23
The way Gemma saw it, things were pretty simple: Either Elodie told her where her mother’s ring was or admitted she was hiding it from her. A famous thirty-carat diamond ring didn’t just disappear.
But Elodie insisted she wouldn’t talk without Celeste and followed her into the antiques store.
“Celeste has nothing to do with this,” Gemma said. “You’re playing games with me.”
“I’m playing games? What do you call pretending to be a journalist to crash my party?”
“I should have been invited to that party,” Gemma said. “I only had to crash it because for some reason you people decided to pretend I don’t exist!”
“I see you share your mother’s sense of entitlement,” Elodie said.
Gemma wanted to punch her, and Alvie clearly sensed this because she stepped in between them. “Why don’t you two take this outside?”
“What is going on here?” Celeste appeared, rushing toward them.
It had been many, many years since Celeste had played the part of peacemaking big sister. How many times had she been caught between Elodie and Paulina, who bickered over everything? Who got to ride shotgun during the drive to the Hamptons? Who got the bigger room on family vacations? Who had this, who had that. It never ended, the battle over things large and small. Until the ultimate battle that tore the family apart.
She had no interest in seeing history repeat itself.
“You two: Follow me.” She sounded more weary than commanding, but still, Elodie and Gemma listened to her. As in many stressful situations, one thing was needed: food.
Liz’s Café was just around the corner on Bradford. The restaurant was a relative newcomer at only two years old, but the owner, Liz Lovati, was a town fixture. She’d owned and operated the mainstay corner market Angel Foods for the past two decades.
The café, with its maritime décor and Italian comfort-food menu, stood where the former Tips for Tops’n restaurant had been for forty years. Tips had been well-known for its breakfast specials, and a section of Liz’s menu paid it a tribute. Celeste loved that every place in town had a story behind it. It made it particularly ironic then that she chose to celebrate these places steeped in history while being confronted with the avoidance of her own.
When Elodie and Gemma realized Celeste intended for them to have a meal together, and the length of time that implied, they balked. “We have to eat, don’t we?” she said. No one could argue with that, at least. They were seated at the front, next to a window. Her sister and niece were too agitated to even glance at the menu.
“We’ll have three orders of the pancakes, two sides of bacon, three coffees . . . and that should do it,” Celeste said to their server.
“I prefer not to eat anything but fruit before noon,” Elodie said. Celeste turned to her.
“And I prefer not to have a major emotional event before noon. But I guess we’re all out of our comfort zone. Look, I have a peaceful, wonderful life out here. You can’t just show up and create drama. Do you understand?”
“I’m happy to leave—as soon as you sign the auction paperwork.”
“I told you I can’t sign paperwork until Mercury is out of retrograde,” Celeste said.
“Hold up,” Gemma said, looking back and forth between her two aunts. “What paperwork?”
“Contracts for an auction of the Pavlin Private Collection,” Elodie said, looking directly into her eyes. “And I need your signature, too.”