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  “Lila. It’s ten o’clock.”

  Turning, I found Vicky peering through the cracked door, Eliot rubbing against her ankles.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  I turned back to the window, rubbed away the newly generated frost, and glanced back down at the street. Both Lynn and Chuck were already gone. “I don’t know,” I answered, turning back to Vicky. “I’m worried about one of the authors.”

  “Which one?”

  “My client, Lynn Werner,” I started, but before I could explain more, I heard the sound of the office’s main door opening.

  “It’s Bentley,” Vicky said. Then she did a double take. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. She brought a dog with her.” Eliot stopped rubbing, his ears shooting straight upward before they started twitching. Then his back formed into an arch with spiked fur and tail jerking.

  “Vicky!” Bentley bellowed from the reception area. “Please put Eliot in the break room. He’s upsetting Olive.”

  “Olive?” Vicky echoed incredulously. Since Vicky hadn’t attended yesterday’s meeting at the James Joyce Pub, she’d missed Olive’s grand entrance. Obviously, no one had filled her in on Bentley’s newest acquisition. Now she was looking to me for an explanation, but I hated to be the bearer of bad news. And any rival for Eliot’s coveted agency mascot position would certainly be bad news to Vicky. So I simply shrugged and turned away, busying myself with gathering files and paperwork I’d need for the status meeting. Behind me, I heard the scurried clicking of claws against the hardwood floors, then a loud hiss and a sharp doggie yelp, followed by Bentley’s own form of barking: “Ms. Crump, get that cat into the break room now!”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. It looked like we were all in for a very long week.

  Chapter 4

  Entering through the double doors of the Marlette Robbins Center for the Arts, I felt a mixture of emotions, including pride that I’d had even a small, albeit roundabout, part in creating this fine facility. The Arts Center, built on the edge of town, now stood as a cornerstone to our community activities, providing space and resources for artists of all kinds. Although it was funded by the estate of a wonderfully talented author named Marlette Robbins and existed only because of his premature death, I knew in my heart that Marlette would be proud for two reasons. First, this building represented a lasting physical legacy of his love of this community. And second, because his book, The Alexandria Society, given wide acclaim after it was published posthumously, had so skillfully touched the hearts of thousands.

  But this wasn’t the time to dwell on the past—we had new authors to introduce to the world of publishing and to the hearts of readers. So I focused instead on the remarkable scene before me, which instantly filled my spirit with the joy of my dream job as a literary agent. Our agency had worked with Ms. Lambert’s crew on and off last week to help transform the Arts Center into what we hoped would be both a magical and informative expo for the brides who would be in attendance this week. Now that I saw it all put together, I couldn’t help but smile at all we’d accomplished. Time and time again, the creative energy and talents of our literary team amazed me. I felt so fortunate to be a part of it all.

  We’d strived to put a creative spin on the usual trade show format used at many expos. Instead of using just the main presentation hall, we’d lined the corridor with vendor booths and even used a few of the smaller rooms to accommodate displays. The Dragonfly Room, usually used for dance class, would feature different venues throughout the week. Today, it had been transformed into a romantic dining room showcasing floral arrangements and gorgeous ideas for reception tablescapes. The Textile Workshop Room housed displays of bridal gowns, bridesmaid dresses, tuxes, and every sort of wedding attire imaginable, while the smaller classrooms such as the Potter’s Room and Picasso’s Studio were converted into intimate spaces set with tables and seating areas where brides could take a quiet break and enjoy a glass of champagne while organizing their notes and wedding plans. However, what was by far our best idea was the setup of the Arts Center’s east wing, which had an extensive commercial kitchen at one end. The classrooms in this area would allow guests to visit wine tasting booths, sample appetizers, and choose their favorite dishes for their own reception menus.

