eyes, Evie took a few steps closer, her gaze dropping down to Yiayia’s bag, gaping wide open. Snooping was one thing, but had she…taken something?
“It’s quite the room,” Yiayia said, her voice tight as she gestured toward the many shelves and surfaces filled with knickknacks, photos, ceramic dishes, antique lighters, leather-bound books, and more than a few pieces of jewelry worth thousands.
“My great-grandmother Evangeline started displaying the heirlooms in here many, many years ago after her older sister, Gloriana, died. That’s Glory Bushrod in the portrait.” She indicated the large watercolor over the piano of a dark-haired beauty of nineteen who could have stepped off the set of Downton Abbey.
“Is that who the house was named for?” she asked.
Evie nodded. “And my grandmother Penelope continued the tradition of making this room a museum.” She took a few steps closer, still trying to sniff out this woman’s game. She didn’t seem…innocent.
Evie gestured to the piano the woman had opened and closed. “Do you play?”
“No, but I heard you do.”
Evie drew back, surprised. “My goodness, you’ve heard quite a bit about me.”
The other woman crossed her arms, her dark eyes narrowing as if she was having some deep mental debate. “I have. I’ve heard you’ve known Finnie’s family for a long time. That you go way back, and your family and hers—which, through marriage, is now mine—have a long…history.”
Blood drained from Evie’s face as she tried—and failed—to follow the ramblings. Was Yiayia chattering to change the subject from her strange activities in the room, or was she referring to the tragedy of the fire?
Would this woman be impolite enough to bring that up?
“It’s a small town,” Evie said, carefully dancing around the conversation. “We all have histories and intertwined pasts.”
“But you and…” She swallowed and glanced at the door. “You have more than…”
Evie held up a hand to stop her. “Would you like something to drink?” She gestured toward the door. “I have some iced tea in the kitchen.”
“Because you don’t want me alone in this room.”
Dear God, she was blunt. “I’d like to chat.”
Her eyes tapered to slits. “You think I stole something, don’t you?”
“Goodness, I—”
She huffed out a breath. “I knew I couldn’t do this Finnie’s way. I told her over and over that this was not the way to go about our mission. I’m terrible at subterfuge.”
“Mission? Subterfuge?” Evie shook her head. “Wow, color me clueless, Yiayia.”
“Oh, now I’ve gone and stepped in it.”
“Deeply.” For a long, totally confused moment, Evie stared at her, then perched on the edge of a velvet settee. “So why don’t you step out of it and explain?”
She dropped her face into her hands. “When am I going to learn to shut my big fat mouth?”
“Not now, I hope.”
Yiayia sighed as she slumped in a chair. “I call things as I see them, you know? It’s gotten me in trouble.” She waved a hand like she couldn’t be bothered with all that trouble, drawing Evie’s attention to her long red nails. “But in the end, we Dogmothers usually get what we want.”
“Dogmothers?”
“A nickname.” She pointed at the dogs. The heavier one had already crawled under the settee to rest, but the other one inched toward Evie and looked right up at her.
She couldn’t resist rubbing her little head. “This is Gala?”
“Galatea. And that’s Pygmalion settling in for a snooze.”
“Oh, that’s where you get the name Pyggie.”
“Had no idea he’d get that fat.”
Evie chuckled at that and offered her palm for Gala to sniff and lick. “They’re precious. And you and Finnie are the Dogmothers.”
“But we’re also matchmakers.”
“Excuse me?” She couldn’t have heard that right.
“We’re quite successful, if I do say so myself.” She gave a broad smile. “It’s Declan’s turn.”
What?
“Listen.” The woman pressed those red-tipped nails together in a prayerlike pose. “Please don’t tell Finnie. Please? I promised her I’d do this her way, but her way is…” She shook her head vehemently. “You don’t get two people back together on hope and a prayer, but you know Finola. ‘The Irish say hope makes all things possible.’” She did a spot-on brogue, which would be funny if anything about this confounding conversation could be funny.
“Get two people back together?” That was all that stuck in Evie’s head.
“You. And Declan. You belong together.”
She stared at Yiayia, speechless.
“Finnie told me everything, and I do mean everything, dear. I know about your friendship and the fire—so unbelievably tragic—and she mentioned how you did surgery on Rusty, and everyone could see how affected Declan was merely to be