Everett’s face. “Did you make it?”
Tricia frowned. “Don’t worry—it’s safe to eat. Angelica made it last night.”
Mr. Everett looked relieved, took a small piece of the candy, chewed, and brightened. “Your sister is a marvelous cook.” Tricia could envision the thought balloon over his head that might’ve said,
Why can’t you cook, too?
“I’d better get going,” Tricia said, then smiled wanly and headed out the door.
The air was brisk as she crossed the street, heading for Booked for Lunch. She peeked through the window, but all was dark in the dining room, although she could see a glint of light in the back where the kitchen was located. No doubt Tommy the cook was already preparing the day’s soup.
Tricia stopped at the door that led to the building’s other tenants on the second and third floors. The wall inside the small alcove held mailboxes and a short directory for the tenants.The Everett Charitable Foundation had offices on the second floor.
Tricia trudged up the stairs to the second floor, dreading the confrontation to come. She hadn’t had a chance to visit the newly opened office, and if it weren’t for the imminent conversation, she would have been looking forward to it. She opened the frosted glass door. Inside was a small carpeted area, a door leading to the inner sanctum, and a reception desk behind a half wall with a glass window that was closed. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a doctor’s office, and not at all welcoming, which surprised her.
Tricia didn’t recognize the woman who sat behind the window, sorting through an enormous pile of unopened mail. She had to be in her late forties or early fifties, clad in a vintage dress from the 1940s, with carrot-colored hair done up in a pompadour, heavy makeup, and a tattoo of a rose with a dagger through it on her left forearm.
Queen of the Roller Derby
, Tricia thought, and instantly felt ashamed for making such a quick value judgment.
The woman looked up at Tricia, and her face crumpled into a sneer. She reached to open the window. “Can I help you?” she said, her tone nasal and unwelcoming.
Trouble with a capital
T
. Tricia adopted what she hoped was a friendly smile. “My name is Tricia Miles. I’m a friend of Mrs. Harris-Everett’s. Could you please tell her I’m here to see her?”
Carrot-top glared at Tricia for at least ten incredibly long seconds before answering, “No.” She reached up and closed the window once again.
Aghast, Tricia stood there in disbelief. Then she shook herself and tapped on the glass with the knuckles of her right hand. “Excuse me.”
Carrot-top ignored her and reached over to a small radio on the desk, turning up the volume on an oldies station.
Tricia rapped on the glass harder. Carrot-top continued toignore her and swung her chair around so that she could no longer see Tricia.
“Miss, miss!” Tricia insisted.
She reached over and opened the glass. “Excuse me, but I’m a friend of Mrs. Everett’s. Her husband asked me to come here to speak with her.”
Carrot-top finally stood and turned back to the window. “Yeah, right. If I had a buck for everybody who came in here or called with that story, I’d be a millionaire myself. Now beat it, before I call the cops.”
“I’ll have you know Chief Baker of the Stoneham Police Department is my…my boyfriend.” Whoa! That was firing the heavy artillery, and not exactly true at the moment, either. Likewise, Carrot-top was not impressed.
“And Santa comes down my chimney on Christmas Eve,” the woman replied.
Furious, Tricia turned for the door to the inner sanctum and grasped the handle. It was locked.
Carrot-top leaned across her desk and raised her voice. “I’m not kidding, lady. Get out of here or I’ll come out there and bust your face myself.”
Tricia’s jaw dropped in shock. “Does Grace know you speak to visitors in that tone of voice and with such malice?”
Carrot-top smiled sweetly. “Who do you
Tricia frowned. “Don’t worry—it’s safe to eat. Angelica made it last night.”
Mr. Everett looked relieved, took a small piece of the candy, chewed, and brightened. “Your sister is a marvelous cook.” Tricia could envision the thought balloon over his head that might’ve said,
Why can’t you cook, too?
“I’d better get going,” Tricia said, then smiled wanly and headed out the door.
The air was brisk as she crossed the street, heading for Booked for Lunch. She peeked through the window, but all was dark in the dining room, although she could see a glint of light in the back where the kitchen was located. No doubt Tommy the cook was already preparing the day’s soup.
Tricia stopped at the door that led to the building’s other tenants on the second and third floors. The wall inside the small alcove held mailboxes and a short directory for the tenants.The Everett Charitable Foundation had offices on the second floor.
Tricia trudged up the stairs to the second floor, dreading the confrontation to come. She hadn’t had a chance to visit the newly opened office, and if it weren’t for the imminent conversation, she would have been looking forward to it. She opened the frosted glass door. Inside was a small carpeted area, a door leading to the inner sanctum, and a reception desk behind a half wall with a glass window that was closed. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a doctor’s office, and not at all welcoming, which surprised her.
Tricia didn’t recognize the woman who sat behind the window, sorting through an enormous pile of unopened mail. She had to be in her late forties or early fifties, clad in a vintage dress from the 1940s, with carrot-colored hair done up in a pompadour, heavy makeup, and a tattoo of a rose with a dagger through it on her left forearm.
Queen of the Roller Derby
, Tricia thought, and instantly felt ashamed for making such a quick value judgment.
The woman looked up at Tricia, and her face crumpled into a sneer. She reached to open the window. “Can I help you?” she said, her tone nasal and unwelcoming.
Trouble with a capital
T
. Tricia adopted what she hoped was a friendly smile. “My name is Tricia Miles. I’m a friend of Mrs. Harris-Everett’s. Could you please tell her I’m here to see her?”
Carrot-top glared at Tricia for at least ten incredibly long seconds before answering, “No.” She reached up and closed the window once again.
Aghast, Tricia stood there in disbelief. Then she shook herself and tapped on the glass with the knuckles of her right hand. “Excuse me.”
Carrot-top ignored her and reached over to a small radio on the desk, turning up the volume on an oldies station.
Tricia rapped on the glass harder. Carrot-top continued toignore her and swung her chair around so that she could no longer see Tricia.
“Miss, miss!” Tricia insisted.
She reached over and opened the glass. “Excuse me, but I’m a friend of Mrs. Everett’s. Her husband asked me to come here to speak with her.”
Carrot-top finally stood and turned back to the window. “Yeah, right. If I had a buck for everybody who came in here or called with that story, I’d be a millionaire myself. Now beat it, before I call the cops.”
“I’ll have you know Chief Baker of the Stoneham Police Department is my…my boyfriend.” Whoa! That was firing the heavy artillery, and not exactly true at the moment, either. Likewise, Carrot-top was not impressed.
“And Santa comes down my chimney on Christmas Eve,” the woman replied.
Furious, Tricia turned for the door to the inner sanctum and grasped the handle. It was locked.
Carrot-top leaned across her desk and raised her voice. “I’m not kidding, lady. Get out of here or I’ll come out there and bust your face myself.”
Tricia’s jaw dropped in shock. “Does Grace know you speak to visitors in that tone of voice and with such malice?”
Carrot-top smiled sweetly. “Who do you
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