Page 18 of The Scent of Happiness

How nice for them that they could have a laugh at Brooke’s expense. These women had been exhibiting together at craft shows for decades, and Brooke thought she understood their alliances and politics. She thought she’d been accepted as one of them. Apparently not.

“Next year’s show will be run very differently,” Dixie said, playing to her audience. “There are certain standards that have to be met.”

“This isn’t a juried art show,” Brooke blurted. “We’re selling crafts in a church basement, for God’s sake.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Brooke felt the energy in the room go from amused to hostile. Abby turned to Jada, who muttered something too soft to hear. Across the aisle, Sharleen gave her the stink-eye. All the customers had moved to the other side of the L and none of them were returning.

Brooke gripped the edge of the table, wishing Emma hadn’t left her alone. Emma always knew when to give her a little nudge or a touch on her arm to stop her from saying the wrong thing. How long did it take one person to get coffee, anyway?

Dixie looked down her nose. “This is a joke to you, isn’t it? You constantly take what should be a serious thing and you mock it. And now you’re in my church, trying to sell your toxic soap at my show. And you think you’ll get away with it.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean…”

The other crafters openly stared and Brooke felt like she was fighting two battles at once. She wished she could shut them out and concentrate on Dixie, but she couldn’t help taking in the whole room. Her mouth went dry.

“I didn’t mean—not like that,” Brooke stammered. “This is a nice place and I’m proud to be here.”

“You mean, you’re lucky to be here.” Dixie sniffed and then took a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her nose. She did it with a dramatic flair, as if Brooke’s products were making her nose run.

“I rent my table space the same as everyone else.” Brooke lowered her voice. “And my soap isn’t toxic.”

“We’ll soon find out, won’t we?”

“Yeah, I got your letter,” Brooke said. “You shouldn’t even be talking to me. You should be talking to my lawyer.”

“Gladly.” Dixie nodded firmly, the curtains of hair on either side of her face nodding with her. “And who would that be?”

“Uh, that would be…” Brooke looked down at the table. “That’s, uh…”

“Me,” said a familiar voice.

Brooke looked up. Theo stood at Dixie’s side as if she’d conjured him. How long had he been here? And how much worse was he going to make this?

Theo held out a hand. “Theo Chambers. I’m Ms. Nesbitt’s attorney. Nice to meet you. You’re Ms. Dawson?”

“I am.” She did not shake hands.

Brooke’s first instinct was to vault the table and hustle Theo out of the room before he escalated things further. But she couldn’t do that with Dixie standing right here. Another, smaller part of her was happy to have one ally in this battle, even if it had to be Theo. She doubted that having a lawyer in the room would intimidate Dixie, but at least the playing field was a bit more even.

Abby put down her knitting needles and settled in to watch. Sharleen leaned so far over her table that she knocked over one of her greeting card stands. She scrambled to pick it up without turning away from the show. Craft sales were still happening on the other side of the L, but on this side of the room, all commerce had stopped in favor of entertainment.

Theo gave up trying to shake Dixie’s hand, and dropped it to his side. “Anything you want to communicate to Ms. Nesbitt should go through me.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing. Neither your client nor her ‘soap’ belong here.” Dixie made air quotes for the word soap.

“There is nothing wrong with my soap,” Brooke said.

“It gave me a rash,” Dixie said. “You know it did.”

“My client in no way admits that,” Theo said.

“She doesn’t have to,” Dixie said. “Her own mother paid my doctor’s bill, proving her guilt.”

That brought a gasp from Abby and some murmurs among the other crafters.

“That proves nothing,” Theo said.

“Because there’s nothing to prove,” Brooke growled at both Dixie and Theo. Was he trying to help her or not? And where the hell was Emma? “You leave my mother out of this,” she told Dixie.