"What time are you setting up your easels?" I asked. "Are you hoping to get out there at the same time to catch the sun at the same angle?"
"That was the plan," Letty answered. "But we might have to make some adjustments. The lighthouse keeper mentioned to us that he'd have the lighthouse open for tours today. I guess he does it every year during the annual flea market."
"I suppose it would be hard to paint the lighthouse with people walking in and out of it all day."
"We're going to give it our best shot," Denise said happily. Denise was sweet and cute, while my best friend was working hard to be the exact opposite of sweet and cute. It seemed my secret wish to see Ryder and Lola together was becoming more and more of a long shot.
Letty reached into her purse and checked her phone. "Jodie says we can postpone the session until late morning." She dropped her phone back into her purse and snapped her fingers. "Darn, I guess that means we'll have to spend the next few hours shopping at the flea market." She raised her hand and Denise high-fived her.
"You two have fun," Greta said sharply. "I'm already behind on my painting. I'm going to set up my easel anyhow. There's no law that says I have to wait for Jodie."
It was easy to tell that Letty and Denise were not terribly disappointed that Greta wouldn't be joining them for their flea market excursion.
Lola grabbed my arm. "Let's go. Franki's got our table."
"Enjoy your breakfast and I'll see you in a few hours, Ryder." I followed Lola, who was practically running to the table. I slid into the booth and Lola slid in across from me.
"What are you going to have, Pink?" she asked.
I felt my brow arch up and my nostrils flare just a touch before I lifted the menu up as a wall between us. It was going to be a quiet breakfast.
Chapter 7
After about twenty chilly minutes at the breakfast table, Lola finally broke through the ice and my frosty exterior with a funny story about her parents losing each other at the Heathrow Airport in London. Apparently her mom had handed her dad her phone to hold while she went into the restroom. Somehow, her dad got swept up in a big crowd and carried away from the restroom exit. It was a cute, funny story, and a wise choice for Lola. By the time we were paying the check, we were back to our old selves. I just had to come to terms with the fact that Lola was dating a goober and passing up her chance with Prince Charming. (Apparently, I wasn't very close to those terms yet.)
I had a few hours before I needed to open the flower shop. Since I was up and about and stuffed full with eggs and hash browns, I decided a stroll through the flea market would be the perfect end to the morning.
The morning sun, still curtained by a few clouds, was holding its warmth for later in the day. I zipped up my sweatshirt and stuck my hands in the pockets. The flea market was already in full swing by the time we reached the town square. Just as Lola had predicted, cute little Fiona Diggle with her collection of attic treasures was already the darling of the flea market. She had tucked herself in a puffy winter coat and fur trimmed hat for the cold coastal morning, which only made her look more adorable. She looked a little overwhelmed by the attention her things had garnered.
Lola grunted in disappointment as she set her stuff down behind her table. Her frown disappeared instantly as her own table was swarmed by a group of customers. She set right to work answering an array of questions from two women interested in an art deco style lamp.
I headed through the maze of tables and makeshift booths searching for anything that might be fun for the shop or the house. My new garden flowers had looked drippy and dreary this morning as I walked out of the house, but it was early and cold and they were still recovering from the shock of being transplanted in the garden. I was sure they'd look beautiful once their roots had taken hold. I decided some hanging baskets of color on the porch would be the perfect addition for spring.
I walked over to a table that was overflowing with baskets. Kate Yardley, the owner of the Mod Frock, was searching through the same baskets. She was wearing a dark blue, double breasted pea coat with big brass buttons and extra wide lapels. I admired Kate's unique sense of style, and this morning's ensemble made me feel extra frumpy in my sweatshirt and jeans. I pushed my out of control curls back behind my ears as if that would somehow make me look more stylish. Kate was the one person who could make me feel self-conscious about my appearance, something I normally didn't worry about because as my mom always reminded me, you can only work with what nature gave you. She'd always amend that pearl of wisdom with her usual 'unless, of course, you are rich enough for plastic surgery, or even better, married to a plastic surgeon'. My mom was never subtle with her mom hints. This morning I would have just settled for a better wardrobe choice.
