what I understand, it goes to Brenda Conner. That might give Brenda a reason for trying to scare Allison away, but no reason that I can see for Allison to invent such a story.” Was he really defending her?
Mac mulled that over for a couple of minutes. “Seems like there might be a lot of people with a reason to want Ms. Standish gone.”
“True. Maybe even me.”
“You? Why you?”
Nick shrugged. “I guess I might figure Brenda would be easier to deal with.”
“Pretty vague, don’t you think?” Mac spread his hands out, palms open. “The story doesn’t amount to much of anything, even so. A bunch of solid citizens aren’t likely to be prowling around to scare her, even if they aren’t happy about her ownership. But I’ll keep an eye on the place, anyway.”
Nick nodded. It might be just as well if he did the same.
* * *
ALLISON PAUSED AT the entrance to the bookshop, glancing around, caught as always by the sheer pleasure of being surrounded by books. Though she had to confess that she bought most of her books online in recent years, there was still nothing like a visit to an actual bookstore to get the juices flowing.
A display of regional history books and pamphlets attracted her attention, but before she could reach the rack she was intercepted.
“Ms. Standish!” A man came hurrying from the back between the racks of books, his white hair ruffled and his expression both eager and apprehensive. “I’ve been expecting you to stop by. I’m Ralph Mitchell.”
“Of course.” She extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Mitchell. I’m sorry I didn’t get in sooner. There’s so much to deal with...” She let that trail off, hoping it was an acceptable excuse.
“Naturally, naturally. And you must call me Ralph. Everyone does.” He pumped her hand, his eager eyes seeming to take in every detail of her appearance so intently that it was as if he memorized it.
Allison did a little noticing of her own. Mitchell looked so much like the popular concept of a bookshop owner that he was almost a caricature. Wire-rimmed glasses slid down a pink nose, and he peered anxiously over the top of them. His white hair was worn a little long, and it stood up as if his head was lost in a cloud.
“It was such a shock to all of us to lose our dear Evelyn.” His voice actually shook a little, and his hands trembled. “She was very good to us.”
“I’m sure she was.” Allison’s thoughts flickered to that loan her grandmother had made to the bookshop owner. Perhaps they had been close friends, and he was genuinely mourning her.
“You have my deepest sympathy in your loss,” he added.
She nodded, not sure what to say. The truth was that her grandmother had never been anything to her but a name, so how could she be expected to mourn her? There probably wasn’t a soul in Laurel Ridge who hadn’t known Evelyn Standish better than she had.
“You have a lovely shop here,” she said, feeling a change of subject might be the best response. “You seem to be well stocked for a small-town store.”
“We try, we try,” he said, glancing around with satisfaction. “Evelyn was a great reader, you know, and she encouraged me to branch out a little in what I carried.”
The quilt shop, the bookstore—her grandmother seemed to have had a variety of interests and had been willing to back up those interests financially.
“I hope you plan to continue as Evelyn would have wanted,” he said, his tone wistful. “It’s not easy for an independent bookshop to compete with the chains and the online stores, but Evelyn felt a bookshop was important to the community.”
“Yes, I’m sure she did.”
Mitchell was putting her on the spot, and she didn’t like it. “I really haven’t had time to gather all the information I need to make plans yet. My grandmother’s bequest came as a surprise to me, you understand.”
“Ms. Standish.” A peremptory male voice sounded from behind her. She was certainly in demand today. Allison turned.
“I’m Thomas Blackburn. I’d like to speak with you.” The man was probably about the same age as Ralph Mitchell and his hair was just as white. But there the resemblance ended. Mitchell looked like nothing so much as a slightly anxious rabbit, while Blackburn—tall, erect, faultlessly dressed—had hawk-like features with eyes that pierced and judged.
“Mr. Blackburn.” She acknowledged his words with a nod. “I’m sorry, but I was talking with Mr. Mitchell—”
“Oh, no, no,” Ralph said quickly. He stepped back, as if longing to efface himself. “We can chat another time. Really. I must...must get back to...to my inventory.”
She could have insisted, but it was obvious Mitchell preferred to slip away in the face of Blackburn’s commanding air.
“Fine.” She smiled at him and then gestured Blackburn to the stairs. “Shall we go up to my office?” It was the first time she’d referred to the office as hers, but she decided she needed a bit of bolstering with Blackburn staring at her so disapprovingly.
They went up the steps in silence. Blackburn seemed to know the way to the office as well as she did. She unlocked the door, crossed the room and sat down behind her grandmother’s desk. Blackburn took the visitor’s chair, planted his elbows on its arms and leaned forward.
“I don’t believe in mincing words, Ms. Standish. Blackburn House is Blackburn by rights. Blackburns built it, Blackburns lived in it. I want it in Blackburn family hands, where it belongs.”
Allison leaned back in the chair, feeling as if she needed to be a bit farther from the power of that commanding presence. “I understand that the building was purchased by my grandfather a number of years ago.”
“Selling was a foolish action on the part of my father.” Blackburn dismissed the sale with a wave of a large hand. “He was under a certain amount of financial stress at the time, and frankly, your grandfather took advantage of him.”
Despite the fact that she had no reason to defend the grandfather who was completely unknown to her, Allison found the comment annoying. “The sale was obviously perfectly legal. I’m not sure why you’re bringing it up now.”
Blackburn’s face twitched in an unconvincing smile. “I merely wanted to show you that I’m serious in my desire to buy Blackburn House. My son and grandson carry the Blackburn name, and it should be their legacy.”
Not yours. He didn’t say the words, but they were implied by his tone.
“Did you discuss this subject with my grandmother?” Allison wasn’t quite sure where the question came from—maybe from the fact that she was sitting in her grandmother’s chair.
Blackburn’s face tightened until it looked as if it might be carved on a monument. “I made repeated offers to Evelyn Standish. She seemed to take pleasure in thwarting my wishes.” His face reddened. “She even talked about changing the name to Standish House.”
Allison struggled to hide her amusement at this example of small-town rivalry. Somehow she could imagine her grandmother doing just that. She’d probably enjoyed clashing with Blackburn. But Allison just found the old man’s insistence disturbing, particularly when she had no choice but to say no to him.
“I’m afraid selling is not possible right now, to you or to anyone else,” she said quickly. “The terms of my grandmother’s will—”
“I know all about the will.” Blackburn looked as if he were gritting his teeth. “Evelyn enjoyed making things as difficult as possible for people. However, that’s not insurmountable.”
“I’m not going to contest the will—” she began, but he shook his head.
“No,