  After checking my coat, I started meandering down the main corridor, stopping to admire a display of invitations. I tossed a quick wave to Flora and Franklin, who were a couple of booths down, chatting next to a display of dried flower arrangements. My hand glided over the invitation samples and came to rest on a stack of handmade papers. I fingered the uneven texture of the natural fibers and admired the simplicity of the designs before an array of save-the-date postcards caught my eye. What a great idea! Of course, Sean and I hadn’t actually set the date yet, but hopefully … Anyway, I’d have to show this to Makayla later.

  A whoosh of cold air brought me back to the moment. Turning back to the main doors, I saw Zach arriving with the first group of authors. Franklin and Flora joined me in greeting them and then offered to show the authors to their booths. I agreed to remain on standby waiting for the next group and any early-arriving vendors. Fine by me, I thought, heading back to the invitations. More time to check out the displays. I’d just picked up a beautifully printed invitation—cornflower blue with copper accents engraved on paper made out of bamboo, of all things!—when Jude Hudson sidled next to me.

  “Hello, Lila.” His eyes roamed over the table and then back to me with interest. “Invitations, huh? Does that mean you and lover boy have actually set the date?”

  “You mean Sean?” I tried to play it cool and not let irritation show in my voice. “We’re still trying to work out the date. It’s difficult with our busy schedules,” I explained. “If you’re looking for something to do, Franklin could probably use some help getting authors situated.”

  He, of course, ignored my subtle suggestion to take a hike. Jude and I had a strange history. The first month I worked at the agency, his charm and his oh-so-sparkly brown eyes lured me into a foolish and regrettable kiss. I’d long ago come to my senses, realizing that Jude was a ladies’ man and I … Well, I was a one-man type of lady, and that man was Sean. Nonetheless, there were times when a little leftover spark from that bygone kiss threatened to derail my best judgment. Like now. When he playfully snatched up my hand and pointed at my naked finger while making a tsk-tsk sound.

  “No ring, Lila?” he said. “What is that man thinking? If you were my fiancée, I’d make sure the deal was sealed.”

  I slid my hand out of his, irritated that his touch made my heart beat faster. “He’s still looking for the perfect ring. He wants to make sure I’m happy.”

  Jude shot me a wink, his full lips turning up at the corners. “If you say so, darlin’.”

  I sighed. Jude had been playing this little game with me ever since things turned serious between Sean and me. And much to my annoyance, he always knew just the right nerve to hit. Truth was, I’d dropped hint after hint of the type of ring I wanted. Something vintage, reflective of my personal style. But still, no ring. And the wedding date? Well, Sean and I couldn’t agree on that, either. I was vying for next spring, while he wanted to push things off until Christmas of next year when he could get a little more time off work.

  Suddenly, Jude’s gaze hit on something behind me that caused his playful expression to turn serious. I wheeled around to see what had caught his attention. It was Bentley. She was thundering down the hallway, her arms swinging with determination. “We’ve got a problem,” she said to Jude, her voice low and tight. “There’s something wrong with the refrigeration system in the kitchen area. The walk-in cooler isn’t working. There’s a half-dozen buttercream cakes back there, ready for tomorrow afternoon’s cake display and tasting. If the refrigeration goes out, the cakes will be ruined.”

  Jude turned his palms upward and shrugged. “What do you want me to do? I don’t know anything about refrigerators.”

  “D
oesn’t this place have some sort of maintenance service?” Bentley wanted to know.

  I immediately thought of the handyman at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast. I remembered him saying he’d just taken a maintenance contract with the Arts Center. I told the others what I knew. “He’s just down the road. I’m sure he could get here quickly.”

  “Guess he’ll have to do,” Bentley agreed reluctantly. She glanced at her watch and then turned back to Jude. “Call over to the Magnolia and see if that guy’s still there. If so, tell him that I’m offering a generous tip if he can get over here fast.”

  Jude took out his cell and shuffled down the hall to make the call. In the meantime, Bentley and I turned our attention back to the front doors to wait for the next group of authors. Here and there, a vendor would stray outside and return with a box of extra supplies. They’d spent the last two days setting up their booths, and an almost palpable feeling of excitement hung in the air as they bustled about, putting the final touches on displays.

