I nod at the homely candles. “Those?”
“Yep. Foster tried more’n once to get the secret to them out of my dad, but Dad would never sell. Said the Martins got Jointment, but we got the corner on bugs. Foster tried to convince us for years he could make us big-time. Dad appreciated it, but we sell enough. Don’t need the headache of selling more.”
That’s a refreshing way to describe getting rich. “Foster hired me to turn his estate into a museum. I’m Phoebe Hopper, the new director.”
Willard looks up in interest. “That’s happening?”
“It’s happening.”
“Well.” He grunts again, and I flatter myself into believing it’s a pleased sound. “That’s all right.”
I pick up two candles and bring them to the register. “I’ll take these, please.”
“You will, but not for money.” He sticks them in a brown paper bag that says only “Apothecary” in the same plain script as the painted sign. “Welcome to town.”
“Thank you.” I accept the bag with a smile. “If these work, I’ll have VIP opening day passes for you. I hate mosquitos.”
He nods, not smiling as he reaches for his potato again. “See you opening day.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Phoebe
I’m notfoolish enough to think I can work at the cottage with Jay again without consequences.
Luckily, by Thursday the weather is back to normal temps, the contractor assures me the worst of the noise is done now that demolition is over, and when they need to run the saw, they do it behind the closed door of the room farthest from the library, so it’s not bad.
The estate’s former handyman, Terry, brings over his choice to replace him: a tall Black woman named Azalea who spent years in the army as a machinist. She tells me to call her Zee. Terry and I walk the property with her, and she’s quiet, mostly listening as he points out different maintenance and repair scenarios she’ll face. Terry already told me that Zee was the best student he ever had when he taught industrial tech at the high school twenty years ago, and it’s easy to believe when she’s comfortable troubleshooting every potential problem he raises.
When we return to the big house, Terry excuses himself to use the restroom, and Zee looks around the library, hereyes fixing on the rolling ladder. “Do employees ever get to ride that thing?”
I offer her the job on the spot, and she agrees to start Monday. Her only stipulation is that her husband coaches the high school girls’ basketball team, and she’s the assistant coach, so she wants to start her day earlier during the season to be at practices. A husband and wife coaching duo? Girls’ sports? It’s so wholesome that I agree only if the museum is allowed to be a corporate sponsor for the season, and Zee grins and accepts.
“The bottling plant wouldn’t adjust my schedule during the basketball season, so when Terry contacted me about this job, I was already interested. But throw in a library ladder, getting to work outdoors sometimes,anda sponsor for the team? I’m sold.”
“But it’s mainly the ladder, right?” I ask.
“It’s mainly the ladder.”
Friday, I spend most of the day at Amherst College, attending a seminar on using AI to improve accessibility in museums. It’s a fascinating and informative day, and I leave with a headful of knowledge. When I get back in my car, I text Francie, ignoring my impulse to text Jay first. I’d love to pretend I want to reach out because he’s a Martin and he’ll be interested in the update, but no. I almost texted him because I’m already in the habit of sharing cool discoveries with him as a fellow historian … and friend. But Francie is also both of those things. She should still be my go-to person to share with. Sheis. Jay is … proximity bias. Yeah, that’s it.
Phoebe
Is this my real life? Just went to school all day. Learned and saw so much cool stuff. BEST JOB EVER.
Francie
Slay! Will be even better when you come back to do it here.
I shake my head at her one-track mind, then put my phone away for the drive.
When I get home, I check my mailbox, but I already know there won’t be a new Smitten Kitten letter—I don’t have the tickle in my midsection—and I’m right. I find only a flyer with local coupons and two credit card offers. I feel a pang of disappointment, but that’s silly considering I haven’t even had time to chase down the possible leads from the last letter.
I wind down from the evening, and before I fall asleep, I plan my Saturday in my Notes app. I’ll focus on one of the residential neighborhoods on my grid. A weekend seems like a great time to get the vibe of a family neighborhood. I also want to talk to a couple Gloria mentioned has lived in The Serendipity since it became apartments.
If they can’t help me, I’ll take another stab at the old lease records. I’ll let Scarlett know before I go into the storage so she can send out a search party if I don’t stop by her apartment on my way out of the basement. Also, I won’t turn my back on the hair-eating bike, and I’ll shave my head to avoid mishaps.
Or maybe just rock a messy bun.
