Pat slipped into the chair between me and Sherry. “So what are you two talking about?”
Sherry took the new glass of wine from her friend, smiling, and lied, “The trunk sale. I was telling Jill all about tomorrow’s sale. She’s really excited.”
I didn’t challenge her. For the rest of the two hours, Sherry led the discussion about everything and nothing. I was still processing her request when Pat called it a night and the two left.
Amy leaned back in her chair, eyeing me. “Well, that was interesting. You were quiet.”
“That woman just never gives up.” I stood and pulled my friend to her feet. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
Saturday morning, even after the beer I’d consumed, I was up earlier than normal. Emma and I ran before I got ready for work, and the crashing waves on the beach helped clear my mind. The Tiger Lady, which was what I’d started calling the self-help author, encouraged physical activity to keep your body tuned and your mind clear. This step in the thirty-day detox she recommended would be easy for me to reach. I’d already run most days when it wasn’t raining. When it was, I had the treadmill in the upstairs bedroom I’d planned to turn into a home gym. Soon.
Tiger Lady also suggested cutting out caffeine. I ignored that advice. Maybe I could cut down, but out? Who was I kidding? My blood was half coffee and half whatever blood was made of. Besides, the author didn’t own a coffee shop. I had to try the new blends to stay up on the options for my customers. When I looked at it that way, my level of coffee intake really was a job responsibility. I filled my travel mug and screwed on the cap before I began my walk to work.
A line filled the sidewalk when I reached Vintage Duds. Women chatted excitedly as I crossed into the street to go around the crowd.
“Jill, over here!” Aunt Jackie called me over to where she stood in heels, a pencil skirt, and what looked like real pearls.
I muscled through the line, getting a few dirty looks for my apparent cutting, but no one said anything. To my face. I heard more than one mutter about who I thought I was. When I reached my aunt, she reached up and fixed my shirt collar. “What are you doing here?” I waved my hand at the closed front door. “What’s happening to cause this commotion?”
“You really should read the Examiner. They interviewed Sherry and Pat last week about the estate sale they’d bought out.” Aunt Jackie lowered her voice. “Rumor is the clothing is from one of the old film stars. I’m guessing Rita Hayworth.”
I’d forgotten about last night, Sherry telling me about the sale. I shook my head, pushing aside memories of the tense girls’ night. “Didn’t she die about thirty years ago? Who would still have her clothes for an estate sale?”
Jackie frowned at me. “You always know how to kill a party. So it’s not Rita. The paper still said shoppers would be pleasantly surprised. So I’m waiting to be wowed.”
“You know Sherry’s a pathological liar, right? This is probably the estate sale from some local nursing home or something.” That comment got me a dirty look, not only from my aunt but from the woman standing in front of her. The words had slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. This being on Sherry’s side was going to be harder than I thought.
“You need to get over this issue you have with Sherry.” Aunt Jackie sniffed. “The council’s liaison can’t hold grudges against any of the town’s business owners.”
“This isn’t personal,” I argued.
Aunt Jackie raised her perfectly tweezed eyebrows. “Really?”
I shrugged. “Okay, so it’s totally personal. I just don’t get what people see in her. She’s 100 percent fake.”
“You can say that again.” A dark-haired woman standing close to Aunt Jackie muttered. She started when she realized we’d heard her. Her lips curled into an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I guess I’m a total hypocrite. I can’t stand the woman, yet I’m here, waiting for the circus to open. What does that tell you about me?”
“You like a good sale?” I smiled and held out my hand. “Jill Gardner. I own Coffee, Books, and More, just down the street. After you get done here, stop in and I’ll buy you a drink. I like honesty.”
She reached out a slender hand to shake mine. “Claire LaRue. My husband and I just bought a house out on the highway. I’ve been meaning to stop into your shop, but the move has kept us busy.”
“Speaking of the shop”—Aunt Jackie pointed to her watch—“don’t you think you should be opening soon?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nodded to Claire. “I’m serious about that coffee. I think we’d have a lot in common if we started talking.”
“Gossiping, you mean,” my aunt grumbled.