I managed to choke down a granola bar for lunch. In between talking to Angry April—aka Ponytail Girl, aka the Santa Slapper—and checking out my dad’s work in the ballroom, I had lost track of Mr. Potter. The good news was that I hadn’t heard any shouting for the last hour. The bad news was that his car was still parked out on the street, so I knew he was around here somewhere. And I didn’t like not knowing where.
A glance out the window on the stairway landing told me that the local news reporters had long since finished interviewing Santa Steve and a few other volunteers. Everyone was gone from the spot I’d seen them earlier and I wondered if Steve and the rest of the Brigade had left for the day with the other morning volunteers. I sort of hoped so. Things seemed to be quieter now, but maybe that was my imagination.
It was one o’clock when the afternoon volunteers began to gather at the usual place near the veranda by the back ballroom door. Standing a few steps above the group, I plunged right into my prepared speech.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Shannon.”
“Hi, Shannon,” everyone shouted.
I grinned. Right off, this group seemed a lot happier than the morning group. To be fair, though, these folks hadn’t had to wake up at the crack of dawn to get here.
I glanced around at all the familiar faces and was thrilled to see two of my closest friends, Lizzie Logan and Jane Hennessey, in the crowd. I gave them an extra special wave and was about to start talking when I noticed two younger girls, Kailee and Alyssa, standing on the other side of the crowd. They giggled and waved at me and made me smile. I waved back.
Those two were part of a group of homeless teenagers who had been attending a construction and carpentry class I’d been teaching for the past eight months at the Cove Community Center. It was DIY stuff, mostly, and how to do minor repairs like unclogging sinks and fixing cracks and caulking sinks and tubs. I taught power tool safety and even the best way to climb a ladder and paint a room. Pretty basic information. Kailee and Alyssa and their girlfriend Lauren were my three best students and I was happy to see two of them here to get some on-the-job training.
I worked with both boys and girls in the group, but I had to admit I was a big proponent of bringing more women into the construction field—if only so I wasn’t always the sole representative of my gender in Lighthouse Cove.
I took a quick head count and then launched into my usual spiel about what to expect this afternoon. When I was finished, I divided the group into smaller teams and sent them off to their assigned crews.
Kailee and Alyssa rushed over and hugged me.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said.
“We got a special pass to work here this afternoon,” Kailee said.
“On-the-job training,” Alyssa said. “Isn’t that cool?”
“It’s fantastic,” I said. “How’s Lauren doing?”
They exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance, and Alyssa said, “She’s sick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe she’ll make it next week.”
“Um, yeah. We’ll tell her you said hi.”
“Good. Now I’ve got to go make sure everything’s running smoothly, but I promise I’ll stop by and see how you’re doing later. And we can talk some more after you’re finished for the day, okay?”
“Yay!” Alyssa said, and they went running for the back door. I laughed as I watched them go. Their enthusiasm was infectious.
Lizzie and Jane waited until the younger girls were gone before grabbing me in another big hug.
“I’m so glad to see you guys,” I said.
My desperation must have been obvious because they exchanged glances, and Jane said, “You sound a little freaked out. Are you buried in work?”
“Something happened,” Lizzie said after scrutinizing me a little more carefully.
They had always been able to read me like a book. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “Guess you could say I’ve had a day. It started with Robbie escaping first thing this morning.”
“And I heard Frank and Maureen are moving,” Jane said, “so I guess you’re down one contractor.”
“You already knew that?” I shook my head. “I’m always the last to know.”
“Is that what’s bugging you?”
“Not really. There’s more.” I listed all the horrors that had made up my bad, bad, very bad day, including the Santa Clauses and the ponytailed woman, and Mr. Potter of course.
“Potter’s always been a jackass,” Lizzie said. “But let’s talk about these Santa Clauses. Really? Ten of them?”
“Yes, each in full costume,” I said, “right down to the white beards and the ho ho hos. Oh, and then my father showed up wanting to work. So I gave him my assignment.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Will he be okay?”
