Copyright by Penny Clover Petersen December 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, and photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9893696-1-9
Cover design by Rick Turylo
Published by:
Intrigue Publishing
11505 Cherry Tree Crossing RD #148
Cheltenham, MD 20623-9998
To my husband Tom
with love
Chapter One
“Something ugly looking. Intimidating. Fierce. That’s what we need, a very ugly, intimidating watchdog. Or maybe a small, yappy, little suck-up, lap-sitting kind of dog. I could go either way,” Daisy Greene shouted as she trotted after her sister, Rose Forrest. “Slow down. I can’t keep up.”
“We’re not getting a dog. And I’m just walking briskly. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing? I can’t help it if you’re completely out of shape,” answered Rose.
“I am not completely out of shape. Only a few pounds out of shape. I didn’t realize we were in training for the Olympics.”
Rose said, “No, not for the Olympics – for old age. Daisy, seventy-eight is the average age for croaking and you are halfway there.”
“Well, so are you!”
Rose quickened her pace and smiled as she said, “Not for another year.”
Daisy put on a burst of speed and caught up with her.
“Now, just what do you have against a nice, little dog? You’ll love it.”
Daisy saw a big, sloppy mutt lying next to a dog house. ‘Cuddles’ was painted over the door. “Look at that little guy. What’s not to love?”
Growling, the dog jumped to his feet as they passed and tried to lunge at them through a chain link fence.
Daisy shrieked. “Well, maybe not that little guy.”
Rose walked on shaking her head.
Most days, the sisters enjoyed this morning hike along the bike path that ran just a few blocks away from their home. Usually the noisy little creek running alongside it and the rustling noises of the wind and the birds relaxed and invigorated. But this morning, not so much.
Daisy, her curly blond hair escaping from under the hood of her navy track suit, was walking with frustrated determination, hand weights swinging dangerously at her sides.
“This is ridiculous!” she continued mumbling to herself. “You’re not my mother. And if I want a dog, I’m getting a dog. A big, hairy, shaggy mutt. Or, maybe, a little Pomeranian. Really yappy and annoying.”
Rose, taller than Daisy with long auburn hair pulled into a pony tail, stopped so suddenly that Daisy ran into her and fell on her butt.
“Would you please not do that?” griped Daisy brushing herself off.
Rose turned and looked at her sister. “Enough with the dog. I know you Daisy. One small dog! Sure! One will become a menagerie in no time. The dumb chum will need company. A cat? Maybe birds? Chinchillas? Once you start, it never ends. Fleas! We’ll have fleas! I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to dogs. And I know I’m allergic to fleas.”
“Since when?” said Daisy.
“Since I said so,” said Rose.
“Rose, I’m not trying to be difficult. But things around here have gotten a little scary. According to an article in yesterday’s Bulletin, at least five shops have been broken into right here in Old Towne in the last month. And the police have no idea what’s going on. I admit it. I’m frightened. A dog would be company and would make noise at strangers.”
“I’m a little spooked, too. But I think an alarm system makes more sense than some idiot dog. Noise and no fleas. Perfect.”
Daisy smiled to herself, “We’ll just see about that.” Then she did an about face and headed home.
Daisy sighed with deep content as she usually did when she stepped onto the front porch of The Elms, the beautiful, Victorian home she and Rose had inherited from their beloved Great-Aunt Lucy.
This was the house where they had spent their summers when they were young. With a father in the Foreign Service and moving from country to country every few years, it had been home base for the Forrest family. It sat three stories tall with a wrap-around porch and detached garage in Old Towne, Bostwick, Maryland.
Lucy had met her maker a few of years earlier at age ninety-five, just about the same time that Daisy’s marriage had done likewise. She had no children of her own, so she left her estate to the Forrest girls.
For Daisy it was a sign. Time to try something new. She quit her job, left her ex in Baltimore with his bimbo, moved into the upper floors of the old house, and started renovations downstairs. A year later, she and her sister, Rose, opened the doors to Champagne Taste.
The original front door of the house, now the shop doorway, sat in the middle of the porch. But the sisters entered through the private entrance to their apartment on the far right end. Daisy picked up the mail on the hall table and ran up the stairs two steps ahead of Rose.
Walking through the living room to the office she looked around and smiled as she usually did.
“We did a great job in here, didn’t we? I still love looking at this room!”
Daisy and Rose had decorated the room together. Mushroom-colored walls and a beautiful Navaho rug, African violets on the windowsills and woven baskets and clay pottery lining the bookshelves reflected Rose’s quietly elegant taste.
Daisy had softened the room scattering rosy chintz cushions on the green sofa and putting Tiffany lamps on the end tables. The matching chairs she had chosen picked up the subtle colors in the rug and a large crystal vase filled with white and gold mums seemed to pull it all together.
Daisy said, “We work so well together. This whole life change wouldn’t be half as much fun on my own.”
