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work at half past eight. The realtors and the rest of the staff trickled in about nine. And the majority of the clients visited in the afternoon and evening. So it was unusual to see someone sitting in the waiting room.
    Even more unusual, when that someone turned out to be Daphne Whithammer.
    “Look at you,” Daphne said, as she stood. “Right on time.”
    “Hello,” Jessibelle said, feeling curiosity, instead of the routine dread she felt whenever she had to talk to the impeccable Daphne. Today Daphne wore a white suit and her blonde hair swept up in a tight bun at the back of her head.
    Gabe stopped by the reception coffee table and looked at the magazines, with his back toward them.
    “Hanna told me she was going shopping with you. To help you buy a dress for the wedding.” Daphne waited, like she was waiting for agreement. When Jessibelle waited too, Daphne said, “So, I’m volunteering to go with you.”
    That makes sense, Jessibelle thought. Daphne was feeling left out. That’s why she was here now.
    The door to City Realty opened again, and Bobbi walked in, with her high school backpack slung over her shoulder.
    Daphne looked at Jessibelle. Either because she was waiting for a yes to the offer for help—or she was wondering what the pigtailed girl with the purple jacket, green jeans and orange running shoes was doing in the office.
    “This is Bobbi,” Jessibelle introduced her. “She’s one of the evening receptionists.”
    “It’s not evening,” Daphne said.
    “And this is Daphne,” Jessibelle completed the introduction.
    “Pleased to meetcha,” Bobbi answered, walking around behind the desk. “Betsy left one of my textbooks here last night,” she said, as she started opening drawers.
    Daphne glanced at Jessibelle again, clearly disapproving of the young receptionist and her oddly assembled outfit. Gabe had selected a magazine and was reading it in a chair that faced the street.
    “Daphne. Daphne. Daphne,” Bobbi mumbled. “Oh yes!” She stood up straight, holding a copy of Romeo and Juliet. An old book, with a worn brown cover and tattered pages. “You’re the one who left her boyfriend,” she said. “At a very bad time.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Betsy was telling me.”
    “Betsy is one of the other receptionists,” Jessibelle explained, hoping Bobbi would not continue with this story. “They share the evening receptionist job and they go to high school togeth—”
    “So what was the very bad time?” Bobbi asked. She fanned the pages of her book. “Is there ever a good time to leave your boyfriend?”
    “You were gossiping about me?” Daphne focused her attention on Jessibelle.
    “No, they were just talking about you,” Bobbi elaborated, stuffing the book into her backpack. “Hanna and Jessibelle.”
    “Hanna?”
    “So?” Bobbi had come around the desk, preparing to leave again. “What was the very bad time?” She looked from Daphne to Jessibelle. “What? I thought it was interesting.”
    Jessibelle took a quick breath. This morning’s breakfast of toast sat queasy in her stomach. A deep pit seemed to open under her feet. “Will you be in tonight?” Jessibelle asked Bobbi.
    “I didn’t leave him at a bad time,” Daphne said, mounting her defense. “I had already left him by the time he was in the hospital. It’s not my fault he fell off a cliff.”
    “A cliff? Wow,” Bobbi said, impressed. “He fell off a cliff! Were you with him when it happened?”
    “Of course not. He was working. It was his stupid job. No money in it, and, obviously, too dangerous.”
    “What kind of job?”
    “Mountain climbing.”
    “Mountain climbing’s a job?”
    “Search and Rescue. Something like that.” Daphne checked her watch. “But not to worry. I’m over him. My new boyfriend Luke is much more suitable. He’s a lawyer over at Scriber and Speeken. We were meant for each other.”
    Jessibelle heard a magazine slap down on the coffee table. A bit forcefully. Gabe must not