The blond made a face. “What didIdo?”
But Yafir had already left for his office.
Terrified to keep him waiting, we hurried up the stairs after him. Yafir slammed the large sack of mail down on his desk. Then, wordlessly, he pointed at it. Yafir, Lilymoor’s bookkeeper, was this frantic, bespectacled man in oversized tweed jackets and loose-fitting khakis, never without his leather binder and a pen perpetually tucked behind his ear. His warm brown skin was pale as a sheet. Hesitantly, Juliette dug into the mail sack and took a few pieces out, flipping through them. They were all soft white envelopes with Eula’s long cursive detailing addresses. One hadn’t been licked closed, so Juliette thumbed it open and took out the card inside.
Dearest Ann,
You are cordially invited to Lilymoor’s 200th anniversary on August 16. Please join us as we celebrate the life of this storied house,and your incredible contributions to the Lilymoor library in recent years. Thank you so much for your novels.
Best,
Eula
Yafir said, “There’s overfive hundredinvites. The UPS guy just dropped them all off today from Daybreak Rehabilitation and Long-Term Care.”
Juliette picked at her bottom lip. “Oh dear.”
Yafir quirked an eyebrow. “Justoh dear?”
Daybreak Rehabilitation and Long-Term Care was, apparently, the outpatient therapy center that Eula had checked herself out of, and they had finally gotten around to delivering the things she’d left there. I stared at the pile of mail. She must have beenverybored indeed.
Juliette went on, “She asked if she could write the invitations for the bicentennial, but . . .” She eyed the large mailbag. “I guess I should’ve asked more questions.”
“Maybe a few more,” Yafir replied dryly, scooping up the stack of letters Juliette had taken out and dumping them back into the sack with zero aplomb. One of the letters fluttered out and landed at my feet. “I thought you said it would be a hundred people at most?”
“Idid,” she replied helplessly. “Eula must have thought of more people to invite.”
“We didn’t budget for more,” he said crossly, folding his arms over his chest in agitation. “How am I supposed to keep accounts balanced if I don’t know what’s going on? Where are we going to get the money?”
I picked up the one that had fallen on the ground. It also wasn’t sealed.
Dearest Cyrus,
I would truly love to see you at the bicentennial, though I’m sure you are very busy. Perhaps if not forLilymoor, you could spare some time for Henry’s sake? Though I do understand if you aren’t able to. I love and miss you.
Kisses!
Eula
Cyrus—the other great-nephew.
“Did she handwrite them to everyone?” I wondered aloud.
“Eula is a terror when she’s bored,” Oliver said tiredly, looking over my shoulder at the letter to Cyrus. His face pinched.
I folded the letter up again and returned it to the sack.
“It’s so many people,” Juliette murmured, and then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes again with renewed determination. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll see where I can trim costs or maybe pull some strings?”
“This is going to be a disaster,” Yafir announced, and Juliette shot him a tired look. “What? Itwill—”
“Ah!You found the letters, good!” said Eula.
The four of us spun to the matron of Lilymoor like children caught red-handed. She was leaning against her walker; she had by now decorated it with fake flowers and given the handlebars extra padding. Wykofski was just behind her, a troubled look on his face, while she beamed brightly.
“I was hoping you’d help me close them all!” she announced. “I think Ollie knows where the wax and the Lilymoor seal are, don’t you, dear?”
Oliver gave her a tired look. “Lala, aren’t you supposed to be in physical therapy?”