"Morning," Kate said faintly, almost as if she'd rather I didn't even hear her greeting. She was not the friendliest person in town, at least not to me. She did however go out of her way to greet my neighbor Dash whenever he strolled past her shop. They had dated at some point in the past, before I lived in Port Danby. I didn't know Kate well, but I'd gotten the sense that she fancied a restart on their relationship. Seeing her brought back to mind the odd conversation I'd had with Dash while planting flowers. He was sure out of sorts and not at all his usual self.
"Morning, Kate." I reached for a natural woven seagrass basket. Kate's hand, bedecked with sparkling rings and glittering bangles, landed on the same basket. We both forced a grin, but neither of us dropped our hold on the basket.
"Don't worry, girls," the woman behind the table chirruped. She leaned down and pulled a second seagrass basket out from under the table. "I've got two, so you can each have one."
It seemed the prospect of having the same basket didn't appeal to either of us. We both politely declined. I decided to move on to the next table where a robust looking man with a handlebar moustache was selling kitchenware items.
The man's cheeks were already red, and the day had just started. But he was quite the exuberant seller. His thick hand shot toward me. "How do you do? I'm Roger Brooking and welcome to my table." He waved his hand over the collection of iron frying pans, meat grinders, industrial sized spatulas and other kitchen implements that looked as if they needed an instruction guide. "As you might have guessed, I'm a retired chef. I worked in some of the best restaurants on the west coast before settling in Mayfield. Can I interest you in a silicone steaming lid?" He picked up a rubbery round disc with a handle and tiny holes.
"I'm not sure I need one of those." I walked to the corner of the table to admire a set of knives sitting in a wooden block. The sleek handles were inlaid with crystal white mother-of-pearl.
"Aren't those magnificent?" he asked.
"They are beautiful. Probably a little too elegant for my usual cooking session of scrambled eggs and macaroni and cheese."
"I can let you have them for two hundred dollars."
"Ooh, yes, definitely too elegant for my kitchen. I'm afraid I'm more of a ten dollar knife chef."
The ends of his moustache had been twisted into tight curls, reminding me of a villain in a silent movie. The curled tips rocked back and forth as he spoke. "Ah, so you're a tomato lumberjack?"
I laughed. "Did you just say a tomato lumberjack?"
He picked up a wood handled carving knife. "Yep, it's a term I use for people who use cheap, dull knives." He ran the knife back and forth over an invisible vegetable, using the technique that lumberjacks used before the invention of chainsaws.
"Ah, I see. Yes, I'm a tomato lumberjack. Only I rarely wear flannel in the kitchen."
His laugh was boisterous, like his personality. I could easily picture him with his tall white chef's hat barking orders at his sous chefs to cut onions and check the soufflés in the oven. "I like you—" he paused for me to fill in my name.
"Lacey."
"Huh, I would have taken you more for a Linda or Susan."
"Nope, I'm pretty sure it's Lacey."
His laugh startled a baby awake in a ne
arby stroller. The mother didn't look pleased.
"Yep, I like you. In fact, just for you, I'm going to take twenty-five dollars off those knives. That way you can stop torturing those poor tomatoes."
I looked longingly at the knives again. "They are lovely, but I think I'll have to pass for now. Unless the guilt of being a tomato abuser wears me down, then I might be back. But it's been wonderful talking to you, Roger."
"You too, Linda. Take care."
I headed back to Lola's table with my new, apparently more fitting name and a heavy sense that I'd been mistreating vegetables for years. Lola was busy with a customer, busy enough that I was sure she wouldn't notice if I took a quick glance at Fiona's items.
Ryder's friend, Denise, and her friend, Letty, were at the table. They had been joined by Jodie Dean, the art teacher. Letty was holding one of Fiona's porcelain dolls in her arm. I didn't know much about antique dolls, but the Victorian clothing and painted porcelain face were in excellent shape, as if the doll had sat untouched in some corner of the attic for decades. I browsed the colorful glass vases Fiona had lined up at the end of the table. She had good prices on all of them, and they would be perfect for bouquets.
