Chapter 2
[His smile] understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
Unscathed, Darcy scrambled free of Jason’s grasp and bounded through the shop to take refuge in the office.
Chuckling, Jason scrambled to a stand and dusted himself off.
“I’m so sorry,” Chloe cried. “My fault—”
“No, it was mine,” Vanna cut in. To be fair, she wasn’t appeasing Chloe. She looked absolutely mortified by her erratic behavior. She presented Jason with her business card. “I have my own business. I’m not merely Allie’s partner.”
“Sometimes partner,” Tegan repeated.
“I’m a professional through and through,” her half sister added hastily and, red faced, hurried out of the shop.
“Well, that was fun,” Jason joked. “I hope your cat doesn’t hate me as much as you do, Allie.”
“I don’t—”
He winked sassily.
Apparently, I wasn’t deft at hiding my aversion to his mall. “Darcy was scared.”
“Darcy, as in Mr. Darcy?” Jason asked. “Nice literary reference. Your cat looks like a Mr. Darcy with his classic tuxedo markings.”
Was he trying to butter me up, so I’d approve of his cockamamie plan?
“Do you have an effect on all women, Mr. Gardner?” Tegan asked.
“Call me Jason,” he said. “And what effect?”
“Having women throw themselves at you?”
“Women threw themselves at me? Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”
I had to admit I did like his sense of humor. It gave him an air of humility. I glanced at my watch. “Oh, my! I’m late. I’m sorry, Tegan, but I have to meet Reika. She’s going to show me photos of everything she wants us to use at the Gatsby party.”
“What Gatsby party?” Jason asked.
“We’re putting on a Great Gatsby literary dining party.” Tegan beamed. “Complete with food from the era. You can attend if you read the book. Many will dress in period costumes for the occasion.”
“I’ve read The Great Gatsby a number of times,” Jason said. “It’s one of my favorites. Fitzgerald was brilliant, the way, through the character of Gatsby, he captured the belief that every individual, regardless of their origins, can pursue and achieve their desired goals.”
Knock me over with a feather. He understood the theme?
“The book is truly the literary expression of the concept of America being the land of opportunity.” He started for the door. “I’ll return during normal business hours to purchase some books. If you have a copy of The Great Gatsby, set one aside.”
Tegan said, “Will do.”
“And, Allie”—he flicked my business card—“I’ll call you regarding the soiree. I intend to win your approval of me.”
I felt my cheeks flush and wanted to kick myself. His charm was starting to get to me. Drat.
I retreated to the office, grabbed my purse, told Darcy I’d be back soon, and headed to Ragamuffin, a coffeehouse located in one of the connecting courtyards between Holly Street and Elm.
The bistro tables on the exterior patio were filled.
Inside, all the tables were occupied, as well.
I spotted Reika at the standing-only bar.
Amira, her emotional support animal, or ESA, a bulldog named after a dog in The Serpent on the Crown by Elizabeth Peters, stood beside her.
I’d met Reika at a book club event at Feast for the Eyes.
She often proclaimed she was a devout Peters fan.
Though she was in her sixties, Reika, who had donned a square-shaped blazer and a knee-length skirt, looked as muscular and energetic as her bulldog.
Her pixie-style salt-and-pepper hair didn’t dissuade me from the comparison.
“Good. You’re here. I worried I got the time wrong.” Reika didn’t wear a watch, saying she hated how one felt on her skin, but she loathed referring to her cell phone all the time. Therefore, she invariably showed up early for events so she wouldn’t be late.
“What can I get you?” I asked her. “Mocha? Cappuccino?”
“An Irish cream latte, please.”
Ragamuffin’s baristas were gifted when it came to their coffee beverages, adding all sorts of house-made syrups, like lavender, honey-maple, and Irish cream.
“Extra sweet,” Reika added. The bulldog barked in its throaty way. She hushed it and tugged lightly on the dog’s leash, which was loose around her wrist.
“And to eat?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Reika waved a hand. “I’m watching my figure.
” She winked. “That’s all I’m doing. Watching it.
Not minding it.” Though the curator had a stubborn streak, which made her a force, she also had a self-deprecating wit, which I appreciated.
The history museum was in good hands under her leadership.
The bulldog yipped again.
Gently, Reika tweaked the dog’s nose with her finger. “Shh, you silly beggar.”
I got in line behind Patrick Hardwick, a home renovator in his late thirties.
