Joanna didn't know what she wanted to do firstâask if they were accepting applications, or try on the gorgeous silk skirt with matching sleeveless blouse the mannequin by the front door was wearing. The calf length skirt was a swirl of blues and greens, while the top was a solid blue with big silver buttons. She already had the perfect shoes and bracelet to match the outfit.
The temptation bore a designer label and was one hundred percent silk.
The fact that both dressing rooms seemed occupied curbed her temptation for the moment. Job first, shopping spree second. She walked over to the distressed white armoire filled with lightweight summer sweaters and wanted to drool. Thoughts of employee discounts started to dance through her head.
“May I help you with something?” A pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman wearing pearls and a classic linen suit stood beside her.
Joanna glanced around the shop and counted one other sales clerk and two other customers. Claire's was doing a nice, brisk business this morning. Hopefully, they would need some extra summer help. “I'm Joanna Stevens.” She held out a hand. “My daughter and I just moved to town.”
The woman shook her hand as her mouth turned up into a warm, friendly smile. “Claire Bonnet, and welcome to Misty Harbor.”
“Claire Bonnet, as in Claire's Boutique?”
“The one and the same.” Claire glanced around her store with pride. “Twenty years in business, and I still marvel in wonder every morning when I open up.”
“It's a magnificent shop, and I'm already in love with three different outfits.” The white capri pants matched with the red, white, and blue Americana sweater would be perfect for a cool summer day. And who could resist the lavender sundress displayed in the front window?
Claire beamed. “Well, what would you like to try on first?”
“Oh, I didn't come here today to shop. I stopped in to see if you were hiring.” She watched the expression on Claire's face. She knew what the answer was before the boutique owner spoke.
“I'm sorry, Joanna; there aren't any openings. My sister, Emma, works here full time, and during the summer months, we both have daughters who help out when needed.” Claire gave her an apologetic smile.
“That's okay, Claire. I was just walking around town, and your shop struck me as being a wonderful place to work.” She glanced at the mannequin by the front door, the one wearing the stunning blue outfit. “I'll make you a deal. If you can give me any leads on who might be hiring, I'll stop back in to buy an outfit.” The type of clothes she would be buying would depend on what kind of job she landed.
“Oh dear,” Claire fingered the pearls at her throat. “I can't think of anyone who is hiring off the top of my head. Most of the places in town hire teenage help for the season. Have you checked the local paper?”
“Not yet.” There were a dozen copies of last week's paper sitting at home on the coffee table. Norah's first byline in Maine was in that paper, and she wanted to make sure she had plenty of copies for posterity's sake. She should have pored over the “Help Wanted” ads while drinking her morning cup of coffee.
“You could check down at The Catch of the Day, the local restaurant. Gwen might be looking for some extra help. She had a baby a couple months ago, and her business is thriving.”
“Great.” She turned away from the temptation of the blue outfit. “Thanks for the tip, Claire.”
“I hope to see you back.”
“Oh, you'll see me back. As soon as I have a special occasion to dress up for, I'll be here.”
Claire chuckled. “I'll be open.”
She walked out onto the sidewalk. The temperature had gone from pleasantly warm to hot. What she needed was something cool to drink before heading over to the docks where the restaurant was located. Bailey's Ice Cream Parlor and Emporium seemed to be the logical choice, as well as being the closest.
Five minutes later, she found herself sitting outside at one of the white iron tables under its pink umbrella and drinking a root beer float. Zsa Zsa sat on the chair next to her daintily licking at a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a plastic bowl. As Zsa Zsa was in the shadow of the umbrella and the table, the sea gulls weren't visible to the dog, and the special treat was keeping her mind off their occasional cry.
“Joanna?”
She glanced up and smiled. “Karen, what are you doing in town without the boys?” Her neighbor Karen Harper was seldom seen without her three boys in tow.
Karen sat down in the empty chair. “They are fishing with their grandfather today while I'm at work.”
“Taking a break?”
