“The first thing we need to do is have a meeting so we’re all on the same page,” Rose said. We didn’t have meetings about all of the Angels’ cases. But somehow over time as Rose recruited more people to the “team,” we’d begun getting together before any big case began.
“Avery will be here in a little while,” I said.
“I need to call Liz and Nicolas,” Rose said.
“Nick isn’t going to tell you anything.”
She gave a half shrug. “Be that as it may, we’re having a meeting and he’s part of the team.” She looked at Mr. P. “Would you please go take the coffee cake out of the freezer?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
“Do you need a ride?” I asked.
Rose looked at me like I’d just spouted gibberish. “Why on earth would Alfred need a ride upstairs? Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “You just asked Mr. P. to take the coffee cake out of the freezer. What does that have to do with upstairs?”
“The freezer is part of the refrigerator, which is upstairs.” She said the words slowly and distinctly as though I were very young or very old or maybe just plain dense.
I held up one hand. “Hang on a minute. Are you saying there’s a coffee cake in the staff room upstairs?”
Rose nodded. “Well, of course there is. We can’t have a meeting without cake and I don’t always have the time to go home and make one so it’s important to be prepared.” She folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. “Although I could probably whip up something in Mac’s kitchen. What type of mixer does he have?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Rose smiled. “That’s all right. I’ll ask him myself.”
Mr. P. had disappeared, probably to take the coffee cake that I hadn’t known was upstairs out of the freezer. I was going to have to check that freezer more often.
I went out to the shop to see that Mac had put the bed frame together and someone—Charlotte probably—had dressed it with a quilt, a striped wool blanket and three pillows Jess had made from an old quilt. A small brown teddy bear wearing a vest that Rose had knitted was perched among the pillows.
“That bed looks so cozy I could lie down and take a nap,” I said. “What did you use for a mattress?”
“It’s an air mattress I brought from home,” Charlotte said.
“Very creative.”
She smiled. “I have my moments.”
“So did you make the sale?”
Mac nodded. “The customer is coming back later with her husband’s truck. I think it was the teddy bear that did it.”
Charlotte straightened one edge of the blanket. “I think you’re right. She bought the bear and the pillows as well.”
“I’ll bring in the kids’ table and chair set once the bed is gone,” Mac said.
“Did you finish painting it yesterday?” I asked.
He nodded. “And I used the last of four cans of paint.” He gestured in the general direction of the garage workshop. “I’m going out to start cleaning those metal stools.”
I nodded. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Charlotte was still eyeing the bed. She leaned forward and tweaked one side of the quilt. It looked fine to me but clearly didn’t to her. She straightened up and put an arm around my shoulders. “What’s making the frown lines I see on your face?”
I sighed softly. “Rose and Mr. P. are taking on a new client.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t take a vote. And more importantly, we didn’t have tea and cake so I don’t think it’s binding.” She smiled. She was a bit taller than me with the posture and measured gaze of the teacher and high school principal she had once been. I could always count on Charlotte to be the voice of reason.
I leaned my head against hers. “All of that will be happening at lunchtime. And yes there will be cake. Apparently Rose keeps a backup one in the staff room refrigerator.”
“Who is the provisional client?” Charlotte asked.
“Her name is Delia Watson. She is Mark Steele’s producer.”
“The man who died.”
“Yes. She wants to find out who killed him and she wants someone to be, I guess you’d call it an advocate for him.” I straightened up.
“And there’s something about this woman you don’t like.”
Charlotte didn’t miss much.
“Let’s just say I don’t totally trust her motives. You know that Mr. Steele tried multiple times to get Annie Hastings to agree to be part of his TV show?”
Charlotte gave her head a little shake. “He didn’t seem to grasp the concept of no meaning no.”
I pulled a hand back through my hair. “Delia Watson was party to all of that. And when she spoke about the show she spoke about it as if it’s going to continue without Mr. Steele. She mentioned he had a co-host. I don’t want to see what happened to him end up being used as a way to exploit the Hastingses or anyone else in town.”
