A Tempest and Some Teapots 2 страница

“The streetlamp is on, and I can see lights from the Williams’ house down the road,” he called out. “Looks like this place is the only one without electricity.”

“Okay,” I said, “then we’d better take a look at your fuse box.”

“Do you want to call the police?” George asked, turning to me first and then the Olsens.

Just then the back door of the kitchen opened. A young Hispanic man wearing jeans and a red windbreaker stepped in through the door. He was soaking wet and slightly breathless, as though he’d been running. He wiped his muddy boots on the mat and removed his St. Louis Cardinals ball cap. “Mr. Olsen, I can’t work in this downpour,” he complained. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“This is the gardener, Juan Tabo,” Mr. Olsen said, turning to me.

When Mr. Olsen introduced George and me, Juan scowled slightly. Looking at me, he said, “You’re the girl detective. I’ve read about you in the newspapers.”

“Nice watch,” I said, glancing at his left wrist. “Hope it didn’t get wet.”

Without taking his eyes off my face, Juan jerked the sleeves of his jacket down over his wrists. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said, turning to Mr. Olsen. Before I could ask him if he’d seen anybody on the grounds, he was out the door and gone.

“Friendly fellow,” George said sarcastically.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that he didn’t even comment on the fact that we’re sitting here in the kitchen with the candles lit and no electricity?” I asked. George nodded.

“Do you want me to call the police or not?” she asked again.

Mrs. and Mr. Olsen looked at each other and shook their heads. “And tell them what? That Emily thought she heard a ghost in the dumbwaiter?” Mr. Olsen asked.

“It was a ghost!” Emily insisted with a watery sniff.

“I think someone is or was in your house. He or she could still be hiding here somewhere. Exactly where does the dumbwaiter go?” I asked.

“Down to the basement and all the way up to the third floor,” Mrs. Olsen replied. “It will come in handy when we have paying guests who want breakfast in bed.”

“I want to look around,” I said. “George, take a look at the fuse box, would you? And call Hannah — tell her I’ll be late for dinner.”

“Sure thing, Nancy,” George said. “I’d better call my mom, too.”

“If you want to go upstairs to look around, I’ll come with you,” Mr. Olsen volunteered. “Carol, you can show George the fuse box.”

“I want to go home,” Emily whined. “My husband won’t like it, me working here… with ghosts and all.”

“You don’t want to drive home in this downpour, do you?” Mrs. Olsen said. “As soon as the rain lets up some, you can go home early. I wish I could make you a good strong cup of hot tea,” she lamented. “But without electricity, there’s no way to heat the water.”

“Juan went home, and I’m going home too,” Emily insisted. She shoved the chair away from the table, stood up, and quickly retrieved her purse from the utility room off the kitchen. Giving a sniff, she left the house through the back door, holding an umbrella over her head.

“We’ll be back shortly,” I said to George and Mrs. Olsen. I was eager to see if someone might still be in the house. I could question Emily another time, when she was calmer. Turning to Mr. Olsen, I flicked my miniflashlight on again and said, “Lead the way.”

We went upstairs, checking out both the second and third floors. I kept wondering how the intruder got into the house without being seen. I figured he had access to every floor using the dumbwaiter.

“This guy is pretty bold, breaking in during the daytime like this,” Mr. Olsen said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “He’s either very foolish or very desperate. With this storm raging, he must have known everyone would be in the house. That increases his chances of being seen or even caught.”

On the second and third floors, Mr. Olsen showed me where the dumbwaiter was located. I looked around for evidence of muddy footprints, but I didn’t find anything.

“So, the prowler had been in the house long before the storm started, and that’s why he didn’t leave any muddy footprints,” I said, thinking out loud. But did the trespasser intentionally or unintentionally scare Emily? I wondered.

I poked my head into all the empty bedrooms upstairs and thought what a perfect place this would be to spend a leisurely weekend — with breakfast in bed. It was also the perfect place for a sneaky intruder to play hide-and-seek.

“Where does this staircase go?” I asked. I aimed my flashlight down another flight of stairs at the opposite end of the corridor.

“These are the back stairs,” Mr. Olsen explained. “It’s a shortcut to the kitchen. You don’t go through the entrance hall and parlor this way.”

“We might as well rejoin the others,” I said with a short sigh. “There’s just so much I can see and do without lights.”

