The reception area of Townsend Development felt like any corporate waiting room Alice had ever set foot in: icy, dry air courtesy of air conditioning, bluish gray carpeting, and straight-backed chairs and a couple of small couches around a coffee table with neatly arranged magazines. A single potted palm, a half-hearted nod to nature, stood in a corner.
As Alice entered, the receptionist looked up and smiled.
“Do you have an appointment, miss?”
“Much better,” Alice said. “I have pie.”
She put the pie box on the receptionist’s desk.
The woman stared at the box and frowned.
“I wasn’t aware that we’d ordered pie.”
“You didn’t.” Alice put on her most winning smile. “But you all work hard here at Townsend Development, and I thought you could use a treat. It’s apple crumble. Everyone’s favorite.”
The woman studied the box. Then, picking up a pen, she pushed the pie box away from her.
“I can’t eat gluten.”
“Oh.” Alice’s smile faltered. “But maybe someone else at the office does? Like Darrell?”
The woman turned to her computer and typed on the keyboard, her fake nails clacking noisily. “I’m so sorry, but Mr. Townsend is booked solid for the rest of the afternoon. So…”
“So?”
“So, goodbye, and have a nice day.”
Alice’s heart sank. Her plan had seemed perfect—exactly what a detective would do in a novel. Why did it always work out for the heroines in books?
She turned to go, but was stopped by the woman clearing her throat. The receptionist pointed at the pie box as if it contained plutonium.
“Don’t forget that thing.”
Alice picked up the box and, swinging around, collided with a man.
“Careful!” he said.
Alice lost her grip on the box, but the man reached in and grabbed it in time.
“Phew,” Alice said. “Thanks.”
She looked up and recognized him. It was Darrell’s tall, lanky brother, Todd, owner of The Blithedale Record.
Todd smiled. “The runaway bride again. And what’s this?” He looked over her shoulder at the receptionist. “Janice, did you order pie?”
“Did I order a cake full of gluten? No, I did not,” Janice answered.
“I brought it,” Alice said. “It’s a gift.”
Todd opened the box. “Apple crumble.” He raised an eyebrow at Alice. “This isn’t a gift. This is a bribe.” Then he grinned. “Darrell and I never say no to apple crumble. Come on.”
With one hand holding the pie box, he put the other around her shoulders, as if they were old friends, and led her past the reception—and Janice’s deep frown—to double doors at the back.
Todd let go of Alice and pushed open one of the doors.
“Brother,” he called out. “Look who I caught trying to bribe her way into your office.”