Selena Morrison, one of Emma’s favorite customers, came into the shop on Thursday, bearing a small gift bag and wearing a large gauze bandage on her index finger. She held it up. “You should have warned me that quilting could be hazardous to my health.”
“What happened?”
“I was cutting along the edge of my ruler and the blade slipped and went over my finger.” Selena shook her head. “I should have been paying closer attention to what I was doing. But that’s not why I’m here.” She nudged the little gift bag across the counter. “You’re my good deed for today.”
Someone was already doing good deeds, and for her? “Really?”
“Absolutely. You go above and beyond for your customers, and I wanted you to know how much I appreciate it.”
Emma reached inside the bag and pulled out a gift certificate for Eagle Harbor Books. “Aw, Selena. That’s really sweet.”
“You deserve it. By the way, the quilt you donated for the fund-raiser for the new church kitchen went for two hundred dollars. You really are an angel. Keep up the good work. I love this idea and I hope it catches on big-time.”
“Me, too,” said Emma.
Wow. A gift. Out of nowhere. It was such a movie moment that even though nobody else came into the shop, Emma felt good all the rest of the day. Still infused with good vibrations, she stopped by the Safeway on the way home and stocked up on canned cat food. By the time she pulled up in front of her little duplex, it was raining cats and dogs. Had the storm deposited a certain cat by her doorstep?
Yes, there it was. Its pitiful yowl greeted her as she hurried up the walk. “Hang in there,” she told it as she fumbled for her keys. “I’ve got something for you.”
It poked its black head out from under the juniper bush and gave her an angry meow that probably translated into, Hurry up, will ya?
She had barely opened the door when a four-legged, wet black body raced in past her. “Well, come on in. Make yourself at home,” she called after the animal as it darted down the hall to the living room.
She caught a glimpse of a wet cat bottom disappearing under the crazy quilt she had draped over the couch. The poor thing was probably freezing.
“I’ll turn up the heat,” she offered. She cranked up the thermostat, then went to the kitchen and pulled one of the cans of cat food from her grocery bag. “Since you’re now officially a guest I guess we’d better put this in a bowl,” she said, taking a dessert bowl from her cupboard. The sound of the lid popping open brought her visitor back, and it wound around her legs in anticipation. That was when she noticed the flea collar. No regular collar, though. No tag of any sort to tell her anything about the cat. “Did someone dump you?” she asked it.
The cat rubbed against her calf.
“Maybe you’re lost.”
The cat meowed.
“You poor thing,” she cooed. “You’re not a bad kitty, are you? You’re just alone in the world and scared.”
She set the little bowl on the floor and the cat hunkered down in front of it and began to eat like Emma’s offering was its last meal.
“I know how you feel,” she said, watching it. “Not that I’m really alone. I’ve got my parents and my grandma. But sometimes . . . well, never mind about that. And I do feel scared a little. About the shop. I’m not exactly making money hand over fist. If this shop tanks . . .” She sat back on her heels, suddenly disgusted with herself. “I’m telling my life story to a cat.” Next she’d be talking to her plants. She had to get a grip.
She changed into her sweats, pulled some leftover salad out of the fridge, and went to check in on Tess. “No land auctions,” she vowed as she logged on. “We’re on a budget and it looks like we’ve got another mouth to feed.”
Wait a minute. This little guy was going to need more than food. He needed a litter box, and probably a new flea collar. The flea collar she might have been able to wait on, but not the litter box. “Sorry, Tess,” she said, putting her computer to sleep. “You’re on your own tonight. I’ve got to run to the store.” Thank God for credit cards.
Friday was soppy and cold—not pleasant weather for shopping, thought Jamie. Not good weather for coming in to work, either, obviously, since Clarice decided to call in sick.
“That is the phoniest cough I ever heard,” Jamie informed her.
“No, I’m really sick,” Clarice croaked.
Jamie heard a male voice whispering in the background. “Is Borg home sick, too?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Hmmm. What a coincidence. Never mind,” Jamie said. “I’ll let you get away with it just this once because I don’t exactly think we’re going to be swamped today.”
She was right. Only the most determined chocoholics came into the Chocolate Bar, which gave Jamie time to work on ideas for the Web site she was building for the shop. And to clean up the kitchen area. And wipe down the counters. And . . . what next?
Her eye caught on a leftover Mason jar sitting by the counter. Maybe this would be a good time to deliver a good deed. The only way to get this movement going was to do something to inspire people. She filled the jar with truffles. Now, who to give it to? She decided the next customer who walked in would get it.
