The Key in the Attic (5 page)

“That’d be great.”

“Anyway, I didn’t call to talk about her. I called to talk about you. I’ve been worried about you.”

“Me? Why would you worry about me?”

“I don’t know. You’ve seemed … distracted the last couple of times I’ve talked to you. Is everything all right?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. Really. It’s just that Mr. Huggins may be selling this building, and that means I’m going to have to make some changes.”

“Oh Auntie Beth, no. Does that mean you have to move the shop? Can’t you just keep renting from the new owner?”

“It’s not as easy as that,” Mary Beth admitted. “The buyer they’re considering wants to tear down my place and the theater next door to put in a fast-food restaurant.”

“That’s just not right. Can’t
you
buy the building?”

Mary Beth laughed. It was easier than crying. “You know I don’t have that kind of money, sweetie.”

“Maybe I could—”

“No, you’re not going to do anything silly. I know how hard you’ve worked for what you have, and I know things haven’t been easy for you lately either. I’ll be fine. Really. Things will work out.”

Amy was silent for a long moment. “But you love the shop. And you’ve worked hard for it too. It’s not right for you to lose it after all these years.”

“I don’t know that there’s any right and wrong about it. Businesses either make it, or they don’t. No matter how hard you try, sometimes you have to try something else. But I’m not giving up quite yet, sweetie. We’ll see what happens. Either way, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’d rather tell you about something exciting that happened. Annie Dawson was up in her grandmother’s attic the other day. You remember all the stuff she has up there. Turns out your grandmother had given Annie’s grandmother a little china vase on a brass stand … .”

5

Once Mary Beth had told Amy about the key and the table and the clue Geoffrey Whyte had left for Angeline to find, she found her mood had improved, and Amy didn’t sound quite as anxious as she had when she first called. By the time she told her niece goodbye, she was humming and tidying up the shop. She felt particularly cheery when the phone rang again.

“A Stitch in Time. This is Mary Beth. How can I help you?”

“Um, hi. Miss Brock? This is Mandy Culbertson. I wanted to know if today was a good day for me to come and help you at your store.”

“Oh.”

Mary Beth blinked, hardly knowing what to say in response. She had totally forgotten about agreeing to let Amanda work at the shop. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to her and to Amanda’s mother when they had discussed it after the accident. After all, the girl should take some responsibility for the damage her carelessness had caused. Now Mary Beth wasn’t sure she felt like dealing with it.

“Um … yes, hi, Mandy. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I just got caught up on some research I had to do for a school paper, so I thought I’d come by and help you for a while.”

“Uh … yeah. OK. Umm, you know, Mandy, I appreciate your wanting to help and everything, and I was very happy to have you help getting the glass all cleaned up and the merchandise put back where it belonged after the accident, but really, that was plenty. I don’t think you need to—”

“But, Miss Brock, I
really
want to help. I know the insurance paid for everything, but that accident was totally my fault, and I want to make it up to you. Please.”

“That
is
very sweet of you, Mandy.” Mary Beth looked around trying to figure out what the girl could do that would be helpful and not need constant supervision. “Um, when would you like to come?”

“Whenever you want. I can come now, if you want me to. Is that all right?”

“Um, sure. Right now is good.”
Except I don’t have a clue what to do with you when you get here.
“That’ll be great, Mandy. I’ll see you in a little while.”

A few minutes later, as she was tidying up a display of new yarns at the back of the shop, Mary Beth heard the front door open. Mary Beth quickly stuffed the yarns in the appropriate basket and called out, “Hi, Mandy—that was quick! You must have been just down the street.”

Mary Beth walked to the front of the shop, expecting to see the teenage girl, but instead, an imposing-looking, thirty-something woman and a very young man stood just inside the front door. It wasn’t Mandy Culbertson. It wasn’t anyone she’d ever seen before.

“Ms. Brock?” said the woman.

Mary Beth’s face had registered her surprise, but then she put on a pleasant, professional smile. “I’m sorry. I was expecting someone else. But, yes, I’m Mary Beth Brock. What can I do for you?”

The woman snapped her manicured fingers, and the baby-faced young man behind her handed her a business card. She immediately thrust the card at Mary Beth.

“I’m Kyrie McMillan. I’m with SLR & FFH, Incorporated. You know us better as Burly Boy’s Burger Barns. As you may know, we’re in the process of purchasing this property for development. With your permission, we’d like to do a brief review of the interior, including the basement and any access areas, in order to get a better idea not only of an appropriate purchase price, but also any potential assets or materials that could be salvaged before demolition of the building.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What was that?”

