issue. Stepping out, Blair walked around a mostly dead, overgrown fern and around a corner to the office that she was supposed to open in order to look for a set of keys for her office. Correction…trailer.
On the glass door, the words “Preston Parliament, Town Planner” were pasted on in crooked, sticky letters. From what Lola had told her over steaks last night, Preston had been Ivy’s fiancé at one time. And that his family had owned half the town— had being the operative word. They did still own Parliament Bakery, although it was managed by Ivy’s husband, Marcus, who was Preston’s half brother. Shaking her head, Blair fumbled through the crowded ring of keys. Everyone in this town was connected somehow, either by blood or by shared history, some of which sounded unpleasant.
Blair let out an exasperated sigh. Why hadn’t Preston marked any of the damn keys? Had he spent almost an entire year flipping through them every time he wanted to open a door? She made a mental note to fix that and then another mental note to write it down on the perpetual list she kept in her bag. Her list was what kept her sane—and she’d carried a little, three by five, battered leather notebook since she’d been a freshman in high school. She made a list every single day, even had the few times she’d been in bed with the flu. It was an obsession and she knew it, but what harm did it really do?
Everything she wrote down was in pen, because when she decided to do something, there was no way she was going to erase it. Once it was on her list, it was there until it was accomplished. She was tenacious…and these damn keys weren’t going to get the best of her, either. On the seventh try, she found the right key and unlocked the door, pushing it open.
Blair looked around in dismay for a moment. A scratched wooden desk filled one corner, and a round worktable another. Two banks of filing cabinets stood next to the table, some of the drawers half open. Every surface was piled high with folders, catalogs, and…stuff. She deposited her bag on the desk and laced her fingers. She glanced at a crooked clock on the wall by the door and walked over to straighten it, like it mattered. This wasn’t going to be her office. She just needed to find that set of keys and get to the trailer to look it over before she had to meet Ben. But before she could tackle even one drawer, there was a sharp knock on the open door. She whirled around to find three women crowding into the doorway. All of them wore glasses and brightly printed blouses.
“Hi there!” called the shortest one. “We’re the girls from accounting. Down the hall? We just wanted to welcome you.” She smiled, her double chin wagging.
Blair walked across the room and shook the woman’s hand. “Thanks. I’m Blair Whitaker.”
“Oh, we know that, honey. I’m Barb,” said the woman. “And this is Paula.” She pointed at a woman who had to be at least six feet tall. She waggled her fingers at Blair. “And this is Sheila. She’s from records, not accounting, but we let her tag along.” Sheila, with a flip of her shiny bottle-blond bob, reached out to shake Blair’s hand. “Glad to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Blair said. “So…what can I do for you ladies?” She gestured around the office. “I’m not sure where anything is, but I’ll be happy to help.”
They all exchanged glances, and Sheila spoke up. “You’ve been on the job for what? Ten minutes? We don’t need anything, honey. We wanted to invite you out for breakfast.”
Breakfast? God, she hadn’t even taken her coat off yet. “That’s very kind, but I need to find the keys to the decorations trailer.”
Sheila laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly. We’ll help you, won’t we girls?”
The other two women nodded and began riffling through the stacks on the round table. “Yeesh, what a mess,” Paula commented. “That Preston was so lazy,” Barb said with a tsk .
Blair watched for a minute,
On the glass door, the words “Preston Parliament, Town Planner” were pasted on in crooked, sticky letters. From what Lola had told her over steaks last night, Preston had been Ivy’s fiancé at one time. And that his family had owned half the town— had being the operative word. They did still own Parliament Bakery, although it was managed by Ivy’s husband, Marcus, who was Preston’s half brother. Shaking her head, Blair fumbled through the crowded ring of keys. Everyone in this town was connected somehow, either by blood or by shared history, some of which sounded unpleasant.
Blair let out an exasperated sigh. Why hadn’t Preston marked any of the damn keys? Had he spent almost an entire year flipping through them every time he wanted to open a door? She made a mental note to fix that and then another mental note to write it down on the perpetual list she kept in her bag. Her list was what kept her sane—and she’d carried a little, three by five, battered leather notebook since she’d been a freshman in high school. She made a list every single day, even had the few times she’d been in bed with the flu. It was an obsession and she knew it, but what harm did it really do?
Everything she wrote down was in pen, because when she decided to do something, there was no way she was going to erase it. Once it was on her list, it was there until it was accomplished. She was tenacious…and these damn keys weren’t going to get the best of her, either. On the seventh try, she found the right key and unlocked the door, pushing it open.
Blair looked around in dismay for a moment. A scratched wooden desk filled one corner, and a round worktable another. Two banks of filing cabinets stood next to the table, some of the drawers half open. Every surface was piled high with folders, catalogs, and…stuff. She deposited her bag on the desk and laced her fingers. She glanced at a crooked clock on the wall by the door and walked over to straighten it, like it mattered. This wasn’t going to be her office. She just needed to find that set of keys and get to the trailer to look it over before she had to meet Ben. But before she could tackle even one drawer, there was a sharp knock on the open door. She whirled around to find three women crowding into the doorway. All of them wore glasses and brightly printed blouses.
“Hi there!” called the shortest one. “We’re the girls from accounting. Down the hall? We just wanted to welcome you.” She smiled, her double chin wagging.
Blair walked across the room and shook the woman’s hand. “Thanks. I’m Blair Whitaker.”
“Oh, we know that, honey. I’m Barb,” said the woman. “And this is Paula.” She pointed at a woman who had to be at least six feet tall. She waggled her fingers at Blair. “And this is Sheila. She’s from records, not accounting, but we let her tag along.” Sheila, with a flip of her shiny bottle-blond bob, reached out to shake Blair’s hand. “Glad to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Blair said. “So…what can I do for you ladies?” She gestured around the office. “I’m not sure where anything is, but I’ll be happy to help.”
They all exchanged glances, and Sheila spoke up. “You’ve been on the job for what? Ten minutes? We don’t need anything, honey. We wanted to invite you out for breakfast.”
Breakfast? God, she hadn’t even taken her coat off yet. “That’s very kind, but I need to find the keys to the decorations trailer.”
Sheila laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly. We’ll help you, won’t we girls?”
The other two women nodded and began riffling through the stacks on the round table. “Yeesh, what a mess,” Paula commented. “That Preston was so lazy,” Barb said with a tsk .
Blair watched for a minute,
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