Lucky Charm (Lucky 1)

She walked around, peeking into various meeting rooms, only to find those empty, as well.

At the far end of the only long hall, a set of heavy-looking double doors were shut tight. She didn’t have to read the sign to know what it said—Mayor’s Office.

She bit the inside of her cheek and knocked.

Silence.

She jiggled the handle.

Locked.

Mary Perkins didn’t have a problem leaving the outer office open, but the doors to the inner sanctum were practically vaulted shut. She wouldn’t be surprised if the room was soundproof, she thought wryly.

She couldn’t decide what to do. She could leave and head to Derek’s, but based on the note on the door, someone was due to arrive soon.

Gabrielle exhaled hard and eased herself into a chair in the sitting area in the front of the house. She crossed her legs, leaned back against the old velour couch and picked up a fan, which had been left on a table

. She shut her eyes and fanned herself, hoping to ease the heat and humidity that seeped into the old house and into Gabrielle’s pores. Logically she knew waving hot air into her face wasn’t going to help, but it couldn’t possibly hurt.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally heard the creaking of the hinges on the screen door. She rose from her seat without letting go of the fan. At some point she’d become convinced the hot air was somehow cooling her off.

“Grandma?” A female voice called.

“Nobody’s here but me,” Gabrielle said, feeling like an intruder.

“Who’s me?” A pretty brunette stepped into the main area where Gabrielle stood.

Gabrielle lifted her free hand in a half wave. “My name is Gabrielle Donovan. I came by to see Mayor Perkins. Nobody is here, but the door was open and the sign said someone would be back soon so I thought I’d wait.”

“I’m Lauren Perkins,” the woman said, extending her hand.

Gabrielle shook it. “Mayor Perkins is your grandmother?”

She nodded.

“Doesn’t she have another granddaughter? Her assistant?” Gabrielle asked, thinking of the Mary Perkins clone.

Lauren smiled. “That’s my sister.”

Gabrielle narrowed her gaze. She just didn’t see the resemblance between the two women.

“Don’t tell me. We look nothing alike,” Lauren said, laughing. “I hear it all the time.”

Gabrielle grinned. “You read my mind.”

“Yes, well, my grandmother is expecting me as you can tell by the note on the door. I’d recognize Grandma’s old Smith Corona type anywhere.”

“A typewriter?” Gabrielle asked. “Wow.”

Lauren laughed. “Not many people know what those are anymore.”

“I’m a writer. I’m into research and old things.”

Lauren wrinkled her nose in thought, then snapped her fingers. “Gabrielle Donovan! The author. You’re that Gabrielle Donovan! I’m a huge fan of your work,” she said.

“Well, thank you.” She thought about the notion of someone still using an old typewriter today. “I take it your grandmother isn’t into the computer age?”

Lauren shook her head. “Although it would be easier for her if she was. Arthritis makes it difficult for her to write. I can’t say that typing is much easier, but she says at least it’s more legible. I hope my sister is planning to bring her into the technological age soon. But Gran is very set in her ways, I guess you’d say. It makes her hard to please sometimes,” Lauren confided.