“More like taking an early lunch. I forgot to pull something out of the freezer for dinner tonight. So I'll grab a quick lunch, figure out dinner, and take the three loads of laundry off the back line and fold them, all before heading back to the gallery.” Karen glanced at her watch and sighed. “I really need to be going. What brought you into townâjust enjoying the day?” Karen reached over and scratched Zsa Zsa behind the ear. The dog never looked up from her frozen treat.
“Actually, I'm looking for a job.” She toyed with the long-handled plastic spoon in her cup. “I tried Claire's, but she wasn't hiring.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She tried to sound upbeat. “Claire said she had enough help for the season.”
“What I meant was, are you really looking for a job, and what kind?”
“Yes, and I'm open to any suggestions on what kind. I have no experience, but I'm willing to learn.”
“Full-time, part-time, or seasonal?”
“Doesn't matter. Full-time would be great, but beggars can't be choosers. Do you know of anyone hiring?”
“The gallery.”
“Wycliffe Gallery where you work? I'm afraid I don't know anything about art, Karen.” Oh, she knew what she liked when she saw it, and she could tell a Rembrandt from a Picasso, but that was the extent of her knowledge.
“Neither did I when I first started working for Ethan. He prefers to handle all the special customers, and he does all the buying. I handle the average tourist and some of the locals. They know what they like when they see it, and I ring up the sale and wrap up the merchandise.”
“I could do that.” She was confident she could work a register. She hadn't had a chance to visit the gallery yet, but she was hoping it wasn't the kind that displayed all that modern art a lot of galleries were fond of. The modern kind of paintings that looked as if five-year-olds had thrown paint at a blank canvas or mixed concrete with bicycle tires and toilet seats and claimed it was the meaning of life.
“What kind of hours can you work?” Karen asked. “The job would require some evenings till eight and weekends.”
“That's no problem. I'm free to work any and all hours necessary.” Norah was big enough to get her own dinner, and if she wasn't there at night, maybe her daughter would accept an invitation or two from some of the local bachelors.
“Ethan's wife is due to have their first baby in August, and he really wants to spend more time helping her out right now and after the baby is born. With the three boys out of school for the summer, I can't commit to any extra hours. I barely have enough time as it is.” Karen glanced at her watch again and got to her feet. “Listen, Joanna, I have to run. Go down to the gallery and talk to Ethan. He's there now; make sure you tell him I sent you.” Karen gave a quick wave and then hurried away.
Joanna sat there staring at the glob of ice cream melting in her float. Working in an art gallery sounded a lot more exciting than asking people if they would like fries with that. The way Karen described the job, she wouldn't need a college degree in art to handle the customers, nor had she mentioned computers. It had taken Norah almost a year to get her comfortable enough to use her computer to e-mail distant family members. The one time she had tried surfing the net, she'd ended up at a porn site. She considered herself lucky that she hadn't had a heart attack when a certain picture had popped up on the screen.
Any job that didn't require computer skills was fine with her.
Joanna took one last sip of her float and tossed it and Zsa Zsa's vanilla ice cream into the trash can. She placed the dog back into the tote, touched up her lipstick, and headed for the gallery. It was her first hot lead of the day, and she wasn't about to waste the opportunity.
Three minutes later, she studied the exterior of the renovated building that was now Wycliffe Art Gallery. At one point in time, it must have been some sort of marine building. It was sitting right on the docks, and it was large enough to house a boat or two. Recently, someone had added huge windows and had painted the wooden structure a deep crimson red with glossy white trim. An intriguing wooden sculpture of a pelican stood by the front door, along with a couple miniature trees in massive concrete, seashell-encrusted containers. It was the perfect building in which to house an art gallery in a harbor town.
