One Foot in the Grave (Carly Moore #3) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,61

you could call for tea.”

An interesting way of putting it, given Bart had been the one to invite me. I hurried toward her when I saw she was struggling to get up.

I leaned over, extending my hand. “Thank you so much for having me. I’m sorry I’m not more dressed up. I had some errands to run earlier, and I never made it home to change.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said, dismissing the matter with a flick of her hand. “No need for formalities. We’re friends here.”

“I brought you these,” I said, holding them out. “Emmaline Haskell has the prettiest flowers, better than you’ll find in any shop. She sells them on the street corner in downtown Drum.”

She took the flowers and sniffed. “Ah, Emmaline. She’s still around? She’s been selling them for years. I’ll ring the bell and have Annie bring a vase.” She picked up the bell from the side table before I could stop her.

“I could have gotten you one,” I said, taking a seat opposite her.

“Nonsense. You’re my guest. It’s Annie’s job.”

The French doors opened, and Annie stood in the doorway. “You rang, ma’am?”

“I need a vase for Carly’s bouquet. She got the flowers from Emmaline Haskell. Can you believe she’s still selling flowers downtown?”

“No, ma’am,” Annie said in a dry voice. “I’ll get your vase right away.” Then she walked out and shut the door.

The tension in the room eased after Annie left, but I still resisted the urge to glance around the room for Bart. Hopefully, the fact that there were only two cups indicated we’d be alone. “I take it that it’s just the two of us today.”

“Bart so wanted to be here, but he was called back to the construction site. We’re all so relieved it’s been reopened.” She reached for the tea pot and poured some into a cup. “I’d have Annie serve our tea, but she’s on the grumpy side today.” She leaned closer and held the edge of her hand to her cheek as though hiding her mouth from the doors. “I think she’s going through the change.”

I suspected her attitude ran deeper than some errant hormones but held my tongue. “I can get you something from the cart.”

“Oh, that would be good. Go ahead and put the two plates on the coffee table, next to the teacups.”

I realized both cups had been poured and set before our respective seats. I passed out the two plates.

“Now grab the tray and bring it over. I suppose we’ll just serve ourselves,” she said with a sigh as though she’d been asked to climb Mount Everest. Personally, I’d much rather serve myself than have someone else do it. Especially Annie.

But as though she were Beetlejuice and could be summoned at the mere mention of her name—or, in this case, a manifestation of my thoughts—she walked into the room with a crystal vase with a small amount of water at the bottom. She snatched the flowers off the side table where Emily had placed them and dropped them into the vase as though touching them were offensive, and I knew it was partly because I’d bought them off the street.

It took everything in me not to snatch them back, not on my account but Emmaline’s.

Once Annie set the vase on the fireplace mantel, she practically bolted from the room.

Emily selected a cookie and a white petit four with pink frosting and put them on her plate. I took a petit four too before setting the tray back on the cart.

“Did you and your mother have tea?” Emily asked as she placed a lump of sugar in her cup.

“Uh… no.” I wondered what she knew about me, if anything. Did she know my real identity? I suspected not, but then a forgotten memory surfaced, one that caught me off guard. “But I remember having a tea party with my dolls.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “With my dad.”

“How lovely. I always wanted a daughter, but I’m not sure Bart would have lowered himself to having tea parties,” she said wistfully, stirring her tea. The spoon clanged daintily against the thin china. “I would like to think he would have treated his daughter different than he did his sons.”

I wasn’t prepared to hear her admit he’d treated his boys so poorly, and thankfully, she didn’t give me a chance to respond.

“I miss my boys. They rarely come around these days.” Her gaze lifted to mine. “I keep telling Wyatt to bring