Rose said, “It is fun. You know, when you came up with this idea I thought you were nuts. I still can’t believe you talked me into it. No wonder you were salesman of the year so often.”
She looked around the room. “And we did do a great job in here. I think it looks like a garden in the middle of a desert.”
She checked her watch. “This is good. If we get up early every morning we can get in our walk and open up by 10:00 easily. Those pounds will just melt away!”
“I’ll bet. I’m first for the shower and I’m naming the dog Killer or, maybe, Bubbles,” called Daisy as she ran up the steps to the third floor.
Rose followed her up the stairs saying, “Not in my lifetime. Hurry up. We’ve got a delivery coming at 9:30 and we need to make space in the stock room. And I wanted to finish the inventory before the Christmas rush.”
“Okay, I’ll be quick.” Ten minutes later as Daisy was combing out her damp hair she noticed the light on the answering machine was blinking. She hit the button and heard the voice of their very sexy neighbor, the new owner of Lost Treasures Antiques.
“Hi. Daisy, this is Marc Proctor. Wondered if you might like to come by this morning for coffee. I’ll be here all day. Give
me a call if you have time.”
Rose said, “Coffee – again? I think you have a sweetie.”
“Oh, my God, that’s the last thing I need. All I want is a dog. I don’t want a boyfriend. He’s a really nice guy, but I do not want to have to answer to anyone again - ever.”
“Why would you have to answer to him? He’s not your ex. It’s just coffee, for crying out loud. We need to get out there, Daisy. It would be too weird if we turn into two old spinster ladies who sit on their front porch sipping bourbon from their teacups.”
“I don’t like bourbon. But you’re right. I’m jumping to the worst scenario, aren’t I? Why would I think he’d be like that? He’s just a nice guy, not a creep of a husband. And he does have the most beautiful blue eyes.”
Daisy finished swiping on mascara and said, “It’s all yours. You’d better hurry.”
Rose grabbed her robe and said, “I’ll be down in a few.”
Daisy was halfway through grapefruit and toast when Rose came into the kitchen and asked, “What do you know about Marc? I mean his business. Is he doing well? I notice that he keeps some strange hours. I got up last night at two o’clock and saw his lights on. And that’s not the first time.”
“I guess he’s a night owl. He seems to have a lot of money and very nice clothes. And last week when we met at Starbucks he was telling me about running up to New York for sushi at Nobu the way you and I run over to the Tavern for a ham sandwich. Why?”
“No real reason. I was just wondering.”
They went down the stairs and into Champagne Taste through the connecting door in the hall. This was the best part of their day. Rose turned the lights on and their “baby” woke up.
Daisy looked up at the Aunt Lucy’s sparkling Waterford chandelier hanging over the circular counter.
Daisy smiled. “Lucy loved to say that was the biggest splurge of her life and it was worth every penny. It is so beautiful. I hope she’s happy with what we’ve done.”
Rose looked around the shop and said, “I’m sure she is. It’s a lovely shop.”
Walls had been removed opening up the main shop space. A plant-filled sunroom looking out on the small back garden let in light and color. China, pewter and silver shone brightly. Crystal stemware glittered and the vibrant colors of silk scarves and ties and table linens warmed the large room.
Rose checked the time, “Appalachian Artists promised they’d be here early with my order.” She opened the door to the storeroom nestled under the stairs and looked around. “We need to get some of this old stuff moved to the garage.”
It was after ten o’clock when they finished toting the last box out and the Appalachian van pulled up.
Daisy said, “Have you got this? I’m going to open up.”
The bell over the door rang and an older, well-dressed man walked in. Daisy was on the phone behind the counter and Rose was taking a second inventory of the new shipment.
She looked up and said, “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’d like to find something special for my wife.”
Rose said, “Did you have something in mind?”
“Not really. I just wanted something out of the ordinary. I was hoping you could suggest something.”
Rose put down her clipboard and looked around, “I’ll certainly try. We do have some lovely things. Are you from around here?”
“No. I’m down from Philadelphia. A friend told me about you. Actually, he said to ask for Daisy.”
“That’s my sister and she is so much better at ideas than I am. Could you possibly wait until she’s off the phone?”
Daisy hung up and walked over quickly. She gave Rose a look, and then said, “I’m Daisy. Can I help you?”
Rose smiled absently and said, “I’ll be in the office.”
Daisy said, “I’m sorry, she’s got the inventory on her mind. What were you looking for? Did I hear you say you’re from Philly?”
“Yes. A friend told me about your shop.”
“I love Philadelphia. And you’re looking for something special?”
“I am. Something for my wife. Our twentieth anniversary.”
“How lovely. Twenty, let’s see. That could be china or platinum. Tell me about your wife.”
“Well, she loves gardening.”
They talked for a long while. Then Daisy said, “I think you might like this. It’s one of a kind.” She reached under the counter and took out a beautiful pendant of bone china set in white gold graced with delicate hand-painted wildflowers.