At four-thirty the lucky winner arrived. Actually, it was winners, and she immediately recognized the lost fairy and her distraught grandpa from Halloween. And there was her older sister, too. No tears today, though. The two girls came bouncing into the candy shop bringing in a gust of rain-washed air and high-pitched squeals.
“Girls, you’re going to break my eardrums,” the man protested. “I promised them a treat,” he explained to Jamie.
“How about some white-chocolate-covered apples?” Jamie suggested.
“Fine. We’ll take three,” he said.
“Grandpa, there’s only two of us,” pointed out the oldest girl.
“Lissa, honey, counting me, there’s three, and I need a treat, too.” To Jamie, he added, “My wife stayed home with our kids and made it look so easy. I don’t know how she did it.”
Jamie picked up her jar of goodies and handed it across the counter. “Well, here’s something to help you. I made this to give to the next customer who came in and you’re the lucky winner.”
“Yeah?” He took it, looking pleasantly surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Naw. I can’t take this.” He set the jar on the counter and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I’ll pay for it, though. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. It’s my good deed for the day.”
“Good deed?” He snapped his fingers. “I get it. You’re doing that ‘put the heart in Heart Lake’ thing.” Then true understanding dawned. “Wait a minute. You’re one of the organizers. I saw your picture in the paper.”
Jamie smiled. “That’s me.”
“I’m hungry, Grandpa,” said Mandy the Fairy, pulling on his coat sleeve.
“Let’s take care of that right now,” said Jamie. She got two apples from the tray behind the glass counter and handed them to the man, who, in turn, gave one to each girl.
“You girls can sit at the table there and eat them,” he said, and the girls obediently plopped down at the nearest table. “I am going to pay for these,” he said.
“That’s a deal.” She took his money, then gave him change and another apple.
He took a bite and smiled. “Oh, man, that’s damn . . . er, darned good.” She grinned, and he lowered his voice and added, “Got to watch my language now that I’m the lady of the house. I’m up here helping my son. Name’s George Armstrong.”
Jamie took the offered hand and shook it. “I’m Jamie Moore. How long have you been in Heart Lake?”
“Just a few months. My son Josh got a job here, but they put him on swing shift and he needed help. He’s a single dad, trying to raise these girls on his own.” George’s expression turned just the slightest bit sneaky. “So, you run this place with your husband?”
“No. All on my own. I mean I run it all on my own.” She caught him checking out her left hand and whipped it behind her back.
He nodded and took a thoughtful bite of his apple.
“So, where is your wife?” Jamie asked, giving him a taste of his own nosy medicine.
His smile went taut and the laugh lines around his eyes flat-lined. “Lost her six years ago.”
Jamie immediately regretted her question. “I’m so sorry. But you’ve come to the right place to start over. This really is a great town.”
He nodded. “I can see that. Lots of friendly people; just what I need. Just what my son needs.”
The shop door opened and in blew Emma and Sarah, ready to make up for their missed Wednesday chocolate binge and debrief on the big kickoff meeting. George looked at them speculatively. Then he smiled and nodded, saying a polite hello.
Jamie made the introductions and it didn’t take long for George to let it be known he was in the market for a wife. For his son, he added, after seeing the wedding ring on Sarah’s hand.
“If your son is as nice as you I’m sure you’ll have no problem,” said Sarah. “We’ve got some great single women here in Heart Lake,” she added, her gaze drifting back and forth from Jamie to Emma.
Emma’s cheeks got pink, and she turned suddenly tongue-tied.
Next thing they knew Sarah would be running a dating service right here in the Chocolate Bar. “Yeah,” Jamie added, “that’s what Ginger says.”
Sarah glared at her.
“Ginger?” George was looking hopeful.
“Not your son’s type,” said Sarah quickly.
“Would you mind flipping the sign?” Jamie asked her sweetly.
Sarah turned the sign on the door to CLOSED and George got the message. “Well, you ladies have a good afternoon. Come on, kids. We’d better shove off. Time to go home and make dinner.”
“I don’t want chicken nuggets again,” Mandy whined.
“Okay. We’ll stop at the store and get hot dogs,” he said, ushering them out. “Nice to meet you.”
“I swear,” Sarah said after the door shut, “if you haul out your imaginary girlfriend one more time any man shows an interest . . .”
“He’s too old for me,” Jamie said.
“His son’s not.”
“I’m not in the market. That leaves you,” Jamie said to Emma.
“Well, Emma didn’t even have a chance to put her best foot forward with your subtle ‘put the closed sign up’ comment,” Sarah said in disgust.