“Can you come back tomorrow, Nancy?” Mr. Olsen asked. “I’m hoping the sun will be out, and you can look around all you want. You can check out the basement and the grounds then too,” he added. “Let’s go down this way.”

He pointed the bright beam of his large flashlight at the steps before us and took a step down. Aiming my smaller beam at his feet and ankles, I started down the stairs behind him. Suddenly I caught the gleam of something on the stairs in front of Mr. Olsen. My heart skipped a beat, and I grabbed him by the sleeve of his sweater.

“Stop, Mr. Olsen!” I cried, nearly choking out the words. “Don’t take another step!”

Scones and Schemes

Mr. Olsen immediately froze right where he was. “What is it, Nancy?” he asked hoarsely.

“Look there,” I said. “The fifth step down.” I wiggled the beam of my flashlight around his shoulder and down the staircase so he would see what I was looking at. “Do you see that?”

He peered carefully downward and then gasped as he saw the thin wire drawn taut across the stairs.

“If you’d come down a few steps more, you’d have tripped down the stairs,” I said.

“I might have broken my neck!” Mr. Olsen declared angrily.

Stepping carefully past him down the stairs, I knelt down to examine the wire more closely.

“Look — it’s been fastened to the side of the staircase with thumbtacks,” I said. “A booby trap?” Mr. Olsen gasped.

“It looks like it,” I told him, getting to my feet. I could feel my temper rising. Who would be so cruel?

“You probably saved my life, Nancy,” Mr. Olsen said then. “I’m more grateful than you realize.”

I blushed. As I said before, praise always makes me feel self-conscious. “Well, at least I prevented you from having a nasty fall, Mr. Olsen. I’m beginning to think that the vandal — or vandals — wants you and your wife to leave Cardinal Corners.”

Mr. Olsen nodded. “Well, I’ve thought so all along but didn’t want to contradict Mrs. Fayne and Mrs. Mahoney. Still,” he added, tapping his chin pensively, “if there was a mishap like this on Saturday, it could mean a serious lawsuit. And besides that, I wouldn’t like to see anyone get hurt.”

By the time we returned to the kitchen, George had the electricity on again. “Someone tampered with the fuse box, Nancy,” she told me. “It’s an old-fashioned kind, and the round fuses had been unscrewed. I doubt that a ghost did it.”

I agreed. “Does Juan Tabo have any reason to have a grudge against you?” I asked the Olsens. “What about other B and B owners in the vicinity?”

The Olsens shook their heads. When I showed Mrs. Olsen what I’d found on the staircase, she frowned with concern and immediately suggested that the tea party be postponed. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt on our opening day of business,” she said. “We can reschedule the event after Nancy finds the culprit.”

Glancing out the window, I could see the rain continue to pour. I sighed heavily. Postponing the event was the last thing I wanted to do. Mrs. Fayne and the other committee members had done a lot of preparation and spent a lot of money on advertising. Besides, everyone was looking forward to it.

“Nancy has already figured out that there’s no ghost,” Mr. Olsen remarked. “I think we should give her another day or two at least to get to the bottom of this. She hasn’t even had time to search the basement or walk around the yard.”

“I agree with your husband,” George told Mrs. Olsen. “Give Nancy another day or two. She’ll solve the case. Trust me. There’s no mystery too perplexing for Nancy Drew.”

Mrs. Olsen was convinced by George’s praise and my promise to return the next day. George and I stayed another hour looking around the house. I recommended a security firm that could quickly put in burglar alarms, and Mr. Olsen called to ask about installation. By then it was almost dinnertime. Mrs. Olsen graciously invited George and me to stay for pot roast, but we politely declined and promised to return the next day.

“The wire over the staircase — that is far worse than shattering teapots,” George said as I drove her home. “Are you going to tell the committee what happened?”

“I don’t know,” I said, chewing my bottom lip. “Ms. Waters is already convinced the tea party should be canceled. I think this would cinch it for her. Are you going to tell your mom?”

“I don’t know,” George said. “She’s already so worried.”

Merging onto the highway, I got a quick glance at a tow truck on the side of the road and wondered if it was the one that belonged to my friend Charlie Adams. He’s the AAA guy and has come to my rescue more than once when I’ve locked my keys in the car or needed a jump. He liked this sort of weather, he’d once told me. People drove too fast, and as a result they often drove off the road, into the nearest ditch. Drivers’ carelessness was good for business, Charlie had explained.

