by Meg Macy
Rosie halted at the door of our favorite shop, Fresh Grounds. Mmm. The scent of sweet cinnamon rolls wafted toward my nose; the coffee-and-bakery, run by Mary Kate and Garrett Thompson, was a popular place all day long. A line of customers wound out the door. I’d kept in touch with Mary Kate since high school, along with Elle Cooper, who owned Cat’s Cradle Books with her husband—my cousin Matt. Both Elle and Mary Kate had succeeded in finding a decent husband and having kids.
Was I jealous? Maybe a little, but I was glad for them.
I’d ordered Mary Kate’s lemon blueberry scones and half a dozen orange muffins the minute I heard about the meeting, hoping to alleviate any bad news Taylor brought to the table. That would take the edge off of a late supper. I knocked on the side window.
“Hi, Sasha! Here ya go.” Mary Kate handed me the box. “How’s business?”
“Decent,” I said. “Labor Day should be a whirlwind, we hope.”
“I’m glad we’ll have extra help. By the way, I popped in a sample of the cookie you might want to serve at the teddy bear picnic.”
“Great. The June picnic was so popular, we had to promise an encore.”
She laughed. “I’ll be there with my baby. You can bet on that.”
I nodded. “I’m thinking of another event for early October. We’ll kick off the annual village Oktobear Fest with a tea party and include the kids with their teddy bears. There aren’t many events this fall that do, given the microbrewery with its beer tasting.”
Mary Kate squealed in delight. “I love the idea! I’ll ask Garrett if we’d have enough room to hold it here. My mom would love to help out, too. Gotta run, Sasha.”
“Hey, how much do I—”
“You’re good for it. Pay me whenever you stop by next time.”
She rushed back. Rosie sniffed against my leg, definitely aware of the fragrant scones wafting from the box. My face warmed with pleasure from Mary Kate’s words, although I’d expected her to gush with enthusiasm. Providing baked goods for a tea party would boost her business as well. Rosie nosed the blue door of The Cat’s Cradle Books. My cousin Matt Cooper had opened it as The Bookworm fifteen years ago, but the name hadn’t gone over well. After he married Elle, she convinced him to change due to the cats roaming the shop.
I caught sight of Elle ringing up a customer. But I hurried on without knocking on the glass. I’d be late getting back to my shop, plus I didn’t want to distract her.
Yellow and orange chrysanthemums, a sure sign of early autumn, bloomed in the round island planter on the corner where we halted for the light. Several seniors stood near the sidewalk tables at Dottie’s Deli & Diner across the street—Gil Thompson, Victor Blake, who had retired from directing the funeral home, and Uncle Ross. My gaze lingered on them. I almost ran into the former neighbor who’d come out of nowhere and blocked the sidewalk.
Jack Cullen glared down at Rosie, an unlit cigar dangling from his clenched teeth. “Keep that mutt away from me or I’ll sue.”
“Rosie’s never bitten anyone.” I mustered a cheerful tone, despite his churlishness. “It’s such a nice summer day.”
“What’s so nice about it?” Cullen took out his cigar stub and stood eye to eye with me. “Your dad robbed me, pure and simple. Figures. All lawyers are crooks.”
His white mustache twitching, he stalked past. I wanted to defend Dad, although I didn’t bother. Jack Cullen wouldn’t change his mind. The stubborn old coot refused to be reasonable. Dad had argued for years with him, to no avail, trying to convince him that the Silver Hollow city council meant business. Cullen’s dilapidated house—with a rotting staircase, broken windows, missing floorboards—was labeled a blight. The city council offered the property for sale to recover back taxes. Dad had paid up, demolished the house, and paved a parking lot. It wasn’t our fault that Cullen neglected to act. But he refused to admit it.
I watched the old man’s uneven gait, wondering if he was half-drunk. I hadn’t smelled any liquor on his breath. A baseball cap covered his mostly bald head. Despite his venom, I felt sorry for him. His droopy jeans, held up by a worn leather belt, hung on his skeletal frame.
“He must not eat much,” I said aloud. From what I heard, the old man lived in a rented apartment near the library, across from the gas station. “Maybe he’s ill.”