“If I hadn’t he’d have stayed here all night. And fed the kids truffles for dinner.”
That put Sarah’s thoughts on a new track. “I never thought I’d hear a child complain about having chicken nuggets for dinner.” She shook her head. “Chicken nuggets and hot dogs—those poor girls. No wonder he wants to find his son a wife. They obviously need someone who can cook in that household. And how do you know you’re not in the market?” she added. “You haven’t even seen his son.”
“Yes I have.”
“Wait a minute,” said Emma. “Those kids—they belong to the policeman I saw here Halloween night, don’t they?” She didn’t wait for Jamie to confirm it. “Oh, my gosh. He is . . .” She let out a breath and started fanning herself.
“I don’t care how hot he is,” Jamie said. “He could set my thong on fire and I still wouldn’t be in the market.”
Emma threw herself into a chair. “I’m in the market all the time. All I ever get is broccoli.”
“Maybe you need to find a new market,” Sarah told her.
Emma shrugged. “Oh, well. I have a new love in my life so I don’t need no stinkin’ policeman.”
“Who?” demanded Jamie.
“Yeah,” said Sarah. “Spill.”
“He’s black. And he has four legs.”
“The cat,” Jamie said in disgust, and Emma nodded.
“When did you get a cat?” asked Sarah.
“I didn’t. He got me.”
“I’ll say,” said Jamie, handing Emma her drink and sitting down at the table. “Didn’t you see the scratch on her hand the other night?”
“He was just scared,” Emma explained.
“Or demon-possessed,” suggested Jamie.
“No, he’s a good boy. He’s moved in.” She pulled her cheapie digital camera from her purse and brought up an image of the new baby on its screen. “Look at that. Isn’t he cute?”
Jamie gawked at her. “You let that animal in your house?” They really did have to find someone for Emma. She was getting desperate.
“He let himself in. Anyway, deep down he’s really a sweet little guy. I’m going to name him Pyewacket, after the kitty in Bell, Book, and Candle.”
“Good choice, since he’s probably some witch’s lost familiar,” Jamie scoffed. “You don’t know anything about this cat. In fact, do you know for sure he’s a boy?”
“Well, no,” Emma admitted. “But he’s so big I figured he must be a boy.”
“You don’t know where it came from,” Jamie continued. “It could be feral.”
“He had a flea collar.”
“Maybe it’s lost,” said Sarah.
“I put a notice in the paper,” Emma told her. “Hopefully, if he is lost his owner will claim him. If not, he can have a home with me.”
“That way he’ll always have someone to torture,” Jamie teased.
Emma frowned at her. “Don’t be making fun of my good deed. I want to always believe the best about people, even when they’re cats.”
“A good way to live,” agreed Sarah.
Easy for you two, thought Jamie, you’ve never had your bubble burst. Or your jaw broken.
Emma didn’t stay much longer. “I have to get home.”
Jamie was tempted to tease her about running home to her new man, but judging from Emma’s frost-tipped voice, she decided it would be wise to resist temptation. “I didn’t mean to rain on her parade,” she said to Sarah after Emma left.
“She’ll get over it,” said Sarah. “But let’s not tease her. I know she’s worried about the shop. This cat could be just what she needs to distract her.”
“Mommy’s home,” Emma called as she came through the door. “Time for dinner. Where are you?” She threw her coat on a kitchen chair and got a can of cat food out of the cupboard. “Seafood delight, Pye. Come and get it.” She popped open the lid.
A second later the new man . . . or woman . . . or it . . . in her life came trotting in. “There you are. Did you miss me? Did you use your cat box?” She set Pye’s dinner down and the cat raced to the bowl and began to chow down. “With those manners, you are definitely a boy,” she decided.
She checked the bathroom where she’d set up his litter box to see if he’d been a good boy. Sure enough, he had. All right. She hung up her coat, and then made herself some pasta for dinner.
She had just started eating when Pyewacket jumped up on the kitchen table to investigate, nearly knocking over her vintage Fiesta pitcher. “You can’t be up here,” she told him. She reached to pick him up and remove him from the no-kitty zone, but before she could touch him he hissed at her and jumped down. “Whoa,” she said. “Excuse me. Someone has some trust issues here.” But they’d work through them.
Alone again, she ate her dinner and looked through her latest issue of Quilter Magazine. By the time she’d finished, she was inspired to work on the quilt she’d promised Kerrie for the wildlife shelter. But first she needed to water her plants.
She was almost to the living room with her little ceramic watering can when she noticed the drapes. The shredded drapes.