“Let me talk to my dad first,” I said. “I’ll tell him everything that’s been going on and get his opinion about what we should do. And then I’ll call you, okay?”

George nodded. Like me, she trusted my dad to give valuable advice. He isn’t the most successful attorney in River Heights for nothing. I dropped George off, and by the time I reached my own home, I was starving and ready for a hot shower. I decided on the shower first.

Afterward Hannah had homemade clam chowder and fresh cheese biscuits waiting in the kitchen. She fussed over me until I sat down at the kitchen table and began eating. She said that my dad had already eaten and was working in his study. As I buttered a biscuit, I briefly told her about the committee’s concerns and my escapades at the Olsens’.

“And now I’m so hungry I think I could eat three bowls of chowder,” I declared, digging in.

Hannah beamed at me. She loves to see me eat. “Of course you’re hungry!” she insisted. “What with ghosts and thunderstorms and all sorts of shenanigans going on at the old Rappapport place, you must be famished.”

“What’s all this about ghosts?” my dad asked, strolling into the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a sweater and had a law book in one hand and his reading glasses in the other.

I smiled at him and repeated everything that I’d just told Hannah. I also told him about the discussion at Mrs. Fayne’s earlier that day. Dad listened carefully. Occasionally he frowned. When I showed him the two thumbtacks and length of thin wire I had in my purse, his frown deepened.

“I don’t like it, Nancy,” he said. “This sort of thing is more than just an adolescent prank. Someone intended to commit bodily harm.”

“I know,” I said. “Mrs. Fayne thinks someone is trying to sabotage Saturday’s fund-raiser, but the Olsens are afraid someone is trying to keep their bed-and-breakfast from opening on time. After this incident on the staircase, I think they may be right.”

I ate another spoonful of chowder and added, “Of course, their maid thinks the house is haunted. She insists that a ghost is responsible for all that’s happened.” I smiled and shrugged. “But I’ve never heard of a ghost tampering with a fuse box.”

“The old Rappapport place was never haunted before,” Hannah said dismissively. “Who is the maid?”

“A woman named Emily Spradling,” I told her.

“Emily Spradling!” Hannah declared. “She’s a silly creature — and she’s got four silly sisters, too. They take after their mother — very superstitious and timid,” she added knowingly. “If they’d lived in Jane Austen’s day, they’d be the swooning type.”

I chuckled. I could easily imagine Emily fainting and falling to the floor in a heap.

“Nancy, the ghost stories aside, this could be a very dangerous case,” my dad put in. “There might be a real criminal behind all this. I want you to be careful.”

I nodded and helped myself to another warm biscuit. “This case is pretty perplexing,” I said. “Why run the Olsens out of business — if that’s the motive behind the pranks? And are Emily or Juan involved?”

“You’ve solved tougher mysteries than this one,” my dad said with a smile.

I appreciated my dad’s confidence in me, but something was worrying me, too. “So, Dad, do you think I should tell the planning committee about the staircase incident? I’m afraid if I do, they will cancel the event. On the other hand, if I don’t and someone gets hurt on Saturday, I’d never forgive myself.”

“I think you’re obligated to tell both Mrs. Fayne and Mrs. Mahoney what happened this afternoon,” my dad said. “I think Chief McGinnis should be informed as well. And I want you to promise that you won’t go to Cardinal Corners alone,” he added, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“George and I are going back there tomorrow afternoon,” I told him. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“Do you think the committee will cancel the tea?” Hannah asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“I don’t really know,” I confessed.

“I hope not,” Hannah said. “I’ve been looking forward to it. And I volunteered to be in charge of door prizes, you know.”

I nodded. If I didn’t solve the mystery soon and the committee canceled the tea party, there’d be a lot of disappointed library patrons in River Heights. The pressure was on!

I discussed a few more things with Dad, and when he returned to his study, I enjoyed a slice of Hannah’s homemade carrot cake with thick cream cheese frosting. Then I called George and told her to tell her mother everything that had happened. I could tell she was relieved.

“Let’s have lunch tomorrow with Bess after our dress fitting. Then we can all go out to Cardinal Corners,” I suggested.