The woman looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes. “With your permission, we’d like to do a brief review of the interior, including the basement and any access areas—”

“I got that part. What I didn’t get is that you had actually made a deal to buy this property or that Mr. Huggins had given you permission to, what did you say? ‘Review the interior’?”

The woman’s young assistant squirmed in his too-large suit coat, but he didn’t make a sound. The woman, on the other hand, did not look as if she were one to squirm at all. Ever.

“I understand the final details are being worked out with the owner, Mr. …”

She turned to glare at her assistant who was fumbling with some papers in a file folder.

“Mr. Huggins,” he whispered.

“Mr. Huggins.” The woman turned again to Mary Beth. “But, as you can well understand, Ms. Brock, it’s helpful to do a certain amount of planning even before the actual deal is agreed upon. I trust you have no objections to us merely looking at the property? We promise not to disturb anything or interfere with your customers.” She peered into the shop. “If any should actually come in.”

Mary Beth managed to keep smiling. “I think, seeing as you don’t actually have a contract in place for this property, I would rather wait until Mr. Huggins—”

“Get Huggins on the phone,” the woman directed her assistant. “He’ll be at that medical center number in the file.”

He took a phone from his inside pocket and started punching in numbers. Obviously, neither of them cared that Mr. Huggins was at the hospital with his ailing wife.

“No, wait.” Mary Beth exhaled heavily. “Don’t bother him now. If you really think you need to, come on in and look around all you like.”

The young man secreted the phone in his inside pocket once more, and Mary Beth stepped aside to let him and his boss into the shop.

“The back room is through there, and you’ll find the steps to the basement in there too. Still, I hate to see you wasting your time here if Mr. Huggins doesn’t end up selling to you.”

The other woman smirked. “That won’t happen, Ms. Brock. I’ve been handling these demos for a lot of years. Some of the owners and residents squawk a little at first, especially in the smaller towns, but they finally come around. There’s no stopping progress. Come along, Greg.”

The two of them disappeared into the back room. A few minutes later, they were back up again, the young assistant writing down his boss’s observations as quickly as she could fire them off.

“Is that all?” Mary Beth asked when the woman appeared to be slowing down.

“For now. That shelving in your basement. It looks relatively new.”

“It is.”

“Good. If you’ll have everything cleared out of it, we’ll arrange to have it picked up right away.”

“Picked up?”

“Yes. Picked up. Hauled off. No use having it bulldozed with everything else. It looks in good shape. It ought to bring a little money.”

“Ms. …” Mary Beth looked at the business card she still held. “Ms. McMillan, those are
my
shelves. I put them down there. If you do end up buying the building—and that’s not nearly a settled fact yet—my shelves won’t have anything to do with your deal with Mr. Huggins.”

“Our standard contract specifies that purchase of the property includes anything attached to the building. That would, of course, include any built-in additions.”

Mary Beth managed to keep her tone of voice low and pleasant. “That may well be the case, but for one thing, those shelves aren’t built in. I ordered them to fit that space, but they’re not attached. For another thing, your standard contract isn’t applicable until and unless Mr. Huggins signs it.”

“As you say.” The woman took a pair of designer sunglasses out of her purse and put them on. “That being the case, if you’re planning to take them with you, it will save you some time and trouble later on if you go ahead and pack up whatever is in those cabinets, your merchandise, I presume, and clear them out now. I understand Huggins wants to make a quick deal, and so do we. Good afternoon, Ms. Brock. Greg.”

Greg mumbled a quick goodbye and trotted after her through the door.

For a moment, Mary Beth could only stare after them. Then she turned away from the door and looked over the little shop that she had worked so hard to make appealing to people like herself—people who loved all kinds of needlework.

“And just how am I supposed to keep my customers happy if all my merchandise is packed up in storage? Oh, that’s right, I don’t
have
any customers. Thank you very much, Ms. Whoever-You-Are.” She glanced again at the business card. All it had under the SLR & FFH, Incorporated logo was “Kyrie McMillan, Corporate Planning,” an email address and six different telephone numbers. “Ms. Corporate Planner then. Fine. We’ll see whether or not you always get your way.”

“What’d you say, Miss Brock?”

Mary Beth started and turned around to see Amanda Culbertson had slipped inside without her noticing. She laughed and said, “Mandy! Where’d you come from?”

“I was just over at the library. I had a little free time, and it seemed like a good opportunity to come help you out. Who were those people who just left your shop? I’ve never seen them around town.”

Mary Beth pursed her lips as she watched their black SUV hurry down Main Street. “Well, I hope we won’t see them much more. If at all.” Abruptly, she smiled and ushered Mandy into the shop. “Now how are you at alphabetizing?”