Whatever the case, Jack Cullen held tight to his grudge.
Chapter 4
Rosie pulled me toward home along Theodore Lane. I adored every inch of the Silver Bear Shop & Factory, surrounded by colorful flower beds that set off the Victorian house. The corner turret rose above the covered front porch like a giant raised thumb, and a brick chimney flanked the second-floor windows. The bedroom suites upstairs for Maddie and me had private baths. We kept the third bedroom suite intact for Mom and Dad, but two other guest bedrooms—or storage rooms depending on our needs—shared a bath. The bookshelf-lined library opened to a small screened sunroom above the back porch. Quite cozy.
Lucky us.
Will Taylor’s silver Camry with its vanity plate, 1MRIGHT, had disappeared from the parking lot. “I’m right, my foot,” I grumbled.
He was so full of himself. He and Carolyn had been married for at least fifteen years, give or take. No children, though. She poured herself into the Christmas shop instead.
Deon Walsh’s motorcycle was in its usual spot, right next to Uncle Ross’s blue and white 1956 Thunderbird. He kept his pride and joy in perfect running condition. If any mark or smudge showed on the peacock blue leather interior, he acted as if Armageddon had rained fire and brimstone. Dad called it The Rattle Trap as a joke. My uncle ribbed him right back, calling his Chevy a pretend “Fur-rarri” and not worth a plugged nickel.
I let Rosie in the house and laughed when she rushed to the water dish. Onyx flashed a look of disdain at the dog, stretched her sleek black body over the sunny window seat, and resumed her nap. Rosie whined, but I shrugged.
“Sorry, Rosie. You know she’s not gonna share all the time.”
I scratched Rosie behind her ears before she headed to her “happy corner” where her teddy bear toy sat. She loved it like her baby. Rosie stretched her paws out with a contented sigh, head on Barry Bear, and closed her eyes.
The bakery box I’d set on the kitchen island tempted me to peek inside. I caught my breath at the peanut butter cookie in the shape of a teddy bear head, with a chocolate Kiss for a nose and two tiny blue candy eyes. Adorable! I’d already unwrapped the package before I stopped myself with a flash of guilt. Maddie hadn’t seen it yet. Reluctant, I set the cookie back into the box. Stared at it, closed the lid. Grabbed tape from below the counter and sealed it shut. Mary Kate had such great ideas, and the kids would gobble the cookies up in no time.
Shadowy figures passed by the kitchen window—the sewing ladies were returning from lunch. Flora, Lois, Joan, and Harriet hurried to the factory. The hall clock had already chimed one five minutes ago, so I rushed to the front door. Two customers stood waiting.
“Wow, it’s warm out there,” I said. “No breeze, either.”
“Much cooler in here.” The man swatted the string of bells aside, mopped his face, and then shoved his handkerchief into a back pocket. “What a relief.”
“Could be worse if we were home in Florida,” the woman said.
I checked the outside thermometer—eighty-nine, in the shade. Summer was my least favorite season. I preferred autumn with its crisp, cool mornings, the changing colors of the oaks, maples, elms, and other trees, plus the apple orchard events and Halloween fun. Three boxes had been delivered on the front porch, light enough for me to carry inside without the rolling cart.
While the couple wandered together around the shop, I unpacked the boxes. One held spools of thread. Another overflowed with packages of plastic eye studs. The third had our custom round tags printed with our logo. I set them below the counter, figuring I could walk the boxes over to the factory later. I couldn’t leave customers alone, and we hadn’t run out of
anything yet.
“Look at these adorable bears!”
The customer’s words, music to my ears, usually led to the sound of our old-fashioned cashier’s happy ring. So much for Will’s predictions about declining sales.
Once the couple left, the rest of the afternoon dragged. Dread settled in my stomach. What kind of trouble would Will Taylor bring? Between worrying and taking care of customers, I was busy restocking bins and clothing racks for the next day. I even rearranged accessories. Some days I wanted to switch jobs with Maddie. Bookkeeping and answering phones, filling online orders, keeping Will Taylor at bay, and doing whatever else she did, though, would drive me batty. At last I closed and locked the door at six o’clock and walked to the back of the house. I always relaxed after work, grateful another day was over. But not today.