  A few minutes later, Jude came back with some news. “Chuck, the handyman, said he could be here in about twenty minutes.”

  Bentley nodded. “Good. Let’s hope it’s something simple that he can fix quickly. Chef Belmonte has a demonstration later this afternoon.”

  “Belmonte?” I didn’t recognize the name.

  “He’s the executive chef at Machiavelli’s,” Jude supplied. “The place opened last summer. It’s good, too. All handmade pasta. I’m surprised you haven’t been there. I just saw your mother there a couple of days ago.”

  “Mama?” Huh. Strange she didn’t mention it to me. Then again, we didn’t keep track of each other’s every move.

  “Speaking of the devil,” Jude said, nodding toward the walk outside, where Mama was bent forward, struggling to carry a sign against the snowy wind. I ran out to give her a hand.

  “Here, Mama. Let me help you.”

  She handed over the sign and adjusted her parka hood lower on her face. “Lawd, child. You’re goin’ to catch your death of cold out here.” I agreed and quickly ushered her down the walk to where Jude was holding the door for us. Inside, I stomped the snow off my shoes and held out Mama’s sign for inspection. It was painted deep purple and embellished with gold stars and half-moons. Whimsical script spelled out the words The Amazing Althea, Babylonian Fortune-Teller.

  “The sign is perfect! Lila, your mother is going to be the hit of the expo,” Bentley enthused, snatching the sign out of my hands and looping her other arm into Mama’s. “Come on, Althea, I’ll show you where to set up.”

  “Your mother sure is something,” Jude muttered as we watched Bentley lead Mama toward the main room. I squinted his way, wondering if he was speaking flippantly about my mama, but the sincere expression on his face told me otherwise. Jude, like many of the town’s folk, seemed charmed by my mama’s eccentricities. I sighed. When was I ever going to learn to simply accept Mama for who she was and not worry about how others perceived her? After all, I knew she was amazing.

  “Oh, there’s Dr. Meyers,” Jude said, pointing to a woman standing inside the doorway. I watched as she stomped the slush from her calf-hugging boots—which perfectly complemented her all-leather shoulder bag, I noticed—and brushed snowflakes from her cashmere blend coat. Dr. Sloan Meyers had a successful psychology practice in nearby Dunston. Later today, she was scheduled to read from her popular book Strong Women, Strong Marriages.

  As I greeted Dr. Meyers, I told her how excited I was for her upcoming reading and discussion. She was planning to talk on how to transition into married life while maintaining your confidence and strength as a woman. Advice I certainly could use! While I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with Sean, I had a few niggling reservations. After all, I’d finally reached a time in my life when I was completely independent: Trey off to college, Mama in good health, a great job, good friends … Sometimes I worried about the transitions around the corner.

  Just as Franklin appeared to show Dr. Meyers around, the door opened again and in strolled Chuck, the handyman. He was pulling a large tool bag behind him, the wheels leaving two wet lines on the carpet. I eyed the bag, hoping one of the tools inside would do the magic trick. Our chef demonstrations were a huge attraction; I would hate for them to be canceled.

  As Jude rushed Chuck back to the service kitchen, Zach arrived with the other authors. I watched as they clamored out of the SUV, the bulk of their winter coats making them appear like puffy penguins waddling off the shore. Once inside, Lynn immediately came to my side, removing her stocking hat and running a hand through her layers of brown hair. She leaned in and whispered, “I saw Chuck’s truck outside. What’s he doing here?”

  I noted the stress in her voice and explained about the kitchen’s walk-in cooler, but the more I talked, the more agitated she seemed to become. “What is it, Lynn? How do you know him?”

  “He’s my ex-husband. And the reason I left the area and moved to Baytown. I thought he’d left the area, too.”

  I wanted to ask more, but Bentley poked her head into the hall and called for the authors and vendors to report to their booths. “Fifteen minutes until doors open, people. Let’s all get into place.”