Amanda frowned, slightly puzzled. “OK, I guess.”

“Good.” Mary Beth took her to the wall of pattern books at the back of the store. “Sometimes customers don’t put things back in the right places, and I don’t always notice. Could you go through all these books and make sure they’re in the right category—crochet, knitting, sewing, etc.—and then alphabetize according to the last name of the author?”

“Sure. That’s easy enough.”

“And if the same author wrote more than one book, then put the titles for that author in alphabetical order too—OK?”

“Got it.”

“Thank you, Mandy. You’re going to be a great help.”

Mary Beth’s smile faded when the girl’s hot-pink cellphone suddenly blared out a rap tune with unintelligible lyrics and something that sounded like car crashes in the background. Cringing, Amanda glanced at the caller ID and then turned the phone off.

“Sorry about that, Miss Brock. They can leave a message.”

Mary Beth’s smile returned. “That’s very considerate. Thank you.”

Seeing that Mandy was going to be busy for a while, Mary Beth went into the back room and ate the tuna sandwich and potato chips she had brought from home. When she came back into the front of the store, she was surprised to see Ian Butler coming through the front door.

“Ian. Hi. Did you decide to take up knitting?”

Ian laughed, his dark eyes warm. “Actually, I came to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

“Sure. It’s been Grand Central Station around here this morning. But Mandy is tidying up my books for me, so at the moment, I’m a lady of leisure. Come sit down.”

She led him to the circle of chairs usually occupied by the ladies of the Hook and Needle Club, and both of them had a seat.

“So what’s on your mind, Ian?”

“I just had lunch with Annie and Alice. They’re about ready to make war on the town council over this thing with Burly Boy.”

“Ugh. Don’t even mention that name to me right now. I just got a visit from somebody in Corporate Planning or something.”

“Was it that McMillan woman?”

“I take it you’ve already met her.”

Ian shuddered. “I was just glad it wasn’t in a dark alley.”

“She’s not that bad,” Mary Beth said, chuckling. “She’s just very used to getting her own way.”

“Was that her in the SUV?”

Mary Beth nodded. “And her little assistant, the poor thing—he looked all of twelve years old.”

“Poor kid. What did they want?”

“They were scouting out the place, acting as if it already belonged to SPQR & FFA, Incorporated—or whatever it is. I couldn’t believe it, Ian.”

“You should have told them to come back when they have a contract.”

Mary Beth shrugged. “I did, more or less, but then she was going to call up Mr. Huggins at the hospital to get his OK, and I really didn’t want them bothering him right now, you know? Not with his wife as sick as she is.”

“I can understand that.” He gave her a rueful, sympathetic smile. “They didn’t stay long, did they?”

“Just long enough to ruffle my feathers, and that was way too long.”

“I’ll try extra hard to stay on your good side then. I don’t think I could take another beating like the one I got over lunch.”

“From Annie and Alice?” Mary Beth held up one hand. “I
swear
, Ian, I didn’t send them over to see you.”

Ian chuckled. “I know, but I couldn’t blame you if you had. I’m none too happy about the deal either. But there’s something else I hope you’ll understand about why we’re not trying to stop the sale to Burly Boy. Mr. Huggins needs that money. We’d rather he sold the place to you or to some other investor who would let you keep your store. But he needs to sell, and if Burly Boy is his only option, it’d be pretty heartless for us to stop him and keep his wife from getting the care she needs, wouldn’t it?”

“Nobody wants that. And I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want the town council to miss out on anything that would actually be good for Stony Point in the long run either.”

“Obviously, we want to keep the character of our downtown. Stony Point should stay looking like Stony Point and not Las Vegas or New York, right?”

Mary Beth chuckled. “Right.”

“But there are purely financial considerations also. Not only are the Burly Boy people willing to pay well for the privilege of opening on our Main Street, they’d bring in some good sales tax revenues for years to come as well as provide some entry-level and even management jobs that we desperately need.”

She felt bad for Ian. Life was hard enough these days. He and the town council had not only themselves to consider, but also the welfare of the whole town. Keeping Stony Point’s traditions and way of life alive while not killing its industry and growth had to be a delicate balancing act.

“I can see how that would be a hard decision, especially with Mr. Huggins in his situation. Maybe keeping my little shop open isn’t the best thing for the town.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean at all. I’m just saying we all have some hard decisions to make. The way I see it, Mr. Huggins would rather sell to you than anyone. We all want you to stay in Stony Point. If you can figure out how to pull that off, then it’s a no-brainer. You stay, everybody’s happy. But if you can’t, there’s not much more for us to do than to let Mr. Huggins get his money however he can and make the best of it for Stony Point.”