to school at eight and had to open the shop at ten. This was the only time she had available.
The restaurant was only a few blocks from the shop. All of Wadeville was only a few blocks from the shop. Their mother had apparently grown up in this small town but escaped after she married. One of these days she'd try to remember why Cleo had chosen to return, other than that she could use foot power for transportation.
Knocking on a restaurant door at nine o'clock in the morning didn't seem reasonable. Figuring she had nothing to lose, Maya shoved at the door, nearly stumbling as it swung open on well-oiled hinges. She should have known Axell Holm would keep his place impeccably maintained, even if it was just a country steak house.
A man in a cleaning service uniform buffing the floor looked up and stared at her as she entered. Maya supposed that was better than having a whole barroom full of people staring at her. She'd never been very comfortable in barrooms, even respectable ones attached to small-town restaurants.
Donning the vague persona she used to shield herself from the world, Maya sauntered through the room, waving a greeting at the worker. "Is Axell in this morning?" she called.
It was a trifle difficult pulling off the carefree bit while pushing a two-ton belly in front of her, Maya thought wryly as the man's eyes widened. He gulped something she took for agreement and pointed toward a door on the far wall. Obviously, she wasn't the suave, urbane Mr. Holm's usual type.
The door in the back wall led to a corridor with a series of doors. She thought she saw one hurriedly close and wondered who else was in here at this hour. She pondered calling out and asking for directions, but the kitchen, restrooms, and storeroom doors were easily identifiable. That left only the back stairs, and she could find her way from there. Of course, over a month ago, her doctor had told her to avoid stairs. Since she lived in an upstairs apartment, she didn't have the option of obeying, so she didn't hesitate now.
Polished hardwood floors, a discreet silver wool carpet matching a sedate striped wallpaper, and a closed paneled door greeted her at the top of the stairs. The narrow reception area had no inviting furniture, no furniture at all. Maya shook her head at the blandness of the decor, pitied poor Mr. Holm his lifeless life in this nowhere town, and tapped at the closed door.
No response.
Frowning, she tapped louder, then deciding she wasn't a supplicant to beg for crumbs, she pushed the door open.
Morning sunlight streaked through bare windows across a glossy black desk where a stylishly shorn head of golden hair bent over a stack of papers. The head barely lifted as she walked in before its owner returned to marking notes in the margins of what appeared to be an invoice. Maya recognized invoices. Cleo had left them, yellowed and stained with tea rings, scattered all over the storeroom.
"Have a seat, Miss Alyssum, I'll be with you in a minute."
Back to the "Miss" business. His cold tone didn't hold much promise for her quest. Raising her eyebrows at the pieces of a clock scattered on one corner of his desk, she decided to stay and take her chances.
Daunted by the stiffly upright leather wing chairs in front of the desk, she ignored his command and drifted to the bank of windows overlooking the town's main street. If one counted the old service station converted to a fruit market, Wadeville's business district extended three blocks from the railroad. Cleo's shop was near the tracks and fruit market, difficult to see from this angle.
Most of the town buildings between here and Cleo's had been built in the late 1800's or early 1900's when cotton was still king. Their practical brick facades were now adorned with a century's worth of awnings, painted and aluminum signs, and other atrocities. Holm's Restaurant was of the same brick, but the huge expanse of windows spoke of a later era conceived in air conditioning. Apparently, Mr. Holm believed in discarding the past in favor of the new and convenient.
A pen clicked as it hit the desk. "How may I help you, Miss Alyssum?"
She swung around, but the sun behind his head prevented her from seeing his expression. Axell Holm exuded the impression of a dangerously successful businessman with no time or patience for sentimentality. Maybe she'd imagined that