We decided to serve mulled wine and prepare some spicy pecans in vintage Ball jars as takeaway gifts. I asked Laura if she could work tomorrow as well so I could help out with the estate sale at Ruth’s. She eagerly agreed, saying she could use the extra money.
I headed for Sheepville and the town hall. In addition to my other duties, I was conducting some research for the Millbury Historical Society on the Underground Railroad.
Pennsylvania had been an important thoroughfare to carry slaves north to safety in Canada, and there were already several houses or “stations” in the township on the National Register of Historic Places. Of course I knew something about the railroad from my years as a history teacher, but now I was delving deeper into the stories of Millbury and its environs.
I parked in the lot and walked up Porter Street to Jumpin’ Java Mama. I ordered a small coffee and did my usual routine of checking each newspaper on every table for the crossword puzzle. The laid-back baristas didn’t even glance my way or comment on my behavior, content to live and let live.
Sally McIntire strode into the shop, wearing formfitting Capri pants, a tight aqua tank top, and a Lycra jacket. It wasn’t really warm enough for that kind of outfit, although I vaguely remembered that she was some kind of personal trainer. It certainly showed off her toned body to perfection.
She ordered a smoothie in her singsong voice, requesting one with spinach, banana, pineapple, Greek yogurt, and coconut oil. I went over to her as she dropped into a graceful lunge, using the counter as a ballet barre.
“Hi, Sally. Wow, that sounds like a healthy breakfast.”
“I’m on my way to work out with a client.” She looked up at me and a dazzling smile transformed her face. “I have to set a good example, and this gives me all kinds of powerful antioxidants and fiber.”
“I should try it sometime. You certainly seem full of energy.”
She paid for her drink with a credit card and grasped the cup with manicured aqua-colored nails that clicked against the plastic.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked. “I know you seemed—um—rather upset at church.”
“Oh, yeah. Poor Alex.” The sun went behind the clouds for a moment, and then she brightened again. She sipped the concoction through a straw, her eyes as wide and disingenuous as a child’s under her cap of blond hair.
Guess Roos is yesterday’s news.
“Can I ask you something, Sally? A friend of mine is considering buying a Cassell-built home.” I mentally crossed my fingers at the white lie. Patsy had been considering one before we found a dead body inside it. “But I’ve heard of people having lots of problems with the quality of the build.”
Sally bounced in place, as if she might burst from too much energy. She sucked down more of the smoothie in one long voracious suck.
“Yeah, we’ve had stuff go wrong with our house, too. Luckily, my hubby, Jim, is very handy. He used to work in construction before he sold insurance, so he was able to fix a lot of things. He even spray-foamed our attic himself.”
It wasn’t just her smile that was dazzling. Her wedding ring was a huge emerald-cut diamond. Jim McIntire must be doing very well in his insurance business.
“Okay. Gotta go. ’Bye, Daisy.” She wiggled her fingers at me and pranced out of the café just as Liz Gallagher walked in. They sidestepped each other, and it would be hard to miss the look of disgust on Liz’s face.
Liz shook her head as she came over to the counter and ordered a cappuccino.
“I take it you two know each other?” I asked.
“She used to teach aerobics at my gym, but now she’s doing one-on-one training.” Liz lowered her voice. “And I hear that there’s more than dumbbell flys happening on that weight bench.”