“Well, do take a look around, and if you have any questions, please ask me.”
I started riffling through one of the racks of vintage silk blouses. “It must be fun to work in a store like this, with so many beautiful things.”
“Oh, I love working here,” she gushed. “Althea saved my life by hiring me.”
“That’s lovely to hear.”
“It’s true. I couldn’t ask for a more wonderful, supportive boss.” She walked over to another rack and pulled out a rich copper-colored raw silk jacket. “This would look gorgeous on you with your hair and skin tone,” she said, holding it up for me to view.
“Oh,” I said, almost gasping for breath. The jacket was amazing and I experienced an immediate visceral need to have it. “It’s . . . stunning. Oh my God, I think I have to buy it right now.”
She laughed. “Try it on first. And we have some earrings up at the counter that will look fabulous with it.”
“You’re killing me.” I was a sucker for fun earrings, and they had a nice collection.
“I’ll bring them to you in the dressing room. And since you’re a friend of Althea’s, I’ll give you a fifteen percent discount off your first purchase.”
Wow, I was feeling guiltier by the second for ever doubting Althea’s veracity.
Ten minutes later, I walked out of the store with my new favorite jacket and a great pair of earrings tucked inside an adorable bag with lots of pretty pink tissue paper.
On the drive home, I managed to rein in my adoration for Althea. Just because she had a beautiful shop—where I would be spending my money from now on—didn’t mean she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer and potential necklace thief.
But she hadn’t lied about her shop or where she lived. Her employee loved her, and that counted for a lot. It seemed that Althea’s only crime, so far, was that she’d allowed Jesse to keep their relationship under wraps so we’d never had a chance to meet her until after he was gone. He had evidently found her to be a delightful companion, and I was beginning to share his opinion.
I stopped at Emily’s Tea Shop and surprised her with the tea cozy. After she thanked me profusely and I refused her offer to pay for it, I asked if she’d like to go with me to Jane’s later on. I explained a little bit about her mix-up with Andrew Braxton the day before.
“I’m worried about her,” I said. “I hope it didn’t dampen her spirit too much.”
“Let’s make sure,” Emily said. “Sarah can close up for me, so I’ll be ready to go at four.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
*
When we arrived at Hennessey House, Jane was in the living room, serving wine and cheese to her guests, who were scattered throughout the first floor and grounds, chatting and sipping wine and getting to know one another. People were in the living room, the library, outside on the deck, and in various nooks and crannies around the garden. One woman had snuck into the kitchen and was chatting up Jane’s cook, attempting to steal one of the recipes Jane had perfected. I wished her good luck.
“Here she is,” Emily said.
Jane stopped in the doorway. “Hey, you two. To what do I owe this happy visit?”
“We’re here to check up on you,” I whispered.
She squeezed my arm affectionately. “I’m fine. Just some first-week cracks in the system that I’m quickly patching up so they never happen again.”
“Did you talk to Sandra about the botched reservation?”
“Yes.” Jane fiddled with a doily on the sofa before walking us to a more private spot across the room. “She spoke to the emergency room doctor who told her Andrew had told them about his vacation and then slipped into a coma. The doctor was the one who called us.”
“How weird. Was the doctor a man or a woman?”
“The connection wasn’t good, but she says it sounded like a man.”
That answer wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped it would be. Anyone could disguise their voice if they had to.
“I think you need a glass of bubbly,” Emily murmured, slipping her arm through Jane’s. “Can we entice you to join us?”
“Jane, there you are.” Stephen Darby was about to take hold of her arm when he realized she wasn’t alone.
“Oh. Hello, Shannon,” he said, then noticed Emily and extended his hand. “Hello. You look familiar but I’m afraid I don’t remember your name. I’m Stephen Darby.”
“Emily Rose,” she said, shaking his hand. “A friend of Jane’s.”
“Any friend of Jane’s is a friend of mine.”
I glanced at Jane, who was doing her best not to make eye contact with me.
“Can I pour you a glass of wine?” Stephen asked Emily.
“No, thanks. I’ll wait.”
“Stephen,” Jane said, attempting to take charge. “Why don’t you go help yourself to some wine?”
“I was waiting for you.”
“I’ll be along in a minute,” she said, gesturing toward the great room. “You go on ahead.”