The fact that she was concerned enough about his health to ask the question made me want to hug her again. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”
“Good. Don’t let him overdo it.”
“I won’t. But enough about me,” I said, laughing. “What’s new with you two?”
“Well, you already know my big news,” Lizzie said, now visibly excited.
I frowned. “I do?”
“But I haven’t told Jane yet.”
“Told me what?” Jane said. “You’re holding out on me?”
“No, no,” Lizzie insisted. “We just finalized the plans last night.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.
I had no idea what she was referring to, but I smiled and played along. “Spill the beans, Lizzie.”
She paused for dramatic effect, then blurted, “Mac Sullivan is going to do a major book signing at the store this weekend in time for the big Christmas rush.”
I gasped. Not to be overly dramatic, but it felt kind of like taking a punch to my stomach. I tried to mask my reaction, but it wasn’t easy. Lizzie thought I knew of course, because she assumed that Mac had been keeping in touch with me. I hadn’t even told my closest friends that the man I was nuts about had clearly forgotten my existence over the last forty-two days. It was just too humiliating.
Lizzie and her husband, Hal, owned Paper Moon, the book and gift shop on the town square. Mac had been in to sign books for her before, but Lizzie had never been able to schedule an official event with him and his fans. Until now, apparently.
“What’s wrong?” Lizzie demanded. “Are you sick?”
Jane was staring too intently at me. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“You didn’t?” Lizzie looked puzzled. “But you and Mac talk on the phone all the time, right? I figured he would’ve mentioned it.”
You know, I owed Mac for this, too. Now I was put in the position of having my friends feel sorry for me. If he wanted to dump me, why didn’t he just write me a Dear Shannon letter and get it over with? “No, he didn’t, but—”
She suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’ll bet he wanted to surprise you. He said he was coming home tonight. I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”
She had no idea, but I breezily waved her words away. “Don’t be silly.” Inside, though, I was thinking, Tonight? He’s coming home tonight and didn’t even tell me that much?
Jane sighed. “He is so romantic.”
Despite my inner turmoil, I had to smile. Jane was unwavering in her belief that there was such a thing as happily ever after. I couldn’t bear to tell either of them the truth. And oh, when I finally did see Mac, I would have plenty to say before I turned my back on him forever. Not that he would care. “Look, I have to get back to work, but I’ll come find you both later and we can chitchat.”
I jogged off toward the front of the house. I didn’t dare turn around in case they got another look at my pale, shocked expression. I didn’t need the world to know what a mess I was. Because I wasn’t a mess, darn it. I was as fine as could be. And that was my story and I was sticking to it. Besides, I was tired of being sad. I’d rather have been furious. That emotion didn’t make my stomach hurt as much.
Before I could get ten feet into the house, a woman stopped me in the foyer. “Hello there. Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Potter? He’s in charge of this project.”
No, he isn’t, I wanted to say, but restrained myself. I recognized the woman I’d seen earlier that day at the door to the ballroom. Dad had identified her as Potter’s secretary, Patrice, so I was instantly on guard.
“No,” I admitted, “I haven’t seen him in a while. Actually, I was about to go upstairs and look for him myself.”
“Do you mind if I tag along? I need to give him his messages.” She patted her very large shoulder bag, which could have contained half of her office along with the messages. She had one of those soft southern accents and was petite and beautifully dressed in a taupe wool knit suit. Her shoes were sensible but expensive Etienne Aigner heels. (I recognized the brand because Lizzie had a pair in high school that she prized above all else.) Her blonde hair was coiffed to perfection. I guessed she was in her late thirties or early forties but her style and wardrobe belonged to a woman a decade older. It truly wasn’t a criticism, simply an observation. She was very pretty.
“You’re Patrice, right? You work for Mr. Potter.”
“Yes,” she said. “And you must be Jack Hammer’s daughter, Shannon. I saw you with him this morning. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” I led her toward the curving grand staircase and began the climb to the second floor.