The inviting country kitchen formed the center of our domain shared with my parents and sister. Mom had designed it. Golden-brown oak cabinets lent an earthy tone compared to the painted rectangular island in distressed moss green, which was topped with granite. The extra sink below the window and its swan neck faucet came in handy when we cooked. Two brass fixtures hanging above added a warm glow, although the bay window seat also allowed in plenty of sunshine. Mom’s ironwork bakery rack served as a display shelf for houseplants, cookbooks, and a wide green ceramic bowl filled with fake oranges and lemons.
“Whew. I hope this meeting won’t take long.” Maddie carried a stack of papers into the kitchen. “Poor Rosie. How long has she been whining like that?”
“I took her for a walk at lunch, but I bet she wants fresh air. Come on, girl.”
I clipped the dog’s harness to the rope stretching from one of the back porch’s posts. She’d be fine, chasing squirrels away from the bird feeders and sniffing around the various bushes and trees until the meeting ended. I dumped her outside water dish and then refilled it. Back inside the house, I fetched the tea basket, filled the electric kettle, and plugged it in. Then I placed the scones on a cut-glass plate and surveyed the buffet table. Mom would be so proud of my hostess skills. Ha. At the very least she’d put a doily under the treats.
With its extended mahogany table and padded chairs, the former dining room now served as a large staff meeting area. I wished Dad were here, so I could question him about what Will Taylor actually did as our sales representative besides attending trade shows. Maybe we could cut his job and be better off.
Maddie arrived, set a stack of papers at the table’s head, and handed me a pile of letters. “You ought to check for the mail whenever you take Rosie out for a walk.”
“I keep forgetting. Hey, what’s this?” I opened a large envelope on the bundle’s bottom. “Ooh, look! It’s an order from that South Dakota museum shop for the Teddy Roosevelt bear. Do we have enough wire-rimmed glasses? And uniform buttons?”
“We have an unopened box of spectacles from February of last year, I think. I’m not sure about the buttons.” Maddie did a pirouette, still graceful from her ballerina days. “So much for sales slipping. Let’s hope Will finds find something else to do tonight and skips his own meeting.”
“I doubt that. It’s his chance to complain about the same old things.” I steeped a cup of mint and lemongrass tea. “Unless he’s come up with new things.”
“Like how Uncle Ross comes in late, and doesn’t keep the staff on track. Oh, wait. How about your crazy ideas, like the Largest Teddy Bear Fourth of July flag—”
“Just missed the Guinness book for the world record,” I said with a sigh.
“And the Teddy Bear Cub Run,” Maddie sailed on, “plus the Take Your Teddy to the Zoo. Now I bet he’ll complain about the picnic and how the tea party will cost us too much money.” Maddie laughed at my sour look. “What?”
“Don’t ruin the suspense. But look at this.” I grabbed the bakery box, minus the scones, and pointed inside. “Isn’t this the most adorable cookie ever?”
Maddie eyed it with a squint. “I expected a little fancier design. With icing around the edges, maybe sunglasses or something suggesting a picnic.”
“Mmmfph,” I mumbled, since I’d bitten off the bear’s ear. “Peanuf buffer.”
“Would she be hurt if you told her to make a sugar cookie instead?”
“I shuppose I could ashk.” After polishing off the rest of the cookie, I wiped my mouth. “Get ready.”
Uncle Ross tramped in, his deck shoes thudding. He made a beeline for the scone plate and sank into the plush leather armchair in a far corner. “I’m starving. Six o’clock is time for suds and a burger, not a meeting. What the devil does Taylor want now?”
“Wish I knew.” Deon had followed him into the room and now checked his watch. “We gotta be at Quinn’s Pub by seven thirty, remember.”
The slender young man still wore his earbuds draped over his shoulders. He kept his dark curly hair cropped short; handsome, with a light coffee-hued complexion, Deon was striving for a business degree at the local community college. Pete Fox sauntered into the room. He had the same lean build, but was a head taller, with lank dark hair and a permanent slouch. He never said two words if he could use one. Grabbed a scone from the platter, pulled out a chair, and then plopped down with his feet draped over one side. Harriet Amato, Flora Zimmerman, Joan Kendall, and Lois Nichols all rushed to make a cup of tea and fill their plates with a scone or two.
