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Nancy and Eva could run the shop—especially with Grace there. And Sam would cover extra weekend hours, too, if she needed him.
“Of course I’ll be there.”
“And... Marie...bring Gabi with you, please? She’s like a daughter to me. And I want her there for you, too...”
“Gabi’s married, Mom, remember? You aren’t all that fond of Liam. And I’m not asking her to leave her husband behind.”
“I sent them a wedding present,” Barbara reminded her. “And I’d expect her to bring him. He’s part of the family now, too. Whether I’m fond of him or not.”
There was no whininess in her mother’s voice. Could Marie hope things really had changed?
She should have seen it before now. And maybe she would have if she hadn’t been so caught up in her own drama.
She’d just been telling Elliott the night before that her mother’s calls had been much less frequent for the past several months.
“I can’t guarantee they can go on such short notice, but I’ll ask them,” Marie said. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know my travel plans.”
Barbara told her when she and Bruce would be arriving in a second city that never sleeps. Told her at which resort Bruce had already reserved rooms—for all of them. At his expense.
She told Marie, once again, how happy she was.
And then, just before she rang off, she said, “Do I have your blessing, sweetie? Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
The vulnerability that Marie’s father had instilled in her mother wasn’t gone. Maybe it never would be. And Marie didn’t honestly know what to think. Except, “You should do what you’ve always told me to do, Mom. Listen to your heart.”
“My heart tells me I need to do this. I want to marry Bruce. I can’t wait. But your opinion is important to me, Marie. You really think I should go through with it?”
How the heck did she know? “I think a minute of pure joy is better than a lifetime of worry and unhappiness.”
Which was all her mother had known in far too many years.
“Thank you, sweetie. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” Marie hung up the phone.
And burst into tears.
* * *
A NOTICE WENT out to all the Arapahoe residents, informing them of the recent coffee shop vandalism, listing the added security in the front of the building as well as the back, and assuring them that everything was in place to protect their physical safety. Marie, Gabi and Liam, with Elliott present on his insistence, held a meeting for any residents with questions or concerns after Marie’s shop closed Friday evening.
Elliott didn’t speak at the meeting. He stood in a corner of the room, by the brand-new window, where he could see all the other windows, the locked front door and the hall leading back to the elevator, stairs and Marie’s office, as well. He wasn’t particularly concerned about imminent danger. He was just doing his job.
One he couldn’t quit.
Whoever was after Liam Connelly was a threat, to be sure. One that was expected to escalate. At some point, if the police didn’t catch this guy, violence was going to happen. But for now...
“We’ve not only doubled our live security coverage and have someone watching the building—both front and back—twenty-four/seven, but the police are also watching the area more closely. In addition, some of you may have noticed the crews working about the building this afternoon. We now have security cameras positioned strategically on every floor, in the elevator, in the front and back of the building, in the parking lot and in the laundry room.” Liam, in jeans, and a shirt and tie, was addressing the mostly elderly tenants.
He fielded a couple of questions regarding his own personal safety from the tenants in the twenty or so apartments represented. The Arapahoe had a total of thirty-eight apartments on eight floors.
Grace was there. And Elliott recognized the woman whose mother was a candy stealer, Janice. The mother, who was not present, was Clara. Dale and Susan Gruber had come down. Elliott heard Marie ask the woman if she’d enjoyed her trip to the theater. And was kind of touched by the way the woman’s face lit up as she described the romantic date in great detail.
Matilda Schumann, wife of Ben, the smoker from Marie’s floor, had come in alone.
He didn’t see either Edith Larkin or her somewhat senile next-door neighbor, bathroom wanderer Gordon Brinley.
One of the two younger tenants was present. A man who wore black plastic-framed glasses and worked as a paralegal for a private law firm.
