by Gayle Leeson
Other than an exaggerated eyebrow raise, Grandpa didn’t give me any indication of how his conversation with Frank had gone. I knew we’d talk about it once we were on the road.
I loaded Jazzy into her carrier, and Grandpa Dave turned off the lights and made sure the door to the reception area was locked. We were leaving by the workshop door today.
“Is Frank still in trouble with Ella?” I asked, as we drove toward Winter Garden High School.
“He says he isn’t, but he kept glancing over his shoulder and didn’t linger over his coffee for too long.” Grandpa gave a soft chuckle. “I imagine that would’ve been quite a sight to see—Frank dropping his chewing gum into the cash register.”
“Max seemed to have enjoyed it.”
Grandpa looked into the backseat at the cat carrier. “Are you sure you want to take Jazzy along to this meeting? We have time to go by the house and drop her off.”
“Actually, we don’t.” I checked the rearview mirror to reassure myself that Jazzy was contentedly lying in her carrier enjoying the ride. “I want to get there in time to speak with Ms. Kelly before the meeting begins.”
“Okay, but if you get in trouble for bringing your pet to school, don’t think I’m going to bail you out.”
“I’ll say I brought her for show-and-tell,” I said.
Walking into a high school gymnasium—even at this stage of my life—gave my stomach a flutter of apprehension. Memories of past crushes, struggling through the Presidential Fitness Test, and pretending to be unaffected by the exclusion from certain cliques made me feel like an awkward thirteen-year-old again. I reminded myself that I was a grown woman now...and an entrepreneur to boot, and I held my head high. What difference did it make that I was with my grandpa and was carrying my kitty in a pink pet carrier? Just because I was a strong, independent woman now didn’t mean I had to get carried away and forego all my comforts.
Sandra Kelly was an angular woman, and her platinum hair had darker blonde streaks. She wore a charcoal gray business suit and no-nonsense black heels. As soon as she looked up from the clipboard she was holding, she waved at Grandpa Dave and me and hurried in our direction.
“Hi!” She thrust out her hand. “You must be Amanda. I’m Sandy.”
I shook Sandy’s hand and introduced her to Grandpa. “Sandy, this is my grandfather, Dave Tucker.”
“Our set design genius?” she asked.
I ignored the look of mild outrage Grandpa shot my way and answered the question. “He certainly is. He does amazing work.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Grandpa said. “I’ve never designed a set before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Sandy said. “And we have a fabulous group of volunteers who are eager to help you out—both of you.” She smiled. “You’ll be meeting them all soon.” She was distracted by someone coming through the door. “Excuse me, please. Oh, and welcome to the team!”
As Sandy marched off to speak with the newcomer, Grandpa Dave widened his eyes at me. “I thought we were simply coming to check out this situation. I didn’t realize you’d already signed us up.”
“Neither did I.” I shrugged. “We can still back out, though...right?”
“Let’s have a seat and make our minds up following this meeting,” he said.
As we found two vacant folding chairs placed in front of the stage, I knew Grandpa and I were thinking the same thing: at this point, if we declined, Sandra Kelly would make us feel as if we were quitting and letting down her students.
A young woman placed her frayed backpack on the chair beside Grandpa Dave. She jabbed a thumb in my direction. “She with you?”
I turned my head and gave her a pointed look. “I can hear you, you know.”
“I know.” She grinned. “You’re just pretty eccentric sitting there in your fifties’ fashion model dress with your big pink cat carrier by your side. You might be a supervillain for all I know.” She looked at Grandpa. “Is she?”
“Only on Wednesdays,” he said.
It was Wednesday.
She laughed. “I like you.”
“I’m Amanda Tucker,” I said.
“And I’m her grandfather, Dave.” He shook the girl’s hand.
“Zoe Flannagan, stage manager, student, uncelebrated genius.” She nodded at me. “I’m guessing you’re the designer.”
“Good guess.”
“So you’re gonna help us pull this thing off?” she asked.
I smiled. “I sure am.”
I didn’t know what it was about this sassy teen with her skinny jeans, black t-shirt, and high-top sneakers that made me decide to help out with this production. But whatever it was, the charming little enchantress used the same spell on Grandpa.
“I’m helping too,” he said. “My specialty is set design.”
My specialty he says, like he’s a Broadway veteran.
Sandra Kelly approached the stage as the chairs around us continued filling up. A balding man with thick glasses caught up to her before she mounted the steps. I couldn’t tell what was being said, but it was obvious Sandy wasn’t happy at being disturbed, and she didn’t want to talk with him.
I leaned across Grandpa so I could ask Zoe, “Who’s he?”
“Fergus Kramer,” she said. “He’s the school bookkeeper.”
“Ah, he holds the purse strings for this production?” Grandpa asked.
Zoe nodded. “That and everything else around here.”
I imagined everyone in the area of the stage heard Sandra when she firmly told Mr. Kramer, “We will discuss this later.”
Red faced, Mr. Kramer avoided looking at the meeting participants as he stormed out of the auditorium. I’d have thought as the person in charge of the budget, Mr. Kramer should have stayed for the meeting. But, then, what did I know?