George eagerly agreed to the plan, and after saying good night, I called Mrs. Mahoney. I told her everything that had happened. She was shocked.

“Nancy, thank heavens you’re all right!” she declared. “And poor Karl Olsen — he could have broken his neck!”

Outraged, she rattled on a bit about how important it was for me to stay on task and bring the culprit to justice.

Finally I interrupted her. “Are you going to cancel Saturday’s tea, Mrs. Mahoney?” I asked. “Mrs. Olsen thinks it would be a good idea to at least postpone it until we catch the vandal.”

After a long silence, Mrs. Mahoney replied. “I want to give you two more days, Nancy. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s you. I’m counting on you, Nancy.” I sensed the urgency in her voice.

“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Mahoney,” I said. “I’m going back out there tomorrow to have another look around.”

Later, when I crawled into bed, I realized that I had mixed feelings about Mrs. Mahoney’s decision not to cancel the tea. Part of me was relieved. I wanted to wrap things up before Saturday. Another part of me was really worried. What if I didn’t catch the culprit and someone got hurt?

I lay there restless for a long time. It seemed like I had just slipped into a sound sleep when the jangling of the phone on the nightstand by my bed woke me up.

“Hello?” I mumbled, brushing the hair from my eyes.

“Nancy Drew?” The voice was muffled.

“Yes, this is Nancy Drew,” I said, propping myself up on my elbow.

“Stay away from Cardinal Corners,” the voice growled, “or you’ll be sorry!”

Tea for Two

Now I was definitely awake. “Who is this?” I demanded.

There was a click and a dial tone. The caller had hung up. The phone on my night table didn’t have caller ID, so I quickly pressed *69 to find out the caller’s number. Unfortunately I had no luck that way, either. The guy who’d given me the threatening wake-up call must have been using a pay phone or phone card.

I was wide awake and my blood was pumping fiercely through my veins. What a way to start the day, I thought as I tumbled out of bed. I smelled the delicious aroma of French toast, bacon, and coffee coming from downstairs, and dressed quickly — in my oldest jeans. I knew I’d be exploring the Olsens’ cellar and I might have to do it on my hands and knees. Hurrying to the kitchen, I gave Hannah a quick hug as I took my place at the breakfast table.

“Hmm, smells wonderful. Where’s Dad?” I asked, pouring myself some orange juice.

“He ate bright and early and went straight to the office. Working on a big case,” Hannah said, bringing coffee to the table. “But he said if you needed him for anything, don’t hesitate to call. He also said to remind you to be careful,” Hannah added.

“I will be,” I promised. “I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and it started off with a bang, too,” I added, helping myself to the bacon.

When Hannah asked me what I meant, I told her about the phone call.

“Oh, Nancy,” Hannah said, horrified. “This is getting more dangerous all the time! I’m sorry I didn’t hear the phone ring. I must have been outside bringing in the newspaper from the porch. What are you going to do?”

“Exactly what I planned for today,” I told her. “I’m going to see Chief McGinnis at the police station. I also have a fitting at Julia Jute’s for my tea party costume, and then I’m having lunch with George and Bess,” I told her. “After that, I’m going back out to Cardinal Corners.”

“But not by yourself, I hope,” Hannah said.

I shook my head. I’d promised my dad I wouldn’t go out there alone, and I always keep my promises. “Mrs. Mahoney is counting on me to solve this mystery by tomorrow so she won’t have to cancel the tea,” I said. “There’s no time to lose.”

“A cancellation would disappoint so many people,” Hannah agreed. “But don’t take any chances. The committee can always postpone the event for another time — after all this is cleared up.”

As soon as I’d finished my breakfast, I left for the police station. Driving down the street, I was delighted to see how sunny it was. The sky was blue; the trees were in full bloom. Except for an occasional puddle, you’d never guess there’d been a total downpour the day before.

“Sure hope the sun keeps shining,” I muttered to myself. I had lots to do today and wanted the weather to cooperate.

My first stop was the River Heights Police Department. Chief McGinnis was standing in the corridor talking to some patrolmen when I walked in. He saw me immediately, straightened up, and sauntered over.

“Nancy Drew!” he exclaimed. “I guessed you’d be paying me a visit. No doubt you’re looking into the teapot scandal.” He chuckled and folded his arms across his chest.

