Going Through the Notions (A Deadly Notions Mystery) by Cate Price Page A

and a rundown of her latest film. She had graduated from NYU in the film studies program, and now worked in continuity as a script supervisor. I sipped my wine, trying to ignore the puppy’s head resting on my knee and hopeful glances toward my steak.
    I still missed New York. The hustle and bustle and endless hours of window-shopping. When I was younger, I’d catch a bus from the Lower East Side up to the Garment District and lose myself for the day, gazing in the dusty storefront windows, fascinated with the endless displays of French ribbons, braided trim, velvet and satin passementerie.
    In fact, like Sarah, I’d been a bit bored when I first moved to Millbury. Opening the store had been my salvation. And Joe’s.
    “How’s the condo, Sarah?” Joe asked as he speared a bite of asparagus.
    “Great! You guys wouldn’t recognize the place. I had it painted an eggshell white throughout and completely gutted the kitchen and powder room. The cabinets are absolutely gorgeous. Natural maple, with stainless steel appliances. I even have a wine cooler!”
    Joe grinned and they clinked wineglasses.
    I raised my glass a little too late. “Did you end up keeping any of the furniture?”
    “No, sorry, Mom. I sold it. I needed every penny for the reconstruction and the new living room set.”
    I told myself not to be upset. It was her condo now after all, but it would have been nice if she was sentimental about at least one of her parents’ old possessions.
    After dinner, Sarah took a phone call, and when she came back to the table, she was fighting back tears.
    “Sweetheart, are you okay?” I asked.
    “That was Peter. Trying to tell me I should give us another chance. That I walked away from a great relationship.”
    I was confused. “But I thought he broke up with you.”
    “Only after I broke up with him first. I don’t know why he doesn’t get the message.”
    “Well, maybe you
should
give him another chance.” Sarah was completely focused on her career, which was fine, but I worried that she would never let anyone in sufficiently to share her life.
    Sarah exhaled. Impressive how she could convey such a large amount of irritation and disdain in one simple breath.
    “I didn’t come here to be lectured. God, Mom, it would be nice to get a little
understanding
or
sympathy
for a change.”
    Didn’t I always give her that?
    Our earlier rapport at Reenie’s had drifted away like the evening breeze that was swaying the hanging baskets of white petunias and blue trailing lobelia out on the back porch.
    Joe and Sarah went outside with the dog while I started doing the dishes. I could hear the easy murmur of their voices, but not what they were saying.
    I poured another glass of wine and wondered how long she would stay.
    At the store, I was in my element. I was funny, welcoming, talkative, knowledgeable—a great businesswoman dealing with top designers and wealthy collectors.
    When my daughter was around, it seemed like I always said the wrong thing. A little older, a little dowdier, a little less confident.
    I wished she shared my passion for my precious antique stock, and wondered how I could have given birth to a child who was so utterly different from me. I’d also wanted to raise a daughter who could stand on her own two feet and not rely on anyone to take care of her. Boy, had I achieved that goal, and then some. Sarah was fiercely independent and brutally opinionated.
    Okay, well, maybe in some ways we were alike. As the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for.
    Through the kitchen window I could see Joe out on the glider, talking to her. The moon above was a pale lemon slice in a lilac sky.
    Dear Joe. Thirty-four years of marriage. Sure we’d had our fights. Times when I wanted to choke him, or times I’d threatened to sleep in the spare bedroom, but somehow we’d always worked it out. One of us had apologized first, and then of course, there was the lovemaking to make up.
    I grinned to myself. Sarah