Moira, aged nine, and Robin, who’s four.”
“So those two kids belong to Rose,” he mused, staring at the stamped tiles on the ceiling. “Cute little things, aren’t they?”
“Very cute.” Maggie smiled fondly, thinking about Robin’s plump sleeping face and Moira’s solemn gaze. Then she began consulting other pages in her files.
“And their mother is cute, too,” Terry was saying. He shifted his long legs to a more comfortable position on the couch. “Did you notice how Rose got all flustered and pink when she was worried about finding rooms for us? Not many women actually blush anymore, did you know that, Mags?”
“It’s a lost art,” Maggie agreed, jotting down some reminders to herself on a sheet of paper. “Terry, how soon do you think he’ll be able to get us set up in here? Because I really don’t see how we can manage if—”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Maggie tensed and closed the file abruptly.
“Come in,” Terry called. He swung his feet to the floor and sat erect.
The door was opened by the smaller of the two girls, the one who’d been sleeping earlier on the couch in the lobby. She was wide awake now, her golden curls standing out all around her head, blue eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Mummy’s bringing you tea,” she announced, waving her hand at the hallway. “And oatmeal scones. They’re yummy. Moira and I always…”
“Now, don’t bother the lady and gentleman with your chatter, Robin.” The child’s mother entered the room and deposited a large silver tray on the table, laden with oatcakes, pots of butter and jam, a brown teapot and a pair of cups.
Moira followed, carefully bearing a small platter with cream, sugar and napkins. The cat came with her, striding along in lordly fashion.
“Rose, this is a lovely surprise.” Maggie beamed at the smaller woman, who still looked painfully shy. “How thoughtful of you.”
Rose Murdoch stood awkwardly by the door in her blue jeans and sweater, hugging her arms, with the two children close to her.
“We always have tea at this time of day,” she said in her appealing soft brogue. “And if you’ve driven a long way, I’m sure you could use a wee bite.”
Robin edged back across the room in her little green running shoes. She stood cautiously next to Terry, who was looking with appreciation at the contents of the bigger tray.
“Taste them,” the little girl whispered, pointing a finger at the steaming oatmeal scones. “Uncle Dougie says our mummy makes the best scones in all the world.”
“Well,” Terry said solemnly to the child, “your uncle Doug strikes me as a very smart man, so I’ll bet he’s right.”
He gave Rose a sunny smile and a wink, and the woman looked away quickly, appearing flustered.
“Rose, I love this cat,” Maggie said, mostly to set the shy woman at ease. “What’s her name?”
“She’s my brother’s cat,” Rose said, with a smile that made her face light up. “Her name is Dundee.”
“Uncle Doug always has a cat called Dundee,” Moira said. “But this is the best one ever.”
“Yes, she’s a beautiful cat.” Maggie smiled again at Rose, who ducked her blond head, murmured something to the two girls and hastened from the room, closing the door quickly behind her.
After they were gone, Terry bit into one of the scones and sighed in bliss, then reached for the teapot.
“Robin’s right, this is just delicious.” He gave Maggie a bright glance. “I’m glad to see you’re capable of learning, kiddo.”
“What do you mean?”
Terry spread strawberry jam on a bit of scone. “I was afraid you might offer the poor woman a tip.”
Maggie looked over at him, stung by the implied criticism. “Come on, Terry,” she said. “If this was a big-city hotel and I hadn’t offered a tip, the man would have been mortally offended.”
Terry poured a cup of tea and offered it to her. “But we’re not in the big city, Maggie. This is small-town America. That’s what you and Natasha don’t seem to realize.”
“The setting may be different,” Maggie said. “But don’t you think human nature is the same all over the world? Natasha’s so certain that when these people learn what we’re offering…”
She paused and took a sip of tea.
Her brother gave her a measuring glance over the rim of his cup. “Go on, say it. How will these people react when they find out a rich, famous movie star wants to buy their town, and turf them all out of here?”
“Natasha has no intention of turfing anybody out,” Maggie said wearily. “You know I’d never be part of something like that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a nice, good-hearted girl, Maggie, underneath all that sophisticated big-city veneer.”
Maggie frowned, staring out the window.
“Natasha just wants to buy all the houses and businesses,” he said, “and then rent them back to the folks. What a great deal.”
“Oh, God, they’re going to hate it, aren’t they?” Maggie said in despair. “Even though most of these businesses are in financial trouble, and the houses are burdened with high property taxes. You know, Natasha truly believes her project will provide an infusion of cash that’s badly needed in Crystal Creek.”
“And in return, she’ll own the whole town. It’ll be Natasha’s private playground, to do with exactly as she pleases. She’ll get to be the undisputed queen of Crystal Creek.”
“I doubt if that’s what she wants, Terry.”
“How do you know what she wants?” he asked bluntly.
Maggie thought about Natasha Dunne, her baffling and enigmatic employer.
“I’m not sure anybody knows what Natasha really wants, or how she thinks about things,” she confessed. “But the way she explained it to me, this is entirely a sentimental project. Crystal Creek has always meant a lot to her.”
Terry helped himself to another scone and munched it with pleasure.
“Yeah, I know all about the sentiment,” he said. “How touching it is. Natasha films a movie here thirty years ago while her brand-new husband is fighting valiantly in Vietnam…”
“He was killed over there, Terry.” Maggie gave her brother a reproving glance.
Terry ignored her. “And only the warmth and support of the Crystal Creek townspeople helps our poor little Natasha to pull through and go on living. The whole story’s become a national legend.”
“So why do you sound sarcastic whenever you talk about it?”
He
