by Tim Myers
“Yes, and let’s look on the bright side. If I hadn’t told you no, you wouldn’t have this wondrous shop for your very own, would you?”
Lillian poked her head out of the storeroom. “Are you two ready to eat?”
“Suddenly I’m starving,” I said as I grabbed my sister’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Our chitchat at dinner was confined to ordinary topics of conversation, and I fought the temptation to tell Sara Lynn what we’d been up to in our investigation. I knew she wouldn’t approve of Lillian and me interviewing suspects, and I didn’t want to ruin the party atmosphere we were enjoying.
After dinner, Lillian said, “Sara Lynn, that chicken potpie would have done your mother proud.” My sister actually blushed. “Go on,” she said as she cleaned up the clutter.
“I’m serious,” Lillian said. “You might even have surpassed her as a cook.”
“Now I know you’re just teasing,” she said, though she looked remarkably pleased by the comment. “So how can I help you with your orders?” Sara Lynn asked after the dishes were all stowed safely back in the basket. “You’ve done enough,” I said. “That was heavenly.”
“Nonsense. I’m here, I’m able, willing and ready, so put me to work.”
“I don’t feel right about asking you,” I said. “After all, you put in a full day at your own shop.”
“So pay me whatever you’re paying Lillian, if you can afford it,” she said.
I reluctantly admitted, “She’s volunteering, at least until I can afford to give her a salary.”
Sara Lynn put her arm around me. “Don’t you think I know that? If our aunt can volunteer, you certainly can’t say no to your sister.”
I was too tired to fight her on it. “That would be great,” I said. “Grab a glue gun and I’ll show you what to do.” Sara Lynn said, “I can handle this myself.”
I shook my head. “Not if you don’t follow my directions to the letter. Sara Lynn, you’re wonderful at what you do, and there’s nobody in Virginia who can make a better scrapbook than you, but I’m the professional card maker here.”
Sara Lynn looked taken aback by my statement, and for a second I thought she might leave. Then she looked at Lillian, who responded, “Don’t ask me for help. She read me my rights on my first day, too. Jennifer is in charge here.”
Sara Lynn smiled. “If you can take it, then so can I. Okay, baby sister, tell me what you want me to do.”
I didn’t even resent the “baby sister” crack. I’d put my foot down, and it had stayed there. The rest of that night, we made wedding invitations, told stories from the old days and solved all the world’s problems. The one subject we avoided was the murder.
The next morning at Custom Card Creations, I felt relieved that we’d been able to complete the invitations ahead of schedule, though it had taken all three of us working until past midnight. I wasn’t all that much of a night owl, but having Sara Lynn and Lillian with me made the time sail right by.
I was feeling it the next morning as I opened the shop, though. I’d been straightening up for five minutes when there was a knock on the front door. Assuming it was Lillian wanting in, I dropped what I was doing and opened the door.
Anne Albright was there instead. She swept in past me before I had the chance to tell her we weren’t open for business yet. I was going to have to stop answering the door or learn to put body blocks on intrusive people.
“Where are they?” she asked, as if I were hiding her family’s crown jewels.
“Good morning,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage. “If you’re talking about the wedding invitations, they aren’t due until tomorrow.”
“You mean you haven’t finished them? How hard could it be to do a hundred invitations?” She eyed me closely, then added, “Unless you’ve been derelict in your duties. Have you given my order your full attention?”
“I am running a shop here, too,” I said. From the tone in Mrs. Albright’s voice, I could tell she’d heard about my impromptu investigation. It would have been a miracle if she hadn’t, given the range of people; I’d talked to who all had ties to her.
“Among other things,” she said. “How’s that article coming?”
“It’s a work in progress. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d mind.”
She looked startled by my statement. “Mind? Why on earth would I mind? I think it’s absolutely brilliant. Will there be photographs, as well?”
Considering the fact that there was never going to be an article, I couldn’t exactly promise pictures. “I’m sorry if we didn’t make it clear, but Lillian and I are doing this on spec. Once we have the article written we’ll pitch it to the editor.” Lillian had actually done a few articles for the paper that way in the past. She hadn’t bothered with writing about perfect cream puff or how to grow the rosiest tomatoes; my aunt had written about Las Vegas in one piece and Cancun in another, always managing to barely skirt the censors.
“Oh,” she said, the disappointment in her voice obvious. “Well, we will cooperate in any way we can. Now, about those invitations ...”
Her words trailed off as she spotted them on the worktable up front, and the second I followed her gaze, I realized that I’d made a horrible mistake Stacked neatly right beside hers were the ones we’d made for Melinda. Mrs. Albright walked to the table and instead of selecting one of hers, she grabbed one of the brass-ringed ones like it was a snake. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, the thunder booming in her voice. “Did you think you’d get away with this?”
I honestly didn’t know how to respond. Before I could think of some way to tell her about Melinda’s order, she continued. “You didn’t trust my judgment, I did you? What did you do, go behind my back and recruit my daughter in this abomination? Well, you made these for nothing. I won’t pay for them, do you understand?”