“So where is Will?” I peered through the window blinds at the parking lot and checked my watch. “He’s late.”
“Ha. Remember that when he gripes about us,” Deon said.
“He’s so full of himself,” I grumbled. “Wanting a meeting and—dang.”
Before I could finish my sentence, his silver Camry pulled into his spot. I watched him emerge from the car, adjust his suit coat and sunglasses, and then stalk toward the back porch. Will didn’t see his wife waving from her shop across the street. Or else he deliberately ignored Carolyn. I pushed the blinds back into place, hoping he hadn’t noticed. Then again, he always seemed aware of people watching his movements.
“Is it true some of us will be laid off?” Lois sounded worried.
“Where did you hear that?” I asked. They all exchanged furtive glances. “There won’t be any jobs cut. Trust me.” And I meant it, too.
“Mr. Taylor told me that business is falling off,” Flora said.
“And that production will be moved to China,” Joan added. “Is he serious?”
“We’re keeping our bears American made. That’s important for our toy business, and my dad would never agree to such a crazy idea.”
My cheery tone didn’t seem to relieve their fears. Uncle Ross tugged his cap as if to signal me, his eyebrows raised. I twisted around. Will stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, a smirk on his face. The ladies slipped into chairs around the table without speaking. I stood my ground when Will spoke.
“Crazy idea, huh?”
“Yes,” I said. “We’re an American company.”
“We all want to get this meeting over with and go home,” Maddie said.
“I agree.”
Will sauntered toward the stack of papers, but my sister grabbed them and shuffled them like a deck of cards to the staff around the table. I sat at the table’s head, where Dad would be if he were here. Will flipped through a copy of the report Maddie had prepared, rustling the pages in the silent room. Someone’s teacup rattled against the saucer. Lois cleared her throat.
“Get this meeting started, Taylor.” Uncle Ross chomped into a lemon blueberry pastry and spoke around a mouthful. “No muffin can replace a burger.”
“That’s a scone,” I said.
“Whatever.”
“All right.” Still standing, Will eyed everyone in the room except me. “I met with Mr. Silverman in New Jersey during last weekend’s toy fair. We agreed that action is necessary to avoid losing the factory. That means sending production over-seas—”
“No. Dad would never have agreed to that,” I cut in.
&nb
sp; “Are you calling me a liar?” This time he faced me squarely.
I narrowed my eyes, uncertain, and turned to my sister. “Mads. Call Dad right now and find out what he said exactly, and if he agreed without talking to us first.”
She rushed out of the room, cell phone in hand. Will looked surprised at our quick reaction, and Uncle Ross scrambled from his chair. “I see the handwriting on the wall, Taylor. Why don’t you admit you’re trying to get rid of me? You want me out as factory supervisor so you can control everything.”
“I want to streamline production. Sales have taken a downturn, and Mr. Silverman saw the numbers. That’s why he agreed with my ideas.”
“Our sales numbers are fine,” I said. “Look at Maddie’s report.”
“Then you haven’t read it.”
I snatched the stapled sheets and scanned the first page. Puzzled, I flipped to the second. The numbers weren’t horrible, but they did show a decrease. If my sister wasn’t all that concerned, however, I refused to believe we needed such drastic change.
“We just received a large order from South Dakota today.” I tossed the report back on the table. “That will raise our sales, enough to keep production right here. Dad always said being based in Silver Hollow is the best thing about us. He’s not going to throw away the fact that our products are American made.”
“Um, Sash?” Maddie stood in the doorway, biting her upper lip. “Mom said Dad was considering Will’s ideas. That otherwise, we might lose everything.”
I stared at her in shock. What was going on? How could Dad cave on such an important decision and then not call and warn us? Will looked triumphant, but I wasn’t about to back down. Not without a fight.
Uncle Ross rose to his feet, hands shaking. “You’ve had it in for me from the minute you stepped in the door five years ago,” he said, his voice low but menacing. “You want me outta here. And now you’re influencing my brother. Taking over my job is the first step to taking over the whole business.”