  There was a sudden bustle of activity as everyone scrambled to their designated areas. Since I was on door duty for the first two hours, I decided to stay put and watch for early arrivals. I didn’t have to wait for long. The entire female population of North Carolina seemed to arrive at once, ushered in on a cloud of excitement and sharp giggles, shaking snow from their coats and boots and dispersing into adrenalized groups of frenzied treasure hunters. For the next couple of hours, I kept busy taking tickets, pointing out the coat check, handing out the event schedule, and answering a bazillion questions, most of which had to do with the location of the restrooms. Ingeniously, Bentley had set up the book table just outside the coat check area. So when I told visitors where to check their coats, all I needed to say was, “Just down the hall next to the book table. Check out all the great selections while you’re there. All the authors are on hand to answer questions and sign your books.” So far, Bentley’s little scheme was working well. Books were selling like hotcakes, with Pam’s Reluctant Brides of Babylon series leading the pack. Speaking of which, I wondered how things were going for Amazing Althea the Babylonian Fortune-Teller. I really did need to check on Mama and Lynn, too.

  I glanced around and checked my watch. My two hours were almost up and Jude was supposed to relieve me of door duty, but he was nowhere in sight. He might be checking on the refrigerator repair. Maybe I could just get one of the other agents to spell me for a … “Franklin!”

  Franklin hurried to my side. “Is everything okay, dear?” Franklin was such a gentleman.

  I nodded. “I just need to check on a couple of things. Jude was supposed to be here, but he must be tied up. Could you spell me for a few minutes?”

  “Certainly.” He looked around and lifted the sleeve of his herringbone jacket to peek at his watch. “I was just looking for Dr. Meyers, but I can catch up with her later. I’d be glad to help you out.”

  I thanked him and headed down the hall, working my way toward the center’s main room and resisting the urge to veer off toward the textile rooms, where I knew a dress supplier from Raleigh had a vintage gown display. I was just dying to see it, but Makayla made me promise to wait until she could get here. She usually didn’t finish at the coffee shop until four o’clock or after.

  The Arts Center’s main auditorium was designed for community plays and other performances and had a stage at one end and plenty of floor space to accommodate portable seating. Today, the spectator seating was stored away, and instead the floor was arranged with vendor booths, everything from photography to floral arrangements, party favors, and even spa packages. On the stage, a local string quartet was performing a classical piece by Bach while brides bustled about, notepads and pens in hand, their questions blending softly with the elegant music. I smiled to myse
lf. Everything was going exactly as planned.

  Except when I reached Lynn’s booth, she was nowhere to be found. I looked around, finally interrupting the man in the adjacent booth. A popular local photographer, he had several women looking through his sample wedding albums. “No, miss. I haven’t seen her for a while,” he told me.

  Thinking she was probably taking a well-deserved break, I decided to check back later. In the meantime, I headed for a quick check on the Babylonian Fortune-Teller. Only I hadn’t gone far when Flora caught up to me. She seemed flustered. “Have you seen Jodi? She doesn’t seem to be anywhere and she has readers waiting at her table.”

  I shook my head. “No, and I can’t find Lynn, either. Maybe they went somewhere together. Let’s go check the break rooms.”

  We’d just reached the hallway when Bentley flagged us down. She was carrying a large stack of hardcover books. “Good news, girls! The acquisitions librarian from the Dunston Public Library just purchased two copies of each of our nonfiction titles.”

  Flora’s hands flew to her cheeks. “How wonderful! I do so love librarians.”

  “Me, too,” agreed Bentley. “Be a dear, Flora, and help me out. She wants all these signed by the authors. Take the top four?”

  Flora shot me a worried glance. “Go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll find Jodi and Lynn. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

  “And check in on the handyman while you’re at it,” Bentley added. “Chef Belmonte is due to present soon.”

  I nodded and took off toward the culinary area of the Arts Center, my heels echoing as I passed by the various rooms, which were all empty for now, but I was sure they would be teeming with brides later. We didn’t plan to open this wing until later each day, after the keynote speaker was done presenting. Then brides could meet their favorite chefs, sample a few of their creations, and decide on foods and wines for their reception menus.