too much could be overwhelming. You did say she complained about all your activities together centering around chores. As I said, I have no way of knowing what she’s thinking, so I could be wrong. But I did a lot of filling in for my mother at Leslie’s age and I never stopped eating as Les seems to have.” Justine shrugged as if to admit that kids were baffling.
Les was his problem. He didn’t want to burden the pretty preacher overly much, and she seemed so concerned. “That’s the trouble with parenthood,” he said, walking away to drop into his favorite chair. “Kids don’t come with instructions written on their bottoms.”
Justine chuckled as he’d meant her to and joined him, sitting on the love seat next to his chair. “And all the books written on the subject contradict each other.”
“Exactly. So you think a housekeeper might help?”
“I don’t see how it could hurt.”
Neither did he, but he didn’t know that many people in Safe Harbor yet and he hated relying on Ray any more than he already had. Both Ray and Julie had done so much for him and the girls already. He couldn’t have them looking for a housekeeper, too.
“I actually have someone in mind,” Justine was saying, coming to his rescue. “You might know her. Elizabeth Neal. She was Safe Harbor’s post-mistress until she retired. Elizabeth is alone in the world, so she fills her life with activities like singing in the choir, organizing the town’s Harvest Fest and cooking for the needy. She actually complained last week that the Harvest Festival wasn’t the trouble it used to be. She’s done it so often and has it so well organized that it practically puts itself on. She told me that for the first time in her life she’s sorry she never married. I think she’s lonely and missing having the children and grandchildren her friends enjoy so much.”
“I think I know her. Yeah. The Harvest Fest Lady. Short? White hair? Real grandmotherly looking and always smiling?”
“That’s Elizabeth. I’ll bet she’d even be glad to fill in with the girls on days when you have to work and it doesn’t coincide with school or the After-School Days program. She’s seventy, but I’m sure she’d be able to do this with one hand tied behind her back. The woman wears me out at the church. Just don’t ask her to sew anything. You might not like the results.”
Matt shrugged, not about to let a possible gem slip through his fingers over a few stitches. “That’s what the tailor shop is for. Lead me to this wonder,” he all but begged. This was for the girls, and Elizabeth Neal sounded like the missing piece of a puzzle—a perfect fit.
Chapter Five
By lunchtime the next day, Matt was so psyched he couldn’t wait to tell the girls. He glanced at his watch when he heard Justine’s voice as she made her way down the hall.
“So, how did it go?” she asked as she entered the room.
“Thanks for letting me borrow your office. It’s a lot friendlier than asking her to stop by the station house for a talk after she finished choir practice.”
Justine let out a bark of laughter, then quickly covered her mouth, her soft brown eyes widening in surprise. “Oh. I’m sorry. That just sounded so funny.”
Matt smiled. “Another one of my questionable jokes. You’re the only one who gets them.” He wondered what her reaction would be if he told her he thought she was sweet and kind and almost irresistibly adorable when she deviated from her ministerial persona.
“How did it go with Elizabeth?” she asked again.
“She’s thrilled with the offer and will be glad to do a little light work around the house and take care of the girls, as long as she can fit it in around her normal activities. We’re going to give it a shot and see how it works out. She’s willing to give me between twelve and twenty hours a week. She also knows someone who’d be willing to do the heavy cleaning, like floors and bathrooms. If she charges what Elizabeth says, I can easily budget for both.”
“That’s wonderful. I hope it helps Leslie,” Justine said, and shot him a wide smile that he felt to his toes.
“Even if it doesn’t settle her down at all, it’ll sure help me. Sometimes I just get so tired of having to be on 24/7.” He glanced at his watch. “Say. It’s just about time for lunch. How about I thank you for your help with a quick meal at Harry’s Kitchen?”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking unsure and glancing at her desk.
“You have to eat, anyway, and Harry’s Kitchen is always a nice change of pace. Of course, there’s no telling what he’ll have on the menu.”
She chuckled. “Menu? You mean what he bought this morning at the grocery store to serve today. Eating there is always an experience. Okay. Let’s go.” She plucked her purse off the coat tree in the corner and tossed it over her shoulder.
Matt followed her out the door. “I notice you didn’t say what kind of experience.”
Justine’s laughter floated after her.
Harry’s was crowded when Justine and Matt got there, but Harry waved them to the last booth. It was the “Reserved” booth Harry kept for the use of select customers. Since she wasn’t one of that august group, Justine assumed Matt was.
“You want coffee?” Matt asked when she sat. At her nod, Matt went behind the counter, scooted by Harry who was at the register and filled two mismatched mugs. Customers were usually expected to pour their own coffee and juice, get their own silverware and clear their own tables—all because that’s the way Harry ran the place. There were clever signs tacked all over, telling everyone that’s the only way they were going to get fed quickly. There weren’t menus, either. You asked for it, and if Harry had it, he made it.
The place was a Safe Harbor landmark, as was Harry Connell, a retired merchant marine who didn’t stand on ceremony. The little diner’s walls were paneled halfway up with gray weathered barn wood and painted a cheerful yellow the rest of the way to the ceiling. At some point he must have acquired endless bolts of green vinyl to upholster the booths and counter stools, because if one was damaged, the next day it was repaired with more of the same material. The tables and the counter behind which Harry held court as he cooked were fifties-era gray marble-patterned Formica. Everything behind the counter was stainless steel and gleaming.
“You certainly get royal treatment. Harry’s reserved booth, no less,” she teased, as Matt put down her coffee and dumped a handful of creamers on the table.
He chuckled. “One of the perks of the job. They didn’t bother to list it, but it might have made my decision easier.”
“In that case, I’ll have to eat with you more often.” Justine could have bitten her tongue right off. Her face heated and she began studying the contents of her purse.
“Now, there’s a possibility to make a man look forward to Harry’s every day. It’s a deal.” Matt checked his watch. “I’ll see you here at twelve-thirty tomorrow, then.”
“I was only kidding,” she said, more flustered than ever.
He looked crestfallen. “Oh. And here I thought I’d discovered the cure to afternoon indigestion.”
“First off, Harry only serves sandwiches at lunch, and, appearances to the contrary, he’s a wonderful cook.”
Matt gave a dramatic sigh and leaned back. “Found out. Truth is, it’s a little lonely eating by myself every day. I could eat in my office, but I come in here to stay visible and accessible. People will often stop to lodge a minor complaint that I doubt they’d ever call or stop at the station to talk over. I’ve always thought irritations were more easily solved than altercations.”
“That’s a very wise policy.”
“But it’s still lonely. Lately my conversations either revolve around schoolwork with the girls or who bought the Harbor Quay apartment