Chapter Twenty-Eight

Loaded with doughnuts and coffee, Libby arrived at Mae Day on Monday to bribe the long-time crew members selected for the cottage project. When Sean had asked for help, the staff, most of whom worked for Bernie from the beginning, volunteered their services free of charge.

“Geez, Lib,”—Deb came from behind the desk and grabbed the top two of six bakery boxes—“when you said you were bringing coffee and doughnuts, I didn’t think you meant this many. What gives?”

“The key to working with my mother is a constant influx of sugar and caffeine,” Libby placed the boxes on the conference table. “With this, all things are possible.”

Deb laughed. “I’ve known your mother as long as you’ve been alive and I’ve never had one problem. Besides, Irene’s heading the site—she can handle Mae—Sean thought that José had enough drama lately.”

“Good call, Irene’s crew is great, and she’s got the patience of a saint. Mom will test both.” Libby motioned to the door. “I’ve got coffee in the car, got a second to help me bring it in?”

“I got it. Go on in and see Sean. Be warned, though, I just gave him a stack of invoices; he’s cranky when it’s bill-paying time. Bring pastry to soften him up.”

Armed with a Boston Cream, Libby knocked on Sean’s office door.

“Come in,” Sean muttered. He saw Libby and waved a pink paper in the air. “When did they start making screws out of freaking gold? My truck cost less than this.”

She dropped the doughnut on his desk. “We could donate some of Kev’s organs to keep the place going. His liver isn’t worth a damn, but the kidneys might catch a few grand.”

He bit into the chocolate-and-cream goodness like a great white shark. “We’re fine. Damned subs try and slip in extra costs in the eleventh hour on every job. Nothing new.” He wiped his mouth and continued. “Thanks for breakfast. Did Deb tell you Irene is going to head up the remodel?”

“Yes, and I think she’s perfect.”

“I figured Mom would be more comfortable with her, and Irene’s crew does a lot of restoration work. She’ll do the place justice.”

He swigged coffee from his I’ve-Got-A-Big-Hammer mug. “I had to call your favorite people this morning.”

Libby frowned.

“Try not to implode, but when I went to town hall for the original plot dimensions for your property, Madame Clerk Sue said the place is listed on the historical register. Now we have to get the construction plans approved through the Historical Society before demo.”

“Crap!” Libby pounded her fists into her lap. “Crap, crap, and did I mention, crap? I never even thought of that.”

“Yeah, me either. I got the name and number for the Society president, Esther something?”

“Esther Gibbons. And again, crap.” Libby’s history with The Society was ugly. This called for finesse, and manipulation. A Cheshire cat grin split her face. “I have an idea—flirt. Esther hasn’t gotten any since 1962, and if you feed her ego she may be less of a pain in the ass about the plans. If you can’t get the job done, send in José, he’s a magnet for the cougar-type.”

“I am not selling out my best foreman because my hothead sister can’t play nice with the big, bad Historical Society. I can’t believe you are afraid of a bunch of harmless old women.”

“Wait until after you talk to Esther to judge me. You’ll see!”

He pushed away the paperwork and leaned back. “How was Mom last night after I left your place?”

“She seemed okay. It’s not as if everything is happening tomorrow. She has time to warm up to the idea. I think she’s looking forward to seeing Will. As much as they gripe about each other, I think they both need company.”

“You’re probably right. And when it comes time to pick out paint colors I can email Will the samples, he’s good at that stuff. And no, I’m not saying that because he’s gay. It’s the artist thing—he’s just better than the rest of us at it.”

“Caroline decorated most of our place.” Libby searched his face for a reaction. “I’m pretty sure Bob and I would still be sitting on a futon and eating off milk crates without her help.”

“Good to know.” Sean ran his left hand through his hair.

Libby caught the tell and grinned.

He said, “Maybe I’ll ask her to come with me when I’m picking out the fixtures.”

“There’s a really great place in Stamford for lights. I can’t remember the name, but Caroline knows. She took us there when the Society required ‘authentic reproduction’ outdoor lights for our porch, and I’m sure we’ll have to go the same route with the cottage.

Her inner devil’s advocate plotted. “There was a fantastic little deli next door to the lighting place. You can repay Caroline with a big, sloppy Rueben. For a skinny blonde, that girl sure can pack away the pastrami.”

He laughed. “And you call yourself her best friend.”

“I call them like I see them.” Libby stood to leave. “I’ll let you get back to your invoices. Call me when you hear back from the Society.”

“I will, but don’t worry about it too much, I’m sure everything will be fine.”