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that low rumble that she thinks is a whisper. “Is she all right?”
    “As far as I know. Why?”
    Dolly frowned. “Well, she came by, and she looked . . . worried.”
    “Did she say something was wrong?”
    “Not exactly. But she said she wasn’t going to replace her assistant.”
    “Oh? That is odd. I’ll ask her about it.”
    Joe’s mom, Mercy Woodyard, owns Warner Pier’s only independent insuranceagency. She’s probably the most successful businesswoman in Warner Pier—a situation I approve of. Not only do Joe and I not have to worry about her finances, but she keeps so busy at the agency that she rarely bothers us. Mercy could be a formidable force if she decided to mix into our lives. She’s so efficient and energetic that she automatically assumes command of most situations.
    Mercy runsher office with the help of one assistant, and that assistant had recently announced she and her husband were moving to Lansing. Mercy had been interviewing replacements, but maybe she hadn’t been able to find anyone suitable.
    Dolly left, and I got busy. TenHuis Chocolade isn’t like most Warner Pier businesses—completely dependent on the summer tourist season. We ship chocolates to departmentstores, specialty shops, caterers, and individuals year-round. But summer is still busy for our retail shop as Warner Pier’s tourists wander our quaint streets. We have plenty of locals and summer people as customers as well.
    I checked in with the two counter girls who would be working until Brenda and Tracy came at four o’clock; then I began on my e-mail. Most of our orders come by e-mail.I have to keep up on it.
    I’d finished with the e-mail and moved on to the regular mail by the time young Cal Vandemann came in. I turned him over to Dolly and kept working. Only a few minutes later, Tracy and Brenda came bounding in. I glanced at the clock at the back of the workshop—my office has glass walls, so I can see the retail shop and the workshop. And the clock astonished me. Brendaand Tracy were half an hour early.
    Brenda stopped near the door, but Tracy charged right into my office.
    “Listen, Lee,” she said. “I’ve got to tell you something.”
    “What have I done now?”
    “You haven’t done anything. It’s what we heard at the Superette.”
    “Now, Tracy, if you’ve been talking to Greg Glossop . . .” Greg Glossop is the pharmacist at Warner Pier’s only supermarket, and he’s themost notorious gossip in town.
    “No! I steered clear of Mr. Gossip, just the way you said I should. But I couldn’t help overhearing—”
    “Tracy! No gossip!”
    “Lee! This is important!”
    “Is it true?”
    “Of course it’s not true!”
    “Then I don’t want to hear it.”
    Tracy’s face twisted into a knot of agony. “Some-times gossip can be important, Lee. You need to hear this.”
    I sighed. “Sit down and tellme. Just don’t yell it so the whole shop can hear.”
    Tracy came in the office, pulled the door shut behind her, and sat in my visitor’s chair. She leaned across my desk and dropped her voice.
    “Brenda and I were in the cosmetics aisle, see, and you know that’s right next to the cereal.”
    “One aisle over. I know.”
    “Well, some summer lady was over there. I don’t know who she is, but I’ve seen herin the Superette before. A fake blonde. One of the ones who wears a bikini with a push-up bra.”
    “In this weather that’s a practical garment.”
    “She didn’t have a bikini on today, but I’ve seen her in one before.”
    “Okay, Tracy. I get the picture.” I began to be afraid the gossip would be that this bikinied blonde was pursuing my husband. I trusted Joe, but I didn’t want to hear even an unfoundedrumor along those lines. “What did she say?”
    “She said that looking for a new insurance agent was such a pain.”
    “Insurance agent?”
    “Yes. Then the woman she was talking to—I looked at her later, and it was some older woman I don’t know—that woman said,