Rugged and lean, with unruly dirty-blond hair, he reminded me of the kind of guy who could climb Mount Everest with one hand tied behind his back.
He also appeared to have been stomping through a filthy area recently.
His work boots were caked with dried dirt.
“Hi, Allie,” he said over his shoulder, before shoving a wad of gum into the hollow of his cheek. “Nice to see you. I’m on my way to Tegan’s mother’s place to pin down the details about how she wants me to renovate her office.”
Tegan’s mom owned the Blue Lantern, a lovely bed-andbreakfast in Montford, an enclave at the north end of Asheville.
“In those?” I indicated his boots.
“Oh, geez, bad on me. I forgot to clean them up. I had a minor snafu with yesterday’s rain.
It washed out my gravel driveaway. Don’t worry.
” He grinned. “I’ll switch shoes for the meeting.
Had to stop here first. I’m getting muffins for me and my crew.
They’re finishing up another job and love the poppy-seed ones. ”
“I’m glad you like them. I make them.” Ragamuffin was one of my many customers. “When do you start working at the Blue Lantern?”
“It’s a go Tuesday, as far as I know.” He paid for his purchase and said, “Say hi to Tegan for me.”
“Do it yourself. The copy of Dune you ordered came in.”
“Cool. I’ve carved out an entire reading day next Sunday.” Like Tegan, he enjoyed the fantasy, sci-fi, and supernatural genres. He raised the bag as a good-bye salute and exited the coffeehouse.
Minutes later, I rejoined Reika with two lattes and a dog biscuit for Amira.
I bent to scratch the dog behind her ears.
“How are you, Princess?” A while back, Reika had told me the dog’s name translated to princess, so I’d begun using the mon -iker as a greeting.
She let out a low, raspy bark of joy and salivated for the treat.
I made her sit before giving it to her. Watching a bulldog sit made me laugh.
Because of their short legs, they hunkered down like a human.
“She’s spoiled rotten,” Reika said of the dog, “but I couldn’t live without her. She keeps me calm. Ever since …”
She didn’t continue. She didn’t have to. She had confided on another occasion that in her thirties she’d been attacked by an intruder and had owned an ESA ever since. Amira was her third dog.
“The doctor says my heart …” Reika stopped mid-sentence again and sipped her beverage.
“My heart can’t take any more surprises.
” Her mother had died suddenly a month ago.
Her father, last year. Not from anything untoward.
They’d been in their nineties. Even so, losing a parent could be daunting.
Reika withdrew a manila envelope from the tote bag she’d hung on one of the standing bar’s purse hooks.
“Let’s get down to business. Take a gander at these beauties. ”
I pulled photographs from the envelope. “You didn’t have to print them. I could’ve viewed them on your cell phone.”
“Bah. It’s important to touch things. Tactility matters.”
“Always the museum curator.”
“That’s right. Cameras capture memories, but they don’t provide the joy of a physical photograph. The feel of the paper. The brilliance of the colors.”
I spread the photos on the standing bar and oohed with excitement. “The pearls in the oversized champagne glass are gorgeous. And these feathers?” Two-foot-tall black as well as white plumes sprouted from the tops of gold-flecked candlesticks. “Stunning.”
“By the by, I need you to supply two dozen assorted cookies and two dozen muffins for my Thursday morning meeting at the museum. I prefer chocolate, but do include those fabulous apple muffins you make. My assistant adores them.”
“Got it.” I logged the order on my cell phone. “Before I forget, have you heard a man named Jason Gardner wants to purchase the historic properties opposite the Congregational church?”
“I heard, and I’m not happy about it. It’s all Finette’s doing.”
Finette Fineworthy was the president of the town council.
“Speak of the devil incarnate,” Reika muttered.
I pivoted, expecting to see Jason, but instead I saw Finette sauntering into the coffee shop.
“Too bad she can’t Photoshop her ugly personality,” Reika said under her breath.
I snickered and stored the quip in my brain for future use.
Finette was a handsome woman in her late thirties who always sported a skirt suit.
I’d seen her wearing the white one she was wearing on numerous times.
She thought her legs were her best feature and liked to highlight them.
In addition, she regularly slipped on a slew of bangles and an infinity bracelet.
Trailing her was Ignatius Luckenbill II—Iggie to his friends— a real estate developer.
The twosome passed by us without glancing in our direction.
“I was reading Burt’s blog the other day,” Finette said.
“Burt the Cyber Buddy?” Iggie asked.
“The same.”