That was about all I could take. I’d apologize to Melinda later, but I wasn’t about to stand there and allow anyone to use that tone of voice with me in my own shop. Besides, I’d already cashed her check. What was she going to do, demand a refund? If she so much as whispered the word, I’d coldly inform her that Custom Card Creations did not give refunds or even store credit on special orders, and she could sing in the wind, for all I cared.
“Those aren’t yours,” I said as I snatched the invitation from her hand.
“Please, I saw the announcement, Jennifer. These invitations are for my daughter’s wedding.”
“But she’s not the only one getting married, is she?”
It slowly dawned on her what I was talking about. “So you pitched the mother of the groom on making her own invitations? That’s not very ethical, is it?”
“Mrs. Albright, Melinda Spencer was here about something else entirely, and she happened to see the alternate invitations. She liked yours well enough, but she felt she wanted something different for her own guests. You should be happy she cared enough to go to the effort and expense. After all, you both want to see the same thing happen, and that is for your children to get married.”
She seemed to think about that for some time before she finally spoke. “You are right, of course. Why, it’s only natural she’d choose something a little more traditional.” Mrs. Albright smiled at me as she added, “After all, not everyone gets our cutting-edge taste do they?”
So now I was a coconspirator? Whatever it took to avoid the storm. I readily agreed. “Honestly, this way everyone gets what they want.”
I was putting her invitations in a sturdy box when there was another knock at the front door. I was seriously considering changing my hours when I saw Lillian waiting impatiently for me.
When I opened the door, she said, “There’s a young man who’d like to come in, too.”
“We don’t open for another five minutes,” I said, hoping to get Mrs. Albright out of there before started getting regular customers.
“He’s the prospective groom,” Lillian said, a twinkle in her eyes.
“By all
means, the more the merrier, then.” I stepped aside and motioned for Larry to come in. The second I saw him, I realized why Lillian had been urgent in her request to allow him inside. “I like you; earring, Larry.”
He thumbed his ear nervously. “Yeah, everybody in the wedding party got them.”
Lillian asked sweetly, “I’ve always been curious. What do men do with the other earring in the pair?” True to form, Lillian wanted to find out what happened to his spare.
“I’ve got a drawer full of them,” he said. “They come in handy when I lose one.”
“Enough chitchat, Larry, there’s the box.” Mrs. Albright pointed to it like a queen instructing one of handmaidens. He glumly retrieved the box of invitations, and I wondered if “sullen” was his normal position, or the prospect of the upcoming wedding was enough to steal the spark from his spirit.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he retrieved the box of invitations.
“Don’t dawdle, Son,” she said as she produced list that must have had thirty entries on it. “Larry has kindly volunteered to help me today. He’s going to make a perfect son-in-law, isn’t he?”
“I’m sure he will,” I said, sure of nothing of the sort.
After they were gone, I said, “I messed up. I should have put Melinda’s invitations in the back until Mrs. Albright got hers. Things almost got ugly.”
“And how did you diffuse it?” Lillian asked.
“I’m not sure, but somehow it ended up that Melinda’s tastes were too pedestrian for our visionary stand.”
Lillian laughed. “I can’t imagine how in the world you kept a straight face coming up with that one.”
“Oh, she supplied the theory. I just didn’t refute it. It was a lot of fun last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I had a good time working with you both. In a way I’m sorry to see both orders completed.”
As I finished putting Melinda’s invitations in another box, I said, “Hopefully we’ll get more custom jobs soon.”
“Dear girl, does that mean you’re going to be actively courting the wedding invitation trade?”
“Hardly, though I don’t mind cashing the checks. No, I’m afraid that once Mrs. Albright’s go out in the mail I won’t be doing many more of those. But there are lots of cards, and we’ve got everything here to make them special.” I was in a good mood, too, having delivered half my special orders already. “So, are you ready to make more cards today?”
Lillian nodded. “Whatever you’d like to do is fine with me. I didn’t realize we had anything else to mass-produce.”
“I was talking about another private lesson in making individual cards. That’s really what this shop is about, after all.”
Lillian’s smile brightened. “In that case I’d love to.”
Chapter 17
“I’ll be right back,” she said as she dashed into the storeroom. Thirty seconds later she’d retrieved a shopping bag and rejoined me up front.
“What have you got there?”
Lillian started pulling things from the bag. “This is from our last lesson. I thought we could actually do something with them, since I’ve learned the proper way to fold paper now.” The last was said with a smile, and I knew Lillian was getting back into the spirit of card making.
I chose a few of her samples, one with a half fold and the other with a dual fold. “Okay, which one would you like to start with?”
Lillian said, “Can we use one of these instead?” She pulled out the two she’d already embellished. One had an open framed front, while the other sported a raised edge.
“Whatever you want to do,” I said.
She selected the simple fold with the raised border. “Let’s do one of these. After all, this is the type of card I’m used to seeing.”
I laid the other aside for later. “Okay, but the window cards are fun to do, too. Now, do you have a particular occasion in mind?” I asked.
