“It’s a good thing,” said Rachel, who was a health nut. “We’d be big as houses and our arteries would be clogged with trans fat.”

“If I’m going to die from eating I want it to be from Cathy Crowley’s rocky road fudge,” declared Lucy. “I’d die happy.”

“Oh, yeah,” sighed Pam. “That’s the way to go.”

“I think it is,” said Sue. “A bake sale is definitely the way to go. I mean, if we’re this excited about fudge and cake I bet a lot of other people will be, too. And we can charge a lot because everything will be top-quality and homemade.”

“Affordable luxuries,” agreed Rachel. “Very hot right now.”

“So we’re agreed?”

“Agreed. All we have to do is call for donations.”

“I can’t,” said Pam. “I’ve got to help my mother move into assisted living next week.”

“And I’m visiting Sidra in New York,” said Sue.

“I’m filling in for Bob’s secretary, she’s on vacation,” said Rachel.

“I guess that leaves me,” said Lucy. “No problem. I’ve done it a million times, I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a list of volunteers from our last bake sale in the back of my cookbook.” She picked up the check and put on her reading glasses. “Okay. How much is fourteen dollars and thirty-eight cents divided by four?”

Chapter 2

Lucy loved everything about the Pennysaver office from the jangle of the little bell on the door to the dusty wood venetian blinds that covered the plate glass windows to the tiny morgue where the scent of ink and hot lead from the linotype machine still lingered. Originally known as the Courier & Advertiser, the paper had been covering all the happenings in Tinker’s Cove for more than one hundred and fifty years.

Phyllis, who served as receptionist and listings editor, also seemed to harken back to an earlier era, the sixties, with her dyed bouffant hairdo and bright blue eyeshadow. She was given to wearing bright colors, generally accessorized with oversized pieces of costume jewelry. Today she’d encased her ample frame in aqua pedal pushers and a bold floral print shirt topped with a string of beads that could have inspired a mother hen to sit a while.

“What’s new with the gang?” asked Phyllis, by way of greeting.

A stack of the latest edition of the Pennysaver stood on the counter in front of her desk, practically hot off the press. Lucy picked one up and flipped through, making sure her byline was in all the right places. She grimaced, spotting a misspelled headline: APPEALS BORED DEBATES NEW ZONING REGS.

“They want to have a bake sale so the Hat and Mitten Fund can help families buy school supplies.”