“We’re going to the True Grits for dinner,” Grandma was saying. “Care to join us, Whitney?”
Dammit, she was arranging his dates now.
Whitney brightened. “I would love to! And I’ll bring along my portfolio with sketches for next year’s line. I’d like to hear your opinion.”
Adam could have groaned. Not more lingerie talk with his grandma!
Chapter Twelve
Brooke was just setting the kitchen table for dinner when her cell phone rang and she saw Monica’s ID. “Hey, Monica.”
“Are you busy?” Monica asked.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she teased, “and nope, not too busy.”
“I think you better come to the True Grits.”
Brooke frowned, holding a cup motionless above the table. “Why?”
“It’s so crowded no one can get in, and people are saying Mrs. Palmer’s in there with the owner of Leather and Lace. More than one whisper has gone around that Adam’s in town at last—and he’s in there with them.”
Brooke remembered hearing about Mrs. Palmer’s last battle with Sylvester Galimi at the boardinghouse—and she’d gone to the man’s diner? “Are you there now?”
“Nope, I’m at my store. If I couldn’t get in, I’m not standing out on the street. It’s freezing! Park near me, and we’ll run down together.”
“I’ll be right there.”
When she pulled into a parking space near the flower shop, Monica came rushing out the door, parka already zipped, fur hood falling to her eyebrows.
“I’ve got Karista to cover for me,” Monica said, referring to her teenage part-timer. “Wait!”
She ran next door to Sugar and Spice and leaned her head inside. Emily came out a moment later, wearing a long wool coat and tucking a scarf around her neck.
“Who’s covering for you?” Brooke asked, as they walked across Third and headed past Espresso Yourself, which was ominously empty.
“Mrs. Ludlow.”
“So she’s not in there raising hell with the other widows?” Monica demanded.
“She’s just fine hearing all about it later. Brooke, she said your grandma is home doing paperwork, so it’s only Mrs. Palmer in the eye of the storm.”
As they passed Hal’s Hardware, Hal was standing outside, the red tip of his cigarette reflected in his glasses, eyeing the crowd the next block over in front of the diner. When he saw them, he quickly put out the cigarette. Nice, a fireman who smokes, Brooke thought with amusement.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Hal asked, as they hurried past him.
“Nope,” Brooke said over her shoulder. “Except I hear one of the widows is involved.”
“Aah.” Hal nodded as if that explained everything.
By the time they reached the next block, Brooke was relieved to see it wasn’t a huge crowd gathered outside the True Grits but only a few people looking in the plate-glass windows, which were outlined in red and green Christmas lights. Glad she was tall, Brooke peered over their shoulders to see a full crowd filling the booths and counter, people milling between the tables.
She marched to the door, and just as she reached it, a woman near the window said, “Good luck getting in there.”
Brooke didn’t recognize her, which was always a surprise in Valentine. “You must be from out of town,” she said.
The woman, plump even in her winter coat, with a fur hat over hair that seemed too red, crossed her arms over her chest and looked perturbed. “I drove in for the day from Glenwood Springs just to see the Christmas lights and decorations. I thought I’d have an inexpensive meal—but look at this place!”
“It is the holiday weekend,” Emily said gently. “Try Carmina’s Cucina two blocks back toward town hall. Good food and not too expensive.”
“Thank you,” the other woman said, then put her hand in the arm of an older man who wore a long-suffering expression, and marched off.
Another person at the window turned out to be Chris Sweet, Emily’s brother. Unlike Steph, the brothers were rather intrigued to have a new sister. He worked the ranch with his father and occasionally helped out at the family’s Sweetheart Inn. His blond hair beneath his cowboy hat had darkened since the summer, and he kept his hands shoved in his fur-lined jacket. He’d been a couple years behind Brooke at school—but on the football team with Adam, she remembered.
Emily gave him a hug. He kept an arm around her shoulders as she shivered.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Emily asked.
“Nope, but I heard Adam Desantis is inside. I was fixing to say hi, but . . .” He gestured with his head toward the diner. “Guess it’ll have to be another time. You ladies going in?”