The Ash Leaf was packed to the rafters with tourists, and Maggie Mulgrew couldn’t have been happier, or more exhausted.
With Pembroke Martin, her live-in help and love of her life, out on a last-minute dig, Maggie had to deal with the unexpected onslaught alone. She herded the people into groups, based on interest, and darted back and forth, stopping only long enough to ring up sales. She kept the tags, stuffing them in the drawer under the computer. Dealing with inventory would have to wait.
She loved the challenge, laughed at the enthusiasm of fellow collectors, and ran her feet off answering questions, taking purchases, and offering alternatives when their wanted item was snatched up by another tourist.
This was her first Christmas in Holmestead, the picture postcard English village she called home. Her oldest and best friend, Spencer Knight, was going to get an earful for not warning her about the yearly festival up at the castle—and the crowds it drew.
“Need help?”
She halted halfway to her next group, and ran at Spencer, hugging him hard and fast. “You go help the modern Sherlock fans,” she said, after she let go. “And we’re having words, Spencer Knight. As soon as I have enough room to breathe.”
He flashed her a grin and sauntered over to the large group of American women. Maggie bit back a smile as his blonde good looks and easy way instantly charmed them. She did miss having him in the shop, but she was so proud of how well he was doing at the museum.
“Excuse me!” An older man waved at her from what she called the Victorian tchotchkes section. “I have a question about these here glass ball things.”
Maggie waved back. “Be right there.” She stopped long enough to make sure the couple drooling over the 17th century rosewood secretaire she’d rescued from the garbage bin were all right, then moved to the man, smiling at his description of the paper weights.
She loved her life.