“Teapot scandal?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “You mean the act of vandalism that took place at Cardinal Corners?” I wanted him to know I took my cases seriously, even if he didn’t.

The smirk slipped from his face and he said, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. We’ve got no leads, no eyewitnesses, and no signs of breaking and entering. Nothing.”

I nodded and bit my bottom lip. I’d expected as much.

“It’s really out of my hands until the Olsens file charges, and then they’re going to have to file charges against someone in particular,” the chief went on. “Do you have anything you want to tell me?” He looked at me rather suspiciously.

“Actually I do.” I retrieved the wire and thumb-tacks from my purse and told him what had happened yesterday afternoon at the B and B. When I told him that Mr. Olsen could have tripped down the stairs and been seriously hurt, he cleared his throat nervously.

“This looks like the work of a pro,” he said. “Perhaps I should send a squad car out there.”

“That’s a good idea,” I told him. “I’m expecting something else to happen… maybe even today.”

“Why?” he asked, glaring at me.

I told him about my threatening phone call early that morning and that the fund-raising committee was counting on me to get to the bottom of the mystery before Saturday.

“I’m working under a bit of a time crunch,” I said. “I also promised my father I’d take every precaution. It would be a relief to see a police car patrolling the area, Chief McGinnis. I think the Olsens would feel safer too. If I turn up any clues this afternoon, I’ll definitely let you know,” I promised.

Chief McGinnis only grunted, but he seemed to relax a little and promised to send out that police car to the Olsens’ right away. Good thing I mentioned my dad, I thought. Everyone knew and respected him, including the police.

“It would be a shame if the committee decided to cancel the fund-raiser,” I went on. “So many people in River Heights are looking forward to it. It’s a benefit for the library, you know.”

“Sure,” he said. “I heard about it.” He shifted from one foot to another. He seemed uncomfortable.

“I really appreciate your help,” I told him as I got ready to leave.

I was nearly to the door when he called out, “Nancy, just so you know, we did do a background check on the Olsens and their two employees and came up with nothing. No criminal records. Not even a speeding ticket,” he added with a shrug.

“Thanks again,” I replied. “If I turn up anything, I’ll let you know.”

“You do that,” the chief replied, but I had the feeling he didn’t expect me to turn up anything important.

I hurried back to my car, reflecting on what Chief McGinnis had just told me. Emily Spradling and Juan Tabo did not have criminal records, but that didn’t mean they weren’t capable of mean tricks. They could even be con artists who’d never been caught. And if someone was trying to run the Olsens out of business, they might have bribed Emily or Juan to help them. I’d even considered the possibility that the gardener and maid may have hatched a plot together — to get revenge on the Oslens, maybe? I decided to stop briefly at Ms. Waters’s house to discuss these possibilities with her.

I found her in the garden. She wore gardening gloves, a smock, and a broad hat to protect her face from the sun. She was kneeling beside a flower bed filled with yellow and purple pansies.

“Good morning, Nancy,” she called out. I raised my hand and smiled.

“When I see your garden, I know where the old saying ‘April showers bring May flowers’ comes from,” I said, walking through the gate.

She chuckled and stood up slowly. “Last night was more of a downpour than a shower. I was afraid I’d lost most of my new blooms,” Ms. Waters said.

“Everything looks beautiful,” I declared.

She smiled.

“I’m in charge of bouquets for the tables,” she said, “so I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my flowers — if there’s still going to be a tea party,” she added hesitantly.

“Everything will go as planned if I have anything to say about it,” I assured her.

“Agnes Mahoney called me last night,” she said. “She told me what happened at the Olsens’. Thank goodness you were there, Nancy! Karl Olsen could have had a serious accident.”

When I presented my various theories to her, including the one about Emily and Juan Tabo possibly getting revenge on the Olsens, Ms. Waters opened and shut her mouth a couple of times before saying, “Wait! I think I need a cup of tea. Come into the house.”

Following her to the living room, I couldn’t help noticing the book on a large, overstuffed chair near the window: Lady Susan by Jane Austen. Who else? Everyone in town was reading one of the author’s novels, it seemed.

“You know, tea wasn’t such a social ceremony in Jane Austen’s day as it was years later when Victoria was queen of England,” Ms. Waters told me. She poured a cup of steaming hot tea for each of us.