"Those are so pretty," Denise noted over my shoulder as she waited for Letty to decide whether or not to buy an oil painting of a mountain landscape.
"Yes, they'll make for nice custom arrangements."
"It's only a hundred dollars." Letty held up the painting and chirped to Jodie, who shrugged her indifference.
"But the ornate frame itself must be worth that," Letty continued.
Denise moved closer and lowered her voice. "Letty's work is getting noticed in collectors' circles. She sold a painting for five grand. Unlike the rest of us, she can be a little freer with her money."
"Wow, good for her. She must be very talented."
Letty held the painting up higher to read the name in the corner. She waited for Fiona to be distracted by another customer. "I think this might be original," Letty whispered, looking again to Jodie for her expertise. "It might be worth a lot of money."
Jodie's sharp laugh startled Letty. "Scarlett, if you like the painting, buy it. But I doubt art collectors will be knocking down your door soon. It's just a simple landscape, and frankly the proportions aren't very good."
Letty held it up again. "I rather like it. Those purple lupines on the valley floor are spectacular. I'm buying it," she said confidently.
Jodie made a puffed sound through her teeth. "It's your money, Letty."
Letty looked at it again. "You're right. I'll put it back."
As I considered which glass vases to buy, Kate Yardley walked brusquely by with not one but both of the seagrass baskets on her arm. Apparently she'd changed her mind when she found I wasn't interested in them. Naturally, now I wanted a seagrass basket or at least some cool basket. I made the decision to head back over to the basket table once I paid for the vases. I settled on two tall aqua glass containers that reminded me of tall milkshake glasses. The top rims were rippled like the edge of a wide-brimmed, flouncy hat. What I especially liked was that the glass had hundreds of tiny air bubbles.
While I waited to pay for my vases, Lola caught sight of me standing in Fiona's line and mouthed the word 'traitor' to me. I returned an apologetic shrug and paid for the vases. They were going to be perfect for tulips.
Chapter 8
It took some organization but I managed to get three large baskets and two glass vases back to the shop in one piece. Fortunately, Lester was outside the Coffee Hutch wiping off tables when I trudged past with my arms full of flea market finds.
"Let me get the door for you, Lacey." He tossed his cleaning cloth over his shoulder and hurried over to my shop door.
"Thanks so much, Lester. That was perfect timing."
He opened the door and then reached out for the vases. I was clutching one in each hand, which wouldn't have been so bad if the three baskets hanging from my arms weren't cutting off my circulation.
I handed him the vases. "Thank you so much. I was starting to lose feeling in my fingers."
The bell and voices had brought Ryder out from the office. He was carrying the last piece of a sandwich. "Hey, boss, you should have texted. I would have come out and helped you."
"I would have texted, only my hands were too full. I got a little carried away. There were so many nice things out there."
Ryder pushed in the last bite of sandwich and picked up the vases. "These are great. The aqua colored glass will be perfect for yellow and white tulips."
"I agree."
"Where's Kingston?" Lester asked as he noticed the empty perch.
"I went to breakfast early with Lola and then to the flea market. I'll be getting the cold feathered shoulder from him this evening."
"Spoiled bird." Lester chuckled as he headed to the door. He looked in the direction of Elsie's bakery and turned back. "My sister is baking herself silly over there and all with a sore back. Did you see the furniture she bought?" He rolled his eyes.
"I saw it on my way in today. She probably wouldn't have bought it if a certain coffee shop owner hadn't adorned his sidewalk with fun pub furniture."
"I came up with the idea because my tables were getting old and wobbly."
Ryder and I exchanged 'oh sure' glances.
"It's not my fault that my ideas are brilliant," Lester added as he walked out of the shop. Before the door shut completely, Denise stepped inside. Ryder released a low sigh, and it wasn't a 'there's my dream girl' sigh. It was more of a 'here she is again' sound.