She peered into the tote, saw that Zsa Zsa was indeed napping after her morning snack, and walked into the light-filled gallery. Thankfully, no unrecognizable sculptures or dayglow-orange paint-splattered canvases greeted her. The sound of a mother trying to hush her child could be heard over the soft classical music that was being piped in through small speakers. The walls were a cool white, and the antique wide-plank flooring gleamed. An occasional area rug was scattered throughout. Wide windows overlooked the harbor, and what appeared to be some original wooden walls were being used as partitions and added wall space to display more paintings. Plank stairs with a rope railing and banisters led to a second floor.
Whoever had designed the place knew what they were doing. Her money was on Ethan Wycliffe.
She glanced around and counted two customers. One, an elderly gentleman who looked like he'd just stepped off a yacht, was studying a painting of the ocean. The other was the young mother with two undoubtedly bored children. She didn't know who she felt sorry for: the harried-looking mother or the two children who were being dragged through an art gallery. Ethan Wycliffe was nowhere in sight, but she could hear distant voices coming from the second floor.
“If you two don't stop it, we are going back to the hotel, and Grandmom Reid won't be getting a birthday present.” The young mother looked ready to walk out.
She didn't know where Ethan was, but she knew the look of a woman at the end of her patience. Ethan was about to lose a customer. She reached into the tote, gently stroked the top of Zsa Zsa's head, and softly whispered, “Wake up, Princess; it's show time.”
Joanna walked a couple of feet closer to the family. “Excuse me, ma'am, but do you think your children could help me entertain Zsa Zsa here?” She lifted the dog out of the bag and smiled as the eyes of both children grew wide with delight. The mother looked relieved yet cautious. “She's perfectly gentle,” she reassured the woman, “and we'll stay right here in the middle of the gallery, so you can keep an eye on the children.”
“Can we, Mommy?” cried the little girl, who looked to be about four.
The slightly older boy echoed his sister's wishes. “Please, Mommy. We'll be good.”
The woman looked at her for a moment as if sizing her up, before turning back to the kids. “You will behave yourself, and listen to Ms. . . . ?”
“Stevens, Joanna Stevens,” she answered. “And this is Zsa Zsa, and she knows two tricks.”
Both kids came hurrying to the center of the gallery. Joanna didn't blame the mother for being cautious. In this day and age, one didn't leave her children with strangers. “If you both sit down, I'm sure Zsa Zsa will do them for you.” Two little butts hit the wooden floor in an instant.
A moment later, she was squatting down, and the Pomeranian was sitting prettily and rolling onto her back so the children could give her belly a rub. She kept the children entertained as their mother viewed the gallery while keeping a careful watch over them.
A man carrying an exquisite clay vase came down the stairs. He was followed by a middle-aged couple who were happily talking about the vase and how well it was going to look in their family room. The good-looking man, who was only a couple of years older than her own daughter, gave her and Zsa Zsa a grateful smile before setting the vase on the counter and ringing up the sale. Ethan Wycliffe had made his appearance, and she had to wonder if she had just blown her chance at the job by bringing her dog into the gallery.
“Excuse me, Ms. Stevens.” The young mother joined her children. “Thank you ever so much for entertaining Brad and Sophie.”
“My pleasure; they weren't any trouble at all.” She scooped Zsa Zsa up and cradled her in her arms.
“Could I get your opinion on something?”
“Sure.” She followed the woman over to the far side of the gallery and hoped she could be of some help. Oil paintings and watercolors dominated the area.
“I need a birthday present for my husband's mother.” The woman pointed to a beautiful oil painting of a lighthouse with the morning sun rising behind it. “I like this one, but I also think she would like this one.” The other painting had an Asian feel to it. It was done in soft watercolors and portrayed a garden in bloom.
She saw the beauty in both paintings. “They are both wonderful.” In her opinion, she liked the garden painting better, but that was her taste, not this woman's mother-in-law's. “What do you think she would like? Does she like to garden and have a lot of flowers in the house, or is she more inclined to walk along a beach or to sit for hours staring at the ocean?”
“Flowers.” The woman studied the watercolor. “Definitely the flowers.” The woman gave her a smile. “Thank you.”