“I feel bad for Annie,” Charlotte said.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“Yes, but not well. We were in school together but I wouldn’t say we were ever really friends. Annie always was a quiet, private person but she became even more so in the last few years since her arthritis got so bad.” She eyed the bed again then reached over and adjusted one of the pillows. She finally seemed satisfied with it. When the customer came back it was all going to be taken apart again, but I knew if I pointed that out Charlotte would say that didn’t mean it shouldn’t look nice now.
“Sarah, have you seen the show?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Have you?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’ve watched a couple of episodes with a friend.”
I gave her a knowing smile and bumped her with my hip. “Does this friend have a name?” Charlotte had been seeing someone but was keeping the relationship very quiet.
“Yes, he has a name,” she retorted, “and it’s none of your concern.”
“Well, at least now I know the mystery man likes Night Moves. It’s a start. How many men in your age bracket in this town watch the show?”
“Who says he’s in my age bracket?” Charlotte countered.
I put my hands on my hips and eyed her in surprise. “Charlotte Elliot, I am learning there are sides to you I’ve never seen before.”
She gave me a saucy smile. “You are only scratching the surface.”
I laughed all the way out to the workshop.
I worked on the table for the rest of the morning, making progress, albeit very slowly. Mac got us each a cup of coffee at one point and we each looked over the other’s project.
“What are your plans for the stools?” I asked, walking around the four of them so I could check them out from every angle.
“Clean them, obviously. There’s something sticky on the legs. I think I can get the dents out of the seats of those three.” He pointed at the first three stools in the row.
“Cleveland said he tried the plunger trick but it didn’t work,” I said.
“I know,” Mac said. “I have another idea.”
I turned around to look at him. “Am I going to like it?”
“You will if it works. I’m going to use a hair dryer or something to warm the top of the stool and then push the dent up from the underside.”
“Isn’t that the kind of idea that usually comes with the caveat, don’t try this at home?”
“So you don’t think it will work?”
I pushed on one of the stools. The dent wasn’t that big, but it looked pretty permanent to me. It wasn’t the same as getting a dent out of a soda bottle. “I will concede it might work but please be careful. Those stools will get very hot very quickly.”
“I promise to be safe,” he said.
“It looks like the Angels have a case,” I said, coming to stand next to him.
“Mark Steele.”
“Yes. His producer, a woman named Delia Watson, knew Jess when they were in college.”
“So the producer is the client? What about Steele’s family?”
“I don’t think he had any. Delia didn’t mention a spouse or children. I think his whole life was his work.”
Mac shook his head. “That used to be me. I’m glad it’s not me anymore.”
I smiled. “I almost forgot, Rose is getting the band together for a vote at lunchtime.”
He reached over and picked a clump of cat hair from my sleeve. “Will there be cake?” he asked.
“Charlotte said the vote isn’t binding without one and it turns out Rose keeps an emergency cake in the staff room freezer.”
“Good to know.”
“Rose also wants to know what you have for a mixer.”
Mac suddenly looked uncertain. “Do I want to know why?”
I grinned. “I’m thinking no.”
He pulled me against him for a moment and kissed the top of my head. “Are we still going out to the Sunshine Camp this afternoon?”
I pulled away and stood in front of him, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “Yes. I’ve decided I’m not getting involved in this case and I made a promise to Liz.”
Mac’s dark eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you want to be involved?”
“I don’t trust Delia Watson. I don’t have any basis for feeling that way. Something about her just didn’t sit right.” I sounded a little defensive, I realized.
“Hey, I’m not doubting your instincts but Mr. P. has pretty good ones as well. I take it he didn’t agree with you?”
“He does think Delia is hiding something as well, he just believes that if the Angels take the case they can find who killed Mark Steele and make sure his show doesn’t exploit anyone.”
Mac shrugged. “If anyone can do that it’s Rose, Mr. P. and their crew.”
I slid an elastic off my arm and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “You are right about that. People do tend to underestimate them.”
Jess called just before lunch. “I’m sorry I ambushed you like that,” she said. “I would have called, but Delia was with me the whole time. I was gobsmacked when she walked in this morning. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in at least ten years.” Jess had been binge-watching The Great British Baking Show and the odd British expression kept turning up in her speech. “She was talking about bringing in some investigator that she’d used on the show and I couldn’t see how that would be good. Rose and Alfred seemed like a lot better option. I hope that doesn’t make me one of those small-town snobs.”