I was soon to learn that I didn’t know much at all about what happened behind the scenes of a high school musical production.
{ }
Chapter Three
I
drove Grandpa back to Shops on Main to get his truck. All the windows in the brick Victorian house were dark, and I didn’t see Max at any of them.
“Would you like to go back in and see if she’s there?” Grandpa asked. He had this uncanny ability to read my mind.
“No. I really need to get home.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I forgot to mention it earlier, but while you were talking with Frank, I agreed to look into Dorothy’s life...to see if I can discover what happened to her,” I said.
“Dorothy? Max’s sister?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Are you sure you’re up to the task, Pup?”
“I am.” I ran my hand over my forehead. “But I desperately hope Dorothy enjoyed a long and happy life. Max got so sad today when she was talking about Dot...I don’t want to have to give her any tragic news about the woman.”
“Max is tough. She can handle the truth about Dorothy, no matter what it is.” He kissed my cheek and opened the car door. “Goodnight, ladies. I’ve got to go home and try to figure out how to design a balcony a child can pretend to fall from and not get hurt.”
“Goodnight, Grandpa.”
I waited until he was in his truck with the engine started before pulling out of the parking lot. I took one last look at the Shops on Main windows but still saw no sign of Max. Not for the first time, I wondered where she went when she wasn’t with us.
At home, I ate a grilled cheese sandwich and sketched a dress fit for an enchanted feather duster. It wasn’t a difficult design—a mermaid-style black dress with black and gray panels made to look like feathers that would swish from the knees to the ankles when the character walked. I added a headband with two corresponding plumes—one gray and one black—on the left side.
My phone rang. When I plucked it out from under a box of coloring pencils, I saw that it was Jason.
“Hey, there,” I said. “You must be having a busy day. I didn�
�t see your car at Shops on Main at all.”
“You’re right. I didn’t make it into the studio today. I’ve been going from one location to the next until...well, until now, as a matter of fact. Have you had dinner?”
“I have, but I’d love some company. If you’d like to stop by, I’ll be happy to make a grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup for you.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
While I waited for Jason, I prepared the light meal I’d promised him. I was plating the sandwich when he arrived.
I gave him a quick kiss hello. “Perfect timing.”
He sat down at the kitchen table. “Thank you for doing this.”
“You’re welcome.” I sat the plate in front of him and poured the tomato soup into a bowl. “You look exhausted.”
“Gee, thanks. That’s what every guy wants to hear from a beautiful woman.”
“I didn’t say you look bad. I said you look exhausted.” I got a spoon from the silverware drawer. “Would it help if I said that, even tired, you still look handsome?”
He grinned. “It helps immensely.”
With his dark, wavy hair and ocean blue eyes, I didn’t know how he could ever look anything less than gorgeous.
He glanced over at my sketchpad. “Um...what are you making?”
“What does it look like?”
“Oh, no. That’s a trap. I’m tired, but I haven’t lost my mind,” he said.
“I give you full immunity—I promise.”
He raised his eyes warily and shook his head.
“Please,” I said. “Tell me the first thing that comes to your mind when you look at that dress.”
Jason bit his sandwich to avoid answering.
“If you’ll tell me, there’s a brownie in it for you.” I waited.
Swallow. Grimace. Sigh. “A feather duster. It looks like a feather duster.”
I gave a squeal of delight before I stood and hugged him.
“You’re glad?” he asked.
“Thrilled.” I laughed. “One of my clients—Kristen Holbrook—all but volunteered me to help with the costumes for Winter Garden High School’s production of Beauty and the Beast.”
“I know Kristen,” Jason said. “I’m doing her senior portraits...and pretty much chronicling her final year of high school. I know how persuasive that young lady can be.”
“Yeah. I went to a meeting tonight to find out more about the project and to see if I might be interested in making time to help.” I indicated the sketch. “And now here I am costuming a feather duster.”
Jason spread his hands. “If you don’t have time, be firm. I like Kristen and her parents—they’re nice people—but they have a way of acting like they’re your only clients.”
“Believe me, I know.” I stopped myself just before I told Jason that Max referred to Kristen as the princess. It was hard sometimes to keep my best friend secret from Mr. I-Don’t-Believe-in-Ghosts Logan. “But I love a challenge, and I think this will be fun.”
“You nailed the feather duster.” He crumbled saltines into his soup.
“I met a friend of yours today.” I looked at the sketchpad as I spoke and concentrated on keeping my tone light.
“You mean Carla?” he asked. “She told me she was coming by.”
“Yeah, she was with Ms. Oakes...checking the place out.” I flipped over a fresh sheet on the pad. “She seemed interested in the available space, but I’m not sure it’s practical for her to be on the second floor. I’m sure some massage therapy clients would have trouble navigating those stairs.”
“Good point.” Jason contemplated this while eating his soup. “Do you think anyone on the ground floor would consider switching with her?”
Had I been the one eating soup, I might’ve spit it across the table when he said that. “I don’t believe any of us would be willing to give up our prime real estate. Connie and I count on our merchandise being visible in those large front windows, and the Petermans—” I decided not to mention Ella’s concerns about Carla. Instead, I said, “I can’t imagine they’d be willing to give up their easy access to the kitchen and the parking lot in order to trudge up and down stairs all day.”
