Eleanor winked at me. “Daisy, I need some of your vintage lace.”
While I pulled some pieces out of the dresser drawer, I told them about my visit to Tracy McEvoy’s studio with Joe.
“Brilliant artist, but buying a painting from her was next to impossible,” Eleanor said. “She can be pretty tough to deal with. Almost rude, as a matter of fact.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but you know how Joe gets along with everyone. Apparently she’s his new best friend and mentor.”
Eleanor picked up one of the yards of lace and held it up to the stark light near the window. “And he’s still a good-looking guy.”
“Yes, very handsome.” Martha sniffed. “You want to watch your back there, Daisy. She’s probably one of those babes looking for a father figure.”
I thought back to the self-contained young woman who had built a house by herself, seemingly unaware of her primal allure even in an old T-shirt and jeans. “You know, I don’t think she’s looking for anyone.”
I poured coffee into three mugs. “And Joe’s purchased every tool under the sun for this new hobby of his, even though he knows money will be tight. Although from the way Harriet Kunes carried on, maybe he’s not so bad.”
Martha removed the lid from the rectangular tin she carried to reveal stacks of honey madeleines.
“I’ve brought you something, too.” Eleanor fished in the tote bag she carried and brought the sad iron out with a flourish. “Figured it owes you. You can sell it and keep the five bucks.”
“Gee, thanks.” I grinned at her as I set it down on the ground. “I think.”
“We can’t stay long this morning,” Martha announced. “We have another excruciatingly boring meeting of the Hysterical Society. These things only used to be once a month. Now it seems like it’s every week.” She shuddered. “Oh, I can’t wait to go to the B and B with Cyril. I need to get away from all this hustle and bustle.”
Eleanor and I looked out of the display windows to where the Main Street of Millbury slumbered like an old-time picture postcard. There was not a soul to be seen.
“We’re staying at the Four Foxes. But Cyril says he can’t see the point of paying money to stay in your own backyard.” She picked up a French carriage parasol of duck egg blue cotton with ivory lace and twirled it around. “I don’t know what’s going on with him lately. He’s been acting kind of funny.”
The front door jangled and Dottie Brown came bustling in. “Morning, all. Daisy, I brought you some flyers about my next class starting October first.”
In addition to running the yarn and fabric store in Sheepville, Dottie also held knitting classes at night. “I could use some more of your business cards, too.”
I handed her a stack. Dottie and I appealed to some of the same clients, and we supported each other as much as we could. “I saw your husband this morning,” I said. “Those pumpkins are really something.”
“Oh, those damn things! You should have seen him in July when it came time to pollinate. He borrowed some of my stockings to cover the female blossoms so some stray bee couldn’t accidentally screw things up, pardon the pun.”
Eleanor snickered.
Dottie shook her head in despair. “And you should see my water bill these past few months. I bet he’s using a hundred gallons a day or more. But I suppose it keeps him out of trouble while I’m busy with my knitting ladies. See you all later.”
As she was leaving, the front door opened again and Laura Grayling came in, carrying her green suitcase.