Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) by Freda Warrington

untidy and failed to keep her tools in pristine condition. His latest repair lay in pieces strewn all over the bench. Yet Stevie indulged him, because visitors loved to stand and watch a craftsman at work.
    Such a novelty, these days, to see anything made by hand.
    By nine, her part-timers were arriving: Ron the retired engineer and Margaret, a cheerful, matronly type who’d worked in the factory in her younger days. Stevie had a dozen casual staff to call on, retired folk who worked for sheer love of the museum’s history. This gave the place a happy atmosphere, and made it easy for her to be a popular boss.
    “Morning, Ron,” she called as he passed, leaving a trail of wet bootprints. “Still raining, I see?”
    “And ruddy freezing,” he replied, turning and noticing the mess he’d made. “Oh, look at that. I wiped my feet, honest. Sorry, I’ll grab the mop.”
    “Don’t worry, Alec can do it,” said Stevie. “Get the coffee machine on!”
    Stevie never went behind the café counter if she could help it. Preparing food was not her favorite activity. When Alec arrived, he headed straight for the workbench. Mildly irritated, she called out, “Hold on, Alec, would you mind cleaning the floor first?”
    He stopped, giving her an ironically grumpy look over his spectacles. “Who’s doing the tours today?”
    “It’s on the duty roster. You’ve got the two o’clock.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He went to collect a mop, adding wet footprints of his own.
    Stevie sighed and went behind the counter. Alec was the only staff member who acted up; he was old-school and resented women telling him what to do. At least his sense of humor redeemed him.
    In the back room, she unfolded Daniel’s panel on her desk. The flame-haired goddess resembled an angel, offering a choice between heaven and hell … but no, that interpretation wasn’t right. She frowned. Daniel’s work appeared as puzzling as ever.
    “Sorry I’m late!”
    Fin breezed in, throwing her coat over a chair and complaining about the slow and rainy school run, and how if it weren’t for her kids, she would be on a plane halfway to Florida by now. Without waiting for a response, she hurried into the café, reappearing minutes later with two large cappuccinos.
    “Thanks,” said Stevie, accepting the mug. “The coffee bribe always works.”
    “Third time this week, and you’re not going to tell me off?”
    Stevie took a breath. “No. I’m going to ask you an enormous favor.”
    “Oh-oh.” Fin took a sip of her cappuccino, which left foam on her upper lip. “What dreaded task have you lined up for me?”
    “Nothing awful. Mustache,” Stevie added, grinning.
    “Always happens.” Fin wiped her lip with a tissue. “How come you drink yours so daintily? I end up with a Santa Claus beard if I’m not careful. This favor…?”
    “Right, okay, about the mystery delivery…”
    Stevie explained about her phone call to Daniel’s mother. Fin froze, staring.
    “Oh my god. You don’t really think he’s done away with himself, do you? That’s terrible.”
    Stevie’s throat tightened. She gave a vehement shake of her head. “No. I can’t let myself believe that. But his mother’s in real distress, and she’s not one to ask for help unless she’s desperate. I promised I’d go and see her. Today. Now. Can you manage without me?”
    “Absolutely. No problem. I mean,” Fin corrected herself, “absolutely not , but we’ll struggle through somehow. You want me to do anything with the triptych?”
    “Leave it in the office for now. I’ll make a decision after I’ve seen Daniel’s mother.”
    “No problem. Yes, go, Stevie. After all, when do you ever take a day off?”
    Only on Mondays, and only because we’re closed , she thought. Days off, she never knew quite what to do with herself. Sometimes she’d go shopping, or to the library or cinema in the center of Birmingham, but often she’d find herself back in the museum, dusting, restocking