“Your father is a lovely man,” she said.
“I agree,” I said, smiling. “Thank you.”
But I noticed her frowning as she said it. “He doesn’t care much for Mr. Potter. They’ve had run-ins before.”
“Yes, they have,” I said. And it still bothered me not to know if there was a specific thing Dad hated about Potter or if it was just on general principle. But I didn’t ask the question out loud.
Patrice sighed. “I know people think Mr. Potter is short tempered, and I suppose he can be. But I’ve always been able to get along with him. Do you want to know my secret?”
“Definitely.”
She smiled. “I let him think he’s in charge of everything and then I go ahead and handle things. You know how it is. All a man really needs is for someone to assure him that everything is fine and that it’s all being handled properly.”
I tried not to choke. She sounded like she was describing a spoiled child, not the senior vice president of a bank. Her attitude matched her expensive clothing; both were just old-fashioned enough to be charming to some. Maybe that’s what she’d been raised to believe. It wasn’t generational. My friend Emily was about the same age as Patrice and she would have bitten off her tongue before she would ever say something like that.
I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down at her. “It would be great if you could assure him that this project is running smoothly.”
“I wish I could, Shannon, but he wouldn’t believe me. He has to get a firsthand look at things and he gets truly nervous when there are so many variables. So many things can go wrong, you see. It drives him crazy when there are too many chefs in the kitchen, so to speak. It makes him jittery and that’s when he goes off on a tear.”
I smiled tightly. “There’s only one chef in this kitchen, and that’s me.”
“And you’re a woman,” she said apologetically.
“Why, yes, I am.”
Her smile was sympathetic. “He’s funny about that.”
I groaned inwardly. Potter was funny about a lot of things and, frankly, I didn’t find any part of it funny. He was just a cranky old toad, as Daisy had said. None of that mattered, though. I was in charge and the work would get done on time and this place would look fantastic. I wouldn’t let Potter’s attitude—or that of his secretary—get me down.
Patrice was wildly myopic when it came to defending her boss, but she was also nice and friendly and she thought my father was lovely, so I decided not to argue with her. But she was ridiculously wrong about Potter. He enjoyed causing trouble. I would bet he even thrived on it. And I didn’t know what particular character flaw allowed him to hold such low opinions of people, but he had no problem letting them know it, always belittling and sneering while at the same time demanding the impossible and ordering them around. And that made him an arrogant bully and a dangerous man.
And in my book, the fact that he didn’t respect women was the last nail in the coffin. Having grown up working in a man’s world, I’d often had to work twice as hard as any man to gain the respect of clients and peers and others in the field. I was used to the Potter mentality and there was no way I would let him make decisions or interrupt work on my job site.
I glanced up and down the hall. “He could be anywhere in the house, so I say we start checking all the rooms up here until we find him.”
“That’s as good a plan as any, since he does enjoy getting involved in every aspect of the work.”
I almost laughed at her pleasant way of calling him an interfering menace. Again, it wouldn’t do any good to call out her inability to see the man for what he really was. Instead, I just shook my head and started toward the first door. And that’s when someone downstairs began screaming at the top of her lungs.
“What in the world?” Patrice cried.
“That’s Lizzie!” I shouted and raced down the stairs.
I found my friend in the front tower room, a large circular space now known as apartment one. The door was wide open and I ran inside. Lizzie stood alone near a doorway that led out to the side yard and driveway.
“Lizzie,” I shouted, running across the room. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
She was visibly shaking and I had to grip both her arms and ask her again, “What is it? Talk to me.”
“I’m sorry I screamed, but it’s just so frustrating talking to that horrible man.”
“Who?”
She gazed at me, but I wasn’t sure she was really seeing me. “He—he threatened to close down our store.”
“Who?”
She pointed toward the side yard. “Mr. Potter. That man is a monster. I swear, if Hal doesn’t kill him, I will.”