“Still, Agnes insisted we call the fund-raiser the Jane Austen Tea Party because Miss Austen is so popular,” she added.

I only nodded. I didn’t know much about the history of tea drinking. Frankly I didn’t care. I had a mystery to solve and wanted to get it done quickly. I tried to steer my hostess back on track.

“What if someone is trying to get the Olsens to leave Cardinal Corners?” I suggested as I picked up my teacup and looked at her expectantly.

“Nancy, I would never have thought of anything like that. No wonder Mrs. Fayne wanted to call you in on the case. You’re so clever!” She beamed at me approvingly.

“Well, it’s only a theory,” I admitted. “I’m going out there again this afternoon. But I’m trying to explore all the possibilities. Someone may want to scare the Olsens out of business. That’s the likely truth behind Emily Spradling’s ghost story.”

Ms. Waters shook her head slowly and muttered something that sounded like “That silly woman.”

“Could you do me a favor?” I asked. “It relates to the case, of course.”

“Of course,” Ms. Waters replied. “What can I do?”

“Would you contact Luther Eldridge and find out if there are any old ghost stories about the Rappapport place, or stories of hidden treasure or anything like that?” I asked.

Mr. Eldridge was a reclusive amateur historian. There’s not an old story or anecdote about River Heights that he doesn’t know. Between his knowledge of local history and what Ms. Waters has learned from a lifetime of working with books in the local library, they were bound to uncover any little-known tale that might help me with the case.

“I have so much to do today,” I explained to Ms. Waters. “I just won’t have time to stop by to see him, and I need all the help I can get.”

Ms. Waters agreed to talk with Luther. “I’ll even invite him for lunch,” she said. “But to be honest, Nancy, I have a hard time imagining Emily Spradling being a part of any dishonest scheme. She’s too high-strung.”

I laughed and said, “I know what you mean. But here’s my dilemma.” Holding up a finger, I continued. “One, she’s faking the whole scaredy-cat bit and is part of a scheme against the Olsens, or two” — and I held up a second finger — “she really thinks she’s heard a ghost, which means someone wants to scare her out of her wits and that someone is using Emily for his — or her — own purposes.”

“That would be easy,” Ms. Waters said with an emphatic nod. “Emily would make a very convenient pawn. Any little thing would frighten her. She’s not a very sensible woman, I’m afraid.”

I nodded. “That’s just what Hannah told me. Do you know anything about her husband?” I asked. “She mentioned him last night.”

“Doug? He works as an orderly at the nursing home, Fern Terrace, I believe,” Ms. Waters said. “Big strapping fellow, but not the brightest crayon in the box,” she added, with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I grinned. “So, not a likely pair to attempt to run the Olsens out of business?”

Ms. Waters shrugged. “Why should they want to?” she asked, leaning slightly forward.

“It’s only another idea that needs exploring,” I replied. “And at this point, I’m open to all possibilities.” Glancing at my watch, I realized I needed to get going. “I’m going to be late for my fitting with Julia Jute if I don’t hurry,” I said. I thanked Ms. Waters for the tea and for her help.

Ms. Waters smiled and said, “I’ll call you later this evening about my conversation with Luther Eldridge.”

It was a little after eleven when I parked my car near the curb and dashed up the sidewalk to ring Julia’s doorbell. I found the front door standing open, however, and after tapping tentatively, I let myself in.

I could hear voices — all female — coming from a room down the hall, and I made my way toward them. Stopping on the threshold of the first bedroom on the right, I was amazed by something I’d never seen before: my friend George in a long, old-fashioned white dress with puffy sleeves. She was standing on a stool, looking annoyed.

“Nancy, you’re late!” she snapped.

Pride and Prejudice

“Late again!” Bess Marvin declared, emerging from the bathroom. She wore a blue dress similar to her cousin’s white one. It made Bess’s blue eyes seem even bluer and complemented her blond hair and rosy complexion to perfection.

“Nancy, come in,” Julia said. She glanced up from George’s hem to greet me with a warm smile. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Julia Jute is about the same age as my father. Her short dark hair, streaked with gray, is always stylishly cut. She does tailoring for several department stores in town and a couple of the dry cleaners, too. When she heard about the Jane Austen Tea Party, she volunteered to alter the Regency-style dresses donated by the local theater group for those of us serving at the event.