He smiled. “Paul was right.”
“Paul?”
“A friend. He recommended this shop. He said I’d find something special. This is perfect!”
After the man left Rose came out of the office and asked, “Good sale?”
“Very. Rose, you really need to work on your people skills.”
“I know. I’ll try. But dealing with numbers is just easier. I’ll be in the garage counting if you need me.”
Fall was in the air and the sunlight was glorious. Daisy was sweeping leaves off the front porch when she looked across the street and was startled to see an old man wearing a shabby grey coat and red high top tennis shoes huddled in the doorway of Marc Proctor’s shop.
Then she saw Marc coming across the bridge and waved. She sighed. He looked really good this morning, tall and slim in a tweed sports coat and turtleneck sweater. His salt and pepper hair curling over his collar gave him what she thought was an elegantly sophisticated look.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she called.
“It is. Come for coffee. I want to show you the desk that I found last week,” Marc called back.
“Is one okay?”
“Sure. See you then.”
Before Marc got to his door, the old man got up and shambled away down the alley next to the shop.
By one o’clock the new merchandise had been unpacked and cataloged and Daisy and Rose were working on the display when Marc stuck his head in the door. “Anyone at home?”
Daisy looked up and said, “Come on in. Just finishing up.” She put the last wooden bowl in its place and said, “What do you think?”
“It looks good. Have you two got time for lunch? I haven’t tried the Tavern yet.”
Daisy said, “Sounds good to me. I’m getting hungry.”
Rose said, “You go on. I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on and I’m waiting for a call.”
As they were walking across the street Daisy asked, “Did you notice that old guy in your doorway this morning? I saw him just after we opened up. He got up and moved down the street when you showed up.”
“No, I didn’t see him today. But he’s been around before. He’s just an old drunk, I think, looking for a place to sleep.”
The Clover Tavern had been built in the 1930s. Frank, Jr. and Mattie Clover had taken over when his dad retired. Frank senior had built the place himself. Knotty pine booths surrounded an old dance floor which was now filled with tables. Daisy and Marc slid into one of the booths.
Daisy pointed to one of the old photographs that lined the wall and said, “That’s my house!”
“Really? And who is that sitting on the porch?” asked Mark.
“My aunt Lucy. She left the house to Rose and me when she died a couple of years ago. It was fortunate timing for me. I needed a change. My husband had just come to the conclusion that what our marriage needed was less of me and more of someone else.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. It was good, really. I’d always wanted to have my own shop and now I do! Well, Rose and I do.”
“What did Rose do? Is she divorced, too?”
“She was an overworked CPA. And not divorced, just unlucky. So the shop’s been good for both of us. Although I have to say these break-ins have really got us spooked. They’re weird. Nothing damaged, only little things taken. They make no sense.”
“You haven’t had a problem, have you?”
“No, not yet. But we need to
do something. I want a watch dog. Something that will make noise and be company when we’re there alone.
“Evidently, Rose has a problem with that. She claims she’s allergic. First I’ve heard of it.”
“Why don’t you get an alarm system?” asked Marc. “Works just as well, and no dander.” He put his hand over Daisy’s. “I worry about you.”
Daisy gently moved her hand and said, “That’s sweet, but I’m fine.”
Marc continued, “I don’t know. Hazel Monroe almost walked in on someone. Apparently, he ran out the back door of the Book Renew as she came in the front.”
“I know. Actually, she told Rose that she thought the man was leaving the back of your place or Mary Newhart’s and just cut across her porch,” said Daisy. “You haven’t had a problem, have you? I saw you burning the midnight oil the other night.”
“Did you? Just catching up on paperwork.” Marc picked up the menu. “What’s good?”
Daisy asked, “So how did you end up here in Old Towne?”
“Well, I’m from Maryland near Oakland. After college I was trying to decide what to do when I realized I really liked antiques. I had a knack for discovering rare finds in out of the way places. I worked for a couple of dealers in Washington and New York for about ten years, but I wanted to go out on my own. So I moved back to Maryland about five years ago. I bought a house near Annapolis and started building my clientele.
“When I needed a bigger space I thought of Old Towne. The rents are still reasonable and it has a reputation as a first-class antiques center.”
“Any family?”
“Not really. Some distant cousins up in Oakland, but that’s it. No one close. I never seem to make time for relationships. How about you?”
Daisy looked toward the ceiling and sighed. “Lots of family. Well, Rose, of course, my mother and our baby sister, Mari and her husband, Matt. Aunts, uncles, cousins, the whole shootin’ match. Most live within an hour or two, but Mari and Matt live in England.”
“Mary? Not a flower?”
“Marigold. We lived in apartments growing up. My mother loves flowers, but for most of her life never had much more than a window box. She called us her garden.”
Roses and Daisies and Death Oh My! Page 1