okay. Fifty. And good luck with the triathlon,” said Lucy, clicking off the phone. At this rate, she’d be broke before she got any donations for the bake sale. She decided to call Franny Small next. She wouldn’t be asking for money, she had plenty of her own since she founded a madly successful jewelry business. Originally made from bits and pieces of hardware, the line had evolved into a perennial favorite with fashion editors and department store buyers.
“Franny? Hi! It’s Lucy Stone.”
“Lucy! I was thinking about you just the other day, wondering what you’re up to these days.”
“Not much, just the same old work for the newspaper.”
“And the kids?”
“Everybody’s great. Listen, Franny, I’m calling because the Hat and Mitten Fund is having a bake sale next Saturday and I was hoping you could make some of those fabulous Congo bars you used to make.”
“I’d love to,” she answered, and Lucy’s hopes rose, only to be dashed when she added, “but I’m leaving for China in the morning.”
“China?”
“Right. That’s where I get a lot of my jewelry made.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s a nuisance in a way, because it’s so far away and I have to go over at least four times a year.”
Lucy was astonished; the only foreign country she’d ever visited was Canada. “Four times a year? How many times have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve lost count. Too many. These days it seems I’m always flying somewhere. Milan for ribbons, Paris to see the couture shows, Africa for beads. I really couldn’t manage except now I travel first class and it does make a difference.”
Enough, already, thought Lucy. This was getting annoying. “In that case, do you think you could make a cash donation?”
“Sure. I’ll tell my assistant to take care of it first thing in the morning.”
“Thanks,” said Lucy. “And have a nice trip.”
She’d struck out twice, but she still wasn’t out. Lucy had high hopes from the next name on the list, Cathy Crowley. She was a devoted homebody who made sure her husband, Police Chief Oswald Crowley, came home to a hot supper after a hard day spent maintaining the peace in Tinker’s Cove.
“Rocky Road Fudge? I haven’t made that in years. In fact, I’d be surprised if I still had the recipe.”
“The recipe’s probably on the Internet,” suggested Lucy.
“Oh, I’m sure it is. Everything else is,” chuckled Cathy. “But I don’t have time. I’m busy getting the RV ready. Ozzie’s retiring, you know. The banquet is Saturday night and we’re leaving Sunday morning for a cross-country trip to the Grand Canyon.”
Come to think of it, Lucy did remember Ted saying something about the banquet. “Be sure to give him my congratulations,” she said. “And have a great trip.”
“We will! You know what they say: ‘Don’t come a’knockin’ if the trailer’s a’rockin’!’”
Lucy wished Cathy hadn’t left her with that particular image. She really didn’t want to think about Chief Crowley in anything but his neatly pressed navy blue uniform and spit-polished black shoes. She turned back to the list but, looking down the list of names, she came to the conclusion that any more calls would be pointless. Of the ten or so that remained, several had moved away, one had died, and one was in rehab.
It was time to admit she’d struck out. She dialed Pam’s number.
“We have to come up with another plan,” she said. “I didn’t get a single donation. Nobody bakes anymore. They’re all too busy running off to China and the Grand Canyon.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Pam. “I started thinking after the meeting and I realized most of the old gang have gone on to develop new interests. Face it, when was the last time you made your Double Dutch Chocolate Brownies?”
“I can’t remember. We have fruit for dessert these days. Or frozen yogurt.”
“Us, too.” Over the line, Lucy could practically hear the wheels turning in Pam’s head. “We need new blood. Younger people. People with higher metabolic rates, who can eat cookies without gaining weight.”
“All the kids have summer jobs, school sports have already started…”
“I mean young people like your neighbors, the folks in that new development.”
“Prudence Path? I hardly know them,” protested Lucy.
“Why don’t you invite them all over for dessert and coffee one evening? Don’t you think it’s about time you got to know your neighbors?”
Lucy had her doubts, but she didn’t want to disappoint Pam. “Okay,” she said.
CHAPTER 3
Pam was the first to arrive on Monday evening, bearing a foil-covered pan of blueberry cake.
“I figured it was the least I could do since I wrangled you into this,” she said.
Lucy agreed but kept that thought to herself. She’d whipped around the house when she got home from work, tossing all extraneous items into a laundry basket, which she hid in the pantry, and hitting the mantel and table tops with a squirt of spray cleaner and a quick wipe. Bill was out at his weekly poker game, Sara was babysitting, and Zoe was happily ensconced in her room with the new Harry Potter book. The coffee pot was hissing and sputtering on the kitchen counter and she figured she was as ready as she’d ever be to meet the neighbors.
“Are the new neighbors all coming?”
“Four out of five,” said Lucy. “Mimi had to work.”
“So tell me what they’re like,” said Pam, uncovering the cake and cutting into it with a knife.
“I don’t really know them very well,” said Lucy, producing a plate.
“Didn’t you stop by with cookies when they moved in?”
“No, I didn’t,” grumbled Lucy. “I wish Prudence Path had never been built.”
“But now that it’s there you might as well get on good terms with your new neighbors.” Pam shrugged. “You might need them someday.”
“I got along fine without them before,” said Lucy, filling the cream pitcher and setting it on a tray along with the sugar bowl. “Willie Westwood is okay. Her daughter is a cheerleader, like Sara, and she suggested carpooling.”
“Westwood, Westwood. The name’s familiar…”