Call me oversensitive, but had Emery just implied that I exchanged sexual favors for cash and redecorating?
“I don’t think I appreciate what he’s implying,” Mr. Wainwright said, staring at his nephew.
“Me, neither,” I muttered, to which Emery gave me a confused look. I cleared my throat. “Mr. Mueller, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about my relationship with Mr. Wainwright and how his will was written. I didn’t set out to take over the shop or get in good with your uncle. I was just lucky enough to be hired by one of the sweetest men on earth, and he became a close friend. I didn’t know he planned on leaving me the shop, and I wasn’t even sure I was going to keep it at first. In fact, I was thinking very seriously of selling—”
“Oh! I think that’s for the best, the right thing to do,” Emery said quickly. “I’ll do anything I can to help speed things along.”
I was caught off-guard by his sudden enthusiasm. Who was he to be so enthusiastic about tossing out his uncle’s legacy? Especially when that legacy technically belonged to me now?
“Give him what for, Jane,” Mr. Wainwright said, smirking at what he recognized was my temper building. Emery wasn’t smart enough to see it himself.
“As I was saying, I thought about selling. But I decided the best way to honor your uncle’s memory would be to keep this place going. So I sank my own money into renovations. It didn’t cost your uncle a penny. And the business seems to be taking off, so we’re not going to be closing anytime soon. Um, for now, anything you want to take, you’re welcome to, especially stuff from his personal effects or private collections. He didn’t spell that out in the will, but I wouldn’t feel right keeping everything.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Emery sighed, picking up his duffel. “For now, I’m going upstairs to bed. I’m sorry if I’m being rude. I’m just so tired. Jet lag, you know.”
“Oh,” I said, exchanging a look with Mr. Wainwright. “Actually, there’s no apartment there anymore. We turned it into storage and office space. I can recommend some hotels in town, though, depending on how long you’re planning on staying.”
Emery’s lips thinned in a way that showed that he was clearly insulted by this change. “I see. I didn’t anticipate that.”
“I’m very sorry,” I said. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have made hotel arrangements for you.”
“I don’t enjoy hotels,” Emery said sulkily. “You never know who’s stayed in the room before you or whether the facilities have been cleaned properly.”
“He is absolutely phobic about germs.” Mr. Wainwright chuckled. “But only American germs, for some reason. He thinks people in other countries are cleaner than we are. Don’t let him talk you into staying with you, Jane. The last time he was a guest in my house, I woke up at three A.M. to find him steam-cleaning the inside of my dishwasher.”
The thought of Emery staying with me hadn’t even occurred to me. Yes, I had room to put Emery at my house, but … no. I was not inviting a mouth-breathing stranger into my home. A vaguely rude mouth-breathing stranger at that. I wondered if Dick would invite him to stay at Andrea’s place. But given the way Emery was fastidiously wiping at his hands with hand sanitizer, as if we had some sort of germ that was more powerful than what they had in Guatemala, Dick didn’t seem inclined to bond with him.
“Come on, Emery,” Dick said, taking Emery’s duffel bag onto his shoulder and patting him on the back. “I know a good boardinghouse in town. Very clean. The owner owes me a favor. I’ll get you settled in.”
Dick escorted Emery to his car and came back into the shop under the guise of forgetting something. “That’s the fruit of my loins?”
“I think your genes lost their mojo somewhere along the way,” I teased.
Dick was indignant. “Those are not my genes. Margaret must have mated with a jellyfish or something.”
Mr. Wainwright shook his head. “You’re not too far off.”
“Look at Gilbert. He wasn’t exactly strapping when he was young, but he had guts! He had gumption! He wasn’t afraid of hotel sheets!”
“Thank you, Dick,” Mr. Wainwright said, smiling proudly.
“And you!” Dick cried. “What are you thinking, telling him he can have anything he wants from the stock? What if he runs off with something valuable?”
“Well, he’s probably got more rights to anything here than I do,” I said.
Mr. Wainwright winced. “Oh, please, don’t say that in front of him, dear. He’ll take everything that’s not nailed down and donate the proceeds to a questionable charity.”
“Are you softening up to the doughy young missionary?” Dick asked me.
“There’s nothing wrong with missionaries,” I said, grinning at him. “Besides, he is your great-great-grandson, your own flesh and blood. And we both know you could use a little churching up. It might be interesting for you to talk to him, to hear things from his point of view.”
Dick made a sour face. “His point of view is that we’re evil and should be struck through the heart with a stake wrapped in wild roses.”
“Wow, that seems harsh.”
Dick walked out, putting his “determined to be polite” face on. I busied myself with getting the coffee bar ready for that night’s crowd.
“How have you been, Jane, dear?” Mr. Wainwright asked. “Your aunt told me about your difficulties with Gabriel. She said you took it rather hard.”