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“I think she can probably make them with her eyes closed.”
“Maybe Miss Dimple can help.”
“Haley says no. She wants Miss Dimple working the tables with us.”
“Well, if you think we’re all set food-wise...”
“Haley can handle the kitchen, Drayton. Trust me.”
“You know I do.” He raised an index finger. “Almost forgot. Another package arrived.” He reached around, grabbed a cardboard box, and handed it to Theodosia.
“More cosmetics?” She flipped open the box. “Oh yeah, this is fabulous. Lip gloss and magnetic eyelashes.”
Drayton pursed his lips. “Magnetic eyelashes? How would that work? Does one need to have magnetic eyes?”
“Each lash comes in two pieces, an upper and a lower lash. You just stick them over your own eyelashes, kind of like an eyelash sandwich.”
“Women actually wear those?”
“Sure. In fact, I’m going to take a couple pairs in to Haley right now. She’ll get a big kick out of them.”
Drayton looked doubtful. “If you say so.”
***
At ten o’clock, with the tea shop full of morning customers, Bill Glass came clomping in like an overcaffeinated water buffalo. He was dressed in a shabby green army jacket, khaki pants that were too short and revealed too much of his hairy ankles, and a blue checkered scarf wrapped around his neck. Except for a ruddy complexion that indicated he was still among the living, Theodosia thought he looked like a refugee from The Walking Dead.
“Take a look at this,” Glass cried. He was brandishing several copies of his magazine, Shooting Star. The front page was crinkly and garish, crowded with colored photos, three-inch headlines in red ink, and lots of exclamation points. “I put some really terrific snaps on the cover.” He looked at his own handiwork and chortled. “I got the bee guy squirting his crap all over the place, people screaming in terror and jumping up from their tables, and Claxton lying dead on the ground. It’s a photo bonanza.”
“Oh please,” Theodosia said. She snatched one of the newspapers out of his hands and waved it at him. “I hope you realize that your cover story is rude and tasteless. I mean, you’ve got a dead body...”
Standing next to her, Drayton caught a quick look at the photos, then rolled his eyes skyward as if hoping for divine intervention.
“That’s what sells papers, cupcake,” Glass exclaimed. “And garners tons of advertisers. In journalism, sensationalism is the name of the game.”
“Your paper is not technically journalism,” Theodosia said. “You publish a scandal rag.”
“Or worse,” Drayton said under his breath.
Glass was unmoved. “Whatever. Hey...” He pointed to the glass pie saver that held a stack of almond-orange and gingerbread scones. “Can I have one of those?”
But Theodosia’s attention was suddenly focused on a smaller article she’d noticed on the front page, what newspaper people called a sidebar.
“Don’t I deserve a freebie?” Glass wheedled.
Theodosia ignored Glass as she scanned the article. There was a picture of Buck Baldwin. The story detailed how Baldwin had been hastily nominated by his party to step in and take Osgood Claxton’s place.
Theodosia thumped the front page of the paper. “Do you know this guy?” she asked Glass. “The politician who’s taking Claxton’s place as the nominee?”
“ ’Course I do,” Glass said. “I interviewed him myself.”
Theodosia only knew Baldwin as the man who’d intervened in the Mignon Merriweather–Ginny Bell fight.
“What can you tell me about him?” Theodosia asked as she lifted the top off the glass pie saver, took out a scone, and handed it to Glass. When he grabbed it immediately, Theodosia had to smile. It was like clicker training a dog.
“Thanks,” Glass said, taking a bite. “Mmm, gingerbread. This stuff is like kryptonite to me, can’t get enough.” He chewed noisily. “Yeah, Baldwin seems like a decent enough guy. Agreed to an interview right away, gave me all the time in the world.”
“I imagine since Baldwin’s now running for political office it doesn’t hurt him to get his name out there.”