“You’re not a small-town snob,” I said. “I admit I was a little gobsmacked when you two showed up but I do agree that the Angels are a better choice than some stranger. And Rose and her merry band are good at what they do.”
“I take it Delia is going to get an official yes shortly.”
“It looks that way.”
“If Nick’s head explodes promise me you’ll take photos.”
Here was a chance to ask her what—if anything—was going on with him. And I chickened out.
Again.
“Nick is part of the team now,” I reminded her.
She gave a snort of laughter. “More like he’s infiltrated the team to find out what Rose is up to.” I heard someone else’s voice in the background. “I have to go,” Jess said. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be there,” I promised. We said good-bye and ended the call.
Avery arrived about fifteen minutes later. “We’re having a meeting,” I said. “I’ll need you to handle customers for a while.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “Rose texted me. You want me to work on the web orders between customers?”
“Yes please.” I waved a hand in the direction of the Angels’ office. “There’s cake. Get yourself a piece before we start.”
I went up to my own office to change my shirt and when I came back down Liz had arrived. “Why couldn’t I have given my proxy to someone?” she asked.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Rose said firmly.
“Well, it should,” Liz retorted.
“Well, it doesn’t.”
I could see where this was going. I stepped between them. “Mac and I are going out to the camp this afternoon,” I said.
“Rose and I are having a conversation about meeting protocols,” Liz said. “You’re interrupting.”
“No. You and Rose are playing a game of did-too–did-not. What’s going on?”
For a moment Liz said nothing then she sighed. “Just when I think we’ve found all the boneheaded things Wilson did, I unearth another.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Talk to me about this new client,” Liz said. “Where do you stand?”
“I’m trying to be neutral.”
“In other words you’re a no vote.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Your head is like a big glass fishbowl. I can see what you’re thinking.”
I made a face at her. “Fine. Rose and Mr. P. want to take on the client and I am less enthusiastic, but I don’t want them to turn the case down because of me so I’m trying to stay neutral.”
Liz leaned toward me. “We could stage a coup if you want to.”
“Thank you, but no. I don’t want to see the Hastingses or North Harbor made fun of on a TV show. Rose and Alfred won’t let that happen.”
“So your vote is not as much of a no as you said.”
I looked at Liz for a long moment. “I see what you did,” I finally said.
Liz patted my cheek. “Good to know getting dropped on your head as a baby didn’t cause any lasting damage.”
To my surprise Nick showed up right before we started. He came and stood next to me. “What are you doing here?” I asked. He was wearing a gray sweater and black pants with a black wool coat. He smelled like Hugo aftershave.
“Rose said there was a team meeting and somehow I seem to be part of the team whether I want to be or not. Plus this way at least I know what’s going on.”
I elbowed him. “And there’s cake.”
He nodded. “And there’s cake.”
I handed him a plate. I had coffee. I leaned over and swiped a bite of the cake for myself.
Nick tried to jab me with his fork but missed.
I smirked at him.
Mr. P. called the meeting to order. He explained the Angels had a potential client. “Her name is Delia Watson. She was . . . is the late Mark Steele’s producer and she wants to hire us to figure out who killed him.”
“Do you trust her?” Liz asked.
“Not completely,” Rose answered, “but if we take the case we can figure out what she might be up to.”
“So you two are both yes?”
Mr. P. nodded.
“So am I,” Liz said, raising her teacup.
“Both Emily and her father were my students,” Charlotte said. “I’m in.”
Rose looked at me.
“I have reservations but I vote yes, too,” I said.
Mr. P. raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
“Mac is a yes,” Rose said.
“Mac isn’t here,” Liz immediately said.
“He’s with a customer. He already gave me his yes,” Rose said with an edge of impatience.
“So in other words you have his proxy.”
Rose’s gray eyes narrowed. Liz seemed determined to poke the tiger. “No,” Rose said. “Mac took part in early voting.” She turned to look at Nick, whose mouth was full of cake.
I grabbed the hand holding his fork, waved it in the air and said, “Nick votes yes as well.”
Rose clapped her hands together. “So we’re agreed.”
Mr. P. caught my eye, smiled and mouthed the words unus pro omnibus.
“Omnes pro uno,” I said softly.
If the Angels had a motto this was it: One for all, all for one.