“That’s true. Oh, well, I’m sure Carla will find a place somewhere.” He nodded toward my sketchpad. “What’s next?”
“The candlestick,” I said. “I’m starting with the easiest—besides the dresses—and working up to the harder designs.”
After Jason had finished eating and had put his dishes in the dishwasher, I asked him if he was up for a movie.
“Not a movie. I have to go home and check on Rascal.”
Rascal was his “little white mutt.” I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the dog yet, but I hoped to soon.
“My neighbor feeds and walks him if I’m going to be late,” Jason continued. “But I still need to spend some time with him. I feel guilty when I work the kind of hours I’ve been working lately and have to leave him.”
“Can’t you take him with you on shoots?”
“I guess I could, but it would be hard to watch him and concentrate on my work too.” He slid his arms around my waist. “I still have a few minutes to beat you in a game show or something.”
I smiled up at him. “Oh, you think you can beat me? The reigning trivia queen? In your dreams.”
AFTER JASON HAD GONE home to tend to Rascal, I finished the sketch of the candlestick costume. Then I revisited the idea of the wardrobe, teapot, clock, and cup. At least, that’s what I told myself I was doing. In reality, I was sitting on my sofa with my cat sleeping on my lap while I stared at a blank sheet of paper.
I tried to think about the costume designs, but it was a lot easier to dwell on Jason and Carla. It didn’t bother me—okay, it didn’t bother me as much—that they likely had a romantic relationship in the past. What concerned me was their current relationship. Jason spoke about Carla casually, but he’d been the one who’d recommended the vacant space at Shops on Main to her. And then he’d suggested to me that one of the other vendors might be willing to give up their space for her! As if! I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the comment as a joke...or to get a rise out of me. Or was it because he truly wanted to work near her that badly? I was looking forward to discussing the matter with Max in the morning and getting her opinion.
Unfortunately, Max wasn’t the first person I saw upon arriving at Shops on Main Thursday morning. That distinction fell to Ford, the burly, bearded proprietor of Antiquated Editions. I liked Ford, but I wasn’t in the mood for his flippant handling of the topic I wanted to discuss with Max. And I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.
Leaning against the kitchen sink, Ford looked as if he was just waiting for someone to come in so he could ask, “What did you think of our new compatriot?”
I stiffened as I reached for the coffee pot. “Did Ms. Oakes say Carla has signed the lease?”
“No, but she introduced her to all of us. I took that to mean it was practically a fait accompli.”
Before I could respond, Ella walked into the kitchen.
“If you ask me, that woman is trouble with a capital T.” Ella punctuated her statement with a firm nod. “If she moves in here, then Frank and I will be moving out.”
It occurred to me that if Frank and Ella moved out, their downstairs space would be available for Carla.
“Please do don’t that,” I said to Ella. “This town needs Everything Paper. Right, Ford?”
“Sure,” he said. “But I don’t know why we can’t have Everything Paper and the cute massage therapist too.”
“Because we can’t, that’s why.” Ella abruptly turned and left without her coffee.
“Go apologize,” I hissed at Ford. “And take her some coffee.”
“Apologize for what? I didn’t do anything.”
“You must have.” I handed him an empty mug. “She left without her coffee.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“He was insensitive,” Max said after Ford left the kitchen. “You know it, I know it, and if he doesn’t know it, he’s a sap.” She folded her arms. “Hurry up and get a wiggle on. I want to talk with you without people thinking you’re goofy.”
She disappeared, and I knew she’d gone to wait for me at Designs on You. I put sugar and creamer into my coffee and hurried back to the shop.
“I don’t like it when you’re mopey.” Max was sitting on the worktable. “You’re better than that.”
“Who said I was being mopey?”
Max rolled her eyes. “Darling, I've been dead almost three times longer than I was alive. I've had plenty of time to study human behavior. And you’re being mopey.”
“Okay...maybe I am being a little mopey.”
“You gonna give me the rumble, or are you just going to sit there?” she asked.
“You already know the rumble... or the story... or whatever rumble means. It's Carla. I don't want her working here any more than Ella does.” I told Max about my conversation with Jason.
“He's screwy if he thinks any of the downstairs vendors would give up their keen spots.”
“Maybe he was kidding,” I said. “Or trying to see how I'd react.”
“It sounds like you handled yourself fine. Don't give Jason and that overripe tomato another thought. After all, it was you he came to visit last night.”
I smiled. “Yeah, it was.”
“Tell me about your meeting at the school,” she said. “Are you going to do the play?”
“I am. So is Grandpa. We were impressed with Sandra Kelly and with everything she, the students, and the parents spoke about at the meeting. But we were both especially taken with the stage manager, a kid named Zoe.”
“Will I get to meet this gal?” She shrugged. “You know what I mean.”
“I hope so. Grandpa and I have an idea.”
“Let's hear it.”
“We thought we could live stream some of the preparations and practices,” I said.
Max looked blank.
I tried to explain a little better. “We could do a live video from the school and you could watch from here using your tablet.”