The Key in the Attic(16)

Mary Beth managed to keep smiling. “I think, seeing as you don’t actually have a contract in place for this property, I would rather wait until Mr. Huggins—”

“Get Huggins on the phone,” the woman directed her assistant. “He’ll be at that medical center number in the file.”

He took a phone from his inside pocket and started punching in numbers. Obviously, neither of them cared that Mr. Huggins was at the hospital with his ailing wife.

“No, wait.” Mary Beth exhaled heavily. “Don’t bother him now. If you really think you need to, come on in and look around all you like.”

The young man secreted the phone in his inside pocket once more, and Mary Beth stepped aside to let him and his boss into the shop.

“The back room is through there, and you’ll find the steps to the basement in there too. Still, I hate to see you wasting your time here if Mr. Huggins doesn’t end up selling to you.”

The other woman smirked. “That won’t happen, Ms. Brock. I’ve been handling these demos for a lot of years. Some of the owners and residents squawk a little at first, especially in the smaller towns, but they finally come around. There’s no stopping progress. Come along, Greg.”

The two of them disappeared into the back room. A few minutes later, they were back up again, the young assistant writing down his boss’s observations as quickly as she could fire them off.

“Is that all?” Mary Beth asked when the woman appeared to be slowing down.

“For now. That shelving in your basement. It looks relatively new.”

“It is.”

“Good. If you’ll have everything cleared out of it, we’ll arrange to have it picked up right away.”

“Picked up?”

“Yes. Picked up. Hauled off. No use having it bulldozed with everything else. It looks in good shape. It ought to bring a little money.”

“Ms. …” Mary Beth looked at the business card she still held. “Ms. McMillan, those are my shelves. I put them down there. If you do end up buying the building—and that’s not nearly a settled fact yet—my shelves won’t have anything to do with your deal with Mr. Huggins.”

“Our standard contract specifies that purchase of the property includes anything attached to the building. That would, of course, include any built-in additions.”

Mary Beth managed to keep her tone of voice low and pleasant. “That may well be the case, but for one thing, those shelves aren’t built in. I ordered them to fit that space, but they’re not attached. For another thing, your standard contract isn’t applicable until and unless Mr. Huggins signs it.”

“As you say.” The woman took a pair of designer sunglasses out of her purse and put them on. “That being the case, if you’re planning to take them with you, it will save you some time and trouble later on if you go ahead and pack up whatever is in those cabinets, your merchandise, I presume, and clear them out now. I understand Huggins wants to make a quick deal, and so do we. Good afternoon, Ms. Brock. Greg.”

Greg mumbled a quick goodbye and trotted after her through the door.

For a moment, Mary Beth could only stare after them. Then she turned away from the door and looked over the little shop that she had worked so hard to make appealing to people like herself—people who loved all kinds of needlework.

“And just how am I supposed to keep my customers happy if all my merchandise is packed up in storage? Oh, that’s right, I don’t have any customers. Thank you very much, Ms. Whoever-You-Are.” She glanced again at the business card. All it had under the SLR & FFH, Incorporated logo was “Kyrie McMillan, Corporate Planning,” an email address and six different telephone numbers. “Ms. Corporate Planner then. Fine. We’ll see whether or not you always get your way.”

“What’d you say, Miss Brock?”

Mary Beth started and turned around to see Amanda Culbertson had slipped inside without her noticing. She laughed and said, “Mandy! Where’d you come from?”

“I was just over at the library. I had a little free time, and it seemed like a good opportunity to come help you out. Who were those people who just left your shop? I’ve never seen them around town.”

Mary Beth pursed her lips as she watched their black SUV hurry down Main Street. “Well, I hope we won’t see them much more. If at all.” Abruptly, she smiled and ushered Mandy into the shop. “Now how are you at alphabetizing?”

Amanda frowned, slightly puzzled. “OK, I guess.”

“Good.” Mary Beth took her to the wall of pattern books at the back of the store. “Sometimes customers don’t put things back in the right places, and I don’t always notice. Could you go through all these books and make sure they’re in the right category—crochet, knitting, sewing, etc.—and then alphabetize according to the last name of the author?”