“Laura! What are you doing here?” For a moment I wondered whether I had my days mixed up.
“I have to replenish my display.” She opened the suitcase and brought out a velvet pouch. “I sold so many things last week.”
“I’m glad you’re selling well. You deserve the success.”
She flushed faintly under the freckles. “Thanks, Daisy.”
“I might need you for an extra day on Wednesday if you can. I’m supposed to see more places with Marybeth.”
“Sure, no problem. Here’s what I made with some of the stuff you gave me.”
We admired the collection of necklaces and earrings. One in particular caught my eye. It was a long chain with green glass beads and vintage enameled buttons, featuring a gold monogrammed heart with the initials MAJ.
“I don’t remember seeing this heart before,” I said. “It’s very pretty.”
After fixing up her display, Laura left, telling me she’d see me on Wednesday. We were just settling down with our coffee again when the front door banged open.
Chip Rosenthal strode into the store with the same bullet-like trajectory as before.
“Got your message. Are you ready to sign?” he said, coming up to me, and ignoring everyone else.
Martha planted both hands on her ample hips, and if Eleanor were a dog, the hair would be standing up on the back of her neck.
I cleared my throat. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that . . .”
I struggled to remember my carefully prepared speech that had sounded so good in the first light of morning, but now fizzled from my brain like early snow landing on warm pavement.
“You see, Chip, um, well, you know I’ve been a very good tenant and—”
“Yes, yes, I believe we covered that already.” He pushed against a child’s rocking chair from the late nineteenth century, with high sides to guard against drafts. It creaked painfully back and forth against the wooden floor. “Are you willing to re-up or not?”
“It’s too much of an increase. Can’t we work something out? I can’t afford such an astronomical rent.”
He took a deep mucus-laden sniff as if to clear his sinuses. “If you don’t want to sign, that’s fine. I’m thinking about opening a wine bistro in here anyways.”
“A wine bistro!” Eleanor’s face lit up, and then she quickly sobered as she caught my eye.
Chip glanced around, as if already picturing the store cleaned out, and my quilts and linens replaced by wine barrel tables and bottle racks on the walls. “I think a restaurant is badly needed around here. Should prove much more profitable than some crappy old sewing store.”
His phone rang and he whipped it out of his pocket. “Rosenthal. Yeah, let me call you back.”
He reminded me of some students I’d had in my classes over the years, the ones who found history boring and had no respect for the past. Well, if you didn’t learn the lessons of the past, you were bound to repeat the mistakes.
He clicked the phone off. “So, yeah, I don’t really care if you stay or not. Your choice.”
Martha picked up a vintage Chinese paper fan and started waving it in front of her face.
I glanced at Eleanor and saw the answering alarm in her eyes. An overheated or hungry Martha was a very bad sign. A combustible situation to be avoided at all costs.