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this on purpose, of that she was sure. When she reopened them, she saw Charlie dabbing at the mess with one of Jo’s polishing cloths. “Wait, Charlie, maybe I can get some towels.”

    “Will this help?” Gabe Stubbins appeared at her side holding out a bunch of flannel rags. Jo set down her drinks and took them gratefully. “I didn’t see it happen,” he said, “but I noticed her sliding over there. She must have waited for this young man to get distracted.”

    Jo felt pressure rising inside of her and struggled to control it.

    “I’m so sorry, Aunt Jo. I should have watched out better.”

    “Charlie, this is absolutely not your fault. Believe me. No one could have prevented it. Here, help me move these things out of the mess, then I’ll take care of the rest later. It’s almost time for your ride to come.”

    “I can st—” Charlie began to offer, but Jo stopped him.

    “It’s okay, Charlie. Really. It’s better that I take care of the jewelry cleaning myself.”

    Charlie, still looking wretched, helped her move the jewelry, and Jo continued to reassure him while dealing with growing murderous thoughts toward Linda. She then sent him on his way with a quick hug and watched as he headed off somewhat reluctantly before taking a quick glance at his watch and picking up speed. She turned back to her cleanup work.

    “Oh, good, you got some rags. Well, I guess you won’t be needing these, then.”

    Linda Weeks stood just inside the nearby entrance holding two paper towels and wearing the most odious look of “oops, my bad” Jo had ever seen. It tipped Jo over the edge. She had had it. The steam that had been building finally blew.

    “Don’t even try,” Jo said, her tone low but rapidly rising. “Don’t even pretend this was an accident, Linda. You’ve been working up to this all day, just waiting for your chance. I don’t know why you think you have to behave like such a slimeball, but you do.”

    “Oh, really?” Linda dropped the smirk and her eyes flashed. “So suddenly you’re Little Miss Perfect with the right to call names? I wonder what people would call you if they knew what you’re really like—the ones who think you’re such a fabulous designer, but don’t know where you really get some of those designs.”

    “I suppose you’d like to claim I stole them from you?”

    “You know what you’ve done. I don’t have to spell it out.”

    “Linda, if I were at all inclined to copy anyone’s ideas, which I’m not, you would be the last person in the world I’d ever want to copy. How you made it as far as you have is beyond me. Your unbelievably low level of creativity is matched only by that of your ethics, and I regret every minute I wasted in New York trying to be nice to you.”

    Linda stood stonily staring at Jo, two small spots of red forming on her cheeks. Jo hoped that would be the end of it, that Linda would simply storm off in a huff. She was aware that nearby vendors had begun staring, taking in every word being spat out.

    But Linda wasn’t about to leave. That, of course, would have been too much to hope for. Someone like Linda always had to have the last word, and hers, it turned out, were particularly venomous.

    “Well,” she said, her eyes steely, “aren’t we the two-faced one? Sweet as pie on the outside but full of all kinds of nastiness deep down. I guess I can finally understand why Mike committed suicide, now, can’t I?”

    She turned around and pushed through the plastic curtains before Jo could respond, though Jo, her mouth working soundlessly, couldn’t have answered that comment if she’d tried.

Chapter 4

    Jo dragged herself out of bed the next morning, dreading the day that lay ahead. How would she be able to function as she needed to with Linda so nearby? The answer, of course, was she would have to, though it wouldn’t be easy, especially after the rotten night’s sleep she’d just had, Linda’s final barb pricking with every