"Hello, Lacey, I hope you don't mind me dropping in to see Ryder." Denise practically sang as she spoke. She stopped and her admiring gaze swept around the shop. "This place is awesome, just like Ryder said."
"Thank you, Denise. That's always nice to hear." I winked at Ryder. "And you too."
"We're waiting for the crowd to thin out near the lighthouse," Denise continued as she fingered some of the tulips. She turned her white smile to Ryder. "It's such a beautiful day, I thought you might like to get a hot dog with me down at the marina."
Ryder did a great job at trying to look disappointed. "Oh wow, Denise. I just had my lunch break. Otherwise, that would have been fun. But I'm working on a window display, so the rest of my afternoon is booked up." Ryder knew well that I would let him take a walk to the beach with Denise if he wanted, but apparently he wasn't interested.
I got to work putting together an order I had for a birthday brunch. Ryder walked to the other side of the shop where we kept vases and containers on tall metal shelves. Denise followed him over to that side.
"Oh, I didn't tell you," Denise said excitedly to Ryder's back while he picked out the vases for his display. "Letty just got an offer to showcase some of her art at a big show in Boston."
"That's cool," Ryder said quietly.
"Cool isn't the word. It's amazing," Denise continued unabated by Ryder's obvious disinterest. "Greta is so mad. I thought steam would start shooting out of her nostrils. I feel kind of bad for her though. She's been working so hard and for so long to get noticed in the art world, then Letty just skips in and picks up a brush and ta-da, she's a star."
"I guess that would get in anybody's craw," I interjected. Ryder was only nodding and giving one syllable responses. He pushed my metal rolling cart across the store filled with the things he needed for his tulip rainbow display. The full focus on his task finally led Denise to conclude that he was busy.
"I guess I'll let you get back to work, Ryder," she said, sounding less cheery than when she'd walked in.
Ryder was not capable of being a complete boob. He finally stopped and pushed his hair off his face as he gifted Denise with his winning smile. "Yeah, hey, I'm sorry I couldn't go on that walk. Don't forget to try the new pickle relish. It's really tasty."
"I will." The perk returned to Denise's step as she waved and walked out of the shop.
A few minutes of silence followed while I trimmed white roses
for the brunch. "You could have gone for a walk, Ryder."
Ryder turned around and sat on the edge of the window. "I know. It's just after hanging out with her for a day, I remembered why I kind of stopped doing stuff with her in high school. She's nice and always in a good mood, but she's sort of needy." His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and held it up. "As in texting ten seconds after she saw me in the flower shop." He texted something back and put the phone in his pocket.
"I can see where that might be off-putting." I stepped back to admire my arrangement of white roses and mini yellow calla lilies. It was perfect for a spring brunch table. I reached for another white rose to start on the second bouquet when someone yelled out as if in great distress.
Ryder popped up out of the window and looked my direction with wide eyes. "I think that came from next door at the bakery."
I dropped my shears and raced for the door. Ryder was right behind me. Lester rushed past the shop, his face as white as his hair. We found Elsie on her side on one of the wicker settees. She was groaning in pain and looked even paler than her brother.
Lester and I reached her side. Lester dropped to his knees with a grunt. He was a retired fireman. I had no doubt he'd seen many injuries and accidents, but it was always different when someone near and dear to you was suffering.
He took Elsie's hand. "Sis, what happened?"
Elsie drew in several deep breaths, but her words came out weak and shaky. "I dropped my phone and went to get it." She closed her eyes. Speaking was taking all her energy.
Ryder spotted the phone beneath the settee and pulled it out. "I've got your phone."
"So your back is out?" Lester asked.
Elsie lifted her arm slowly and raised up her thumb.
"Should we call an ambulance?" Ryder asked.
Elsie took another deep breath and tried to sit up. "Ow!" she howled and relaxed back onto the sunflower cushions. "I think I'll just stay right here for the rest of spring."
Tulips and Trouble Page 4