“I’d like to do a thank-you card,” she said.
“Good enough. If you’d like a calligraphy message inside, I’d be happy to do it for you.”
“Thanks, but I want to make this one all by myself.”
I’d planned on going into greater detail with her about the different ways to embellish a card, but I didn’t want to kill her enthusiasm with too much instruction. “Give me five minutes to teach you some of the basics. Then you’ve got the run of the shop.”
“Okay, but I took a few books home last night and I have a good idea what I want to do. I’ll need some foam tape, some hot glue and lots of extras.”
I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. “You know what? Have fun. The shop is yours.”
She started walking the aisles, carefully considering nearly everything I had in stock until she found exactly what she was looking for. I pretended to be busy going through the mail for the third time that morning, but she was so fascinating I couldn’t bear not watching her.
Lillian took some lacy gold ribbon and tied a beautiful tight bow, then snipped its edges and mounted it on the front of the card with foam tape. I hadn’t even needed to tell her that the foam tape gave cards more of a three-dimensional look; she must have picked that up from one of the books she’d read. But when had she had the time? I’d been beat last night, barely managing to undress before I’d crawled into bed, and Lillian had found time to study basic card making after our late-night session at the shop. I nearly missed her next step when she attached a string of small beads intertwined with ribbon. It was a little formal for my taste, but that was one of the great things about making your own cards. You could choose whatever style pleased you most, or create our own as you went. Lillian embellished the raised border with a series of small red rhinestones, then turned her attention to the inside of the card. She carefully penned her message, studied the entire card again, then handed it to me.
It was lovely, in a uniquely elegant way that shouted Lillian’s name as its creator.
I said, “I’m impressed,” as I handed it back to her.
“Look inside,” she said.
I flipped the card open and read the message printed there in her careful hand. “Thank you for giving me a bright new reason to be.”
“How lovely,” I said. “Is it for your new beau?”
“Jennifer, I made it especially for you. I mean it, too. Life was getting much too predictable for my tastes before you called.”
I hugged her, happy that the circumstances—though bad enough—had led to such a perfect fit of having my aunt work with me at my card shop. “I’m glad you’re here, too,” I said.
We were still hugging when the front door opened. As Lillian and I pulled away, I saw Greg Langston standing there, a puzzled expression on his face.
Lillian must have seen it, too. “I’ll put all of this away,” she said as she quickly gathered her materials together and returned them to the storeroom.
“What can I do for you?” I asked Greg.
“You can stop taking so many chances with your life,” he said, and I knew we were in for another row. Suddenly I was in no mood for my ex-fiancés meddling.
“Outside. Now,” I barked.
He followed me out to the sidewalk in front of my shop, and I noticed Deputy Wayne leaning against a tree nearby watching me. The second we made eye contact he scurried away, and I wondered if he was watching over me on Bradford’s orders or if he’d taken to stalking me. I’d have to deal with that soon but at the moment I had another stubborn man to set straight. Before he could say a word, I lit into him. “Greg Langston, when are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that you no longer have a say in how I live my life? If I want to twirl fire baton wearing a skirt made of tissue paper, it’s none of yon business. Do you hear me?”
He started to say something, but I cut him off before he could answer. “And another thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Who’s feeding you all of your information, anyway?” I knew the answer the split
second I asked the question. My brother had always been one of Greg’s biggest fans, so it wasn’t much of a stretch figuring out who his source was. “Stop listening to my brother, too.”
I started back into my shop when he said meekly, “Don’t I even get to say anything in my defense?” I whirled around and stared at him. “Do you really want to risk it?”
“I’ll take my chances.” He stared intently at me with those big brown eyes, and despite my anger, I felt my heart start to soften. The next time I had a confrontation with Greg, I was going to make him wear sunglasses. “Jennifer, I’m not trying to pry. I just want to be part of your life again.”
“Then stop butting into it unannounced. Be my friend; don’t try to be my protector.”
He grinned. “That’s a tough promise to make.”
“The choice is yours, Greg. I’m serious about this.”
He held up both hands. “Okay, I’ll do it. From now on, I won’t watch out for you.” He added softly, “I can still care about you, can’t I?”
“As long as you don’t let it show,” I said with a slight smile of my own.
I left him on the sidewalk and went back into my shop. Lillian was standing right by the door, and I figured she’d probably heard every word of our exchange. I had to give her credit; she didn’t say a word, though she did keep staring out the window.
“Don’t tell me he’s still there,” I said.
She hesitated, then said, “No, he’s just leaving. You really put that man through the fire, don’t you? You must care for him still. Don’t try to deny it.”
“I might,” I admitted, “but I’m fighting it. Why, does it show?”
“Not from the way you act, but you did agree to marry him twice. I know you’ve loved him in the past.”
I sighed. “But this is the present, isn’t it?” I looked around the shop for something to do, but everything appeared to be in perfect order. “So what would you like to do now? We could have another lesson, or are you beyond that?”
“Don’t fool yourself, Jennifer. I spent last night going through those books searching for the perfect card to make for you. I’m far from being competent at it.”