‘You want me to look into hiring some more staff?’
‘Oh, yes please.’
‘No prob. Just one thing: Wednesday night is date night for me, so I’m not going to be much use for craft group. I’m sorry. Alex’s schedule won’t be flexible until the fire station roster changes.’
‘You have date night? That is so sweet.’ Well, not toher, obviously—date nights had been poisoned forever by her ex-boyfriend, along with romance, candlelit dinners and handholding—but she could be glad for Graeme. Only … oh crap. That meant she’d be the one who’d have to chat nicely about craft with a dozen of Marigold’s cronies every week.
Graeme’s grin was a little sly. ‘You know Marigold will rope you in to making tassels, or decoupage, or painting wild horses on velvet.’
She chuckled. ‘You’re making my blood run cold. I’ll manage. Thanks for letting me know.’
‘Don’t stay here too late, will you, boss? I can wait, if you want me to walk you to your car.’
What a guy. ‘No, Graeme, you get along home. I’m just finishing this letter to my aunt while the meringues cool off, then I’ll be on my way.’
‘Your Aunt Jill who lives in the hospice down at Cooma?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why do you write to her when you go visit her twice a week?’
She sighed. ‘She doesn’t recognise me. When I visit, she thinks I’m my mother—her sister, Barb—who passed away a long time ago now. Jill’s geriatrician gave me some advice about communicating with her … aim for a peaceful environment, you know, so she isn’t distracted by noise and buzz, and use a method of communication that she enjoyed in the past. Music, cards, singing and so on. Jill always loved receiving letters, so I write these and we sit in the garden at Connolly House and I read them to her. I like to think somehow, somewhere in her thoughts, she knows what her niece Vera is up to.’
‘You’re a sweetheart, Vera, you know that?’
She swallowed. She was pretty sure if she was truly a sweetheart, she wouldn’t be facing a criminal prosecution. ‘See you tomorrow, Graeme. We can workshop how we’re going to run this weekly stitch-and-bitch event Marigold sucker-punched us into.’
‘You got it, boss.’
Silence settled in the spotless café when the door shut behind Graeme, and Vera leaned back in her chair.
Things reallyweregoing well. The Italian-style dinner menu she was experimenting with was receiving compliments, the coffee was exceptional thanks to Graeme’s skill at the espresso machine. The locals of Hanrahan were all coming for a look-see and buying a roasted-vegetable tart or a cake, and despite it being the shoulder season between snow skiing and bushwalking, holiday tourists were plentiful.
She turned back to her letter.
We (that’s me and my new manager, Graeme, who is a godsend. He’s a marvel with the customers and could run this place with his eyes closed) are going to try opening up a couple more evenings a week and test the market for more formal dinners. It’ll mean getting some help with food prep, as dinner menus aren’t my forte, as you know!
I’ll write again soon to let you know how it all goes, but it’s getting late, and work starts early in the kitchens here. The apartment I’m renting is just a few blocks away from the café, and the streets seem very safe here in town, but I don’t want to be heading home too late alone.
I’ll visit when I can,
Love, Vera xx
A bleep-bleep from her phone interrupted her as she was folding the letter into an envelope, and she fished it out of her apron pocket and checked the screen.
Sue Anton calling…
Crap. Sue never called with good news.
‘Hi, Sue.’
‘Vera. This is not my good news voice.’
‘I’ve given up expecting good news. What’s up?’
As much as she liked Sue, the woman charged like a flock of angry emus. She’d learned the hard way to keep every conversation with her lawyer as short and succinct as possible.
‘Just an update on your arraignment. The court wants to bring your attendance forward, so we need to make our decisions on your plea. I need to make you aware of your options.’