“How about you, Paul?” said Shelly, who was sitting next to the mayor.

A young man with a broad, black, closely clipped mustache lifted both hands in protest. “I’ve got enough on my plate right now,” he said.

“How about you, Margot?” suggested Jill.

“No, no, I’m on three committees already, plus the shop. And now my sister is in town, so I’ll be busy with her—everyone, this is my sister, Betsy Devonshire, here on an extended visit.” She smiled at the mayor’s table. “I’d like you to consider her an honorary member of this committee, as she’ll be a big help to me on it.”

There were polite words of greeting from the other table, and an all-around murmur of agreement that Betsy could be a sort-of member; when it ended, Mayor Jamison said, “How ‘bout you, Joe?”

There was a sudden silence during which every head turned, oddly, toward Margot, who became interested in stirring her coffee.

A white-haired man seated across from Jamison said, “No time for that, thanks,” in a gruff voice.

The tension eased and Paul said, “Then how about you, Jill?”

“Not till I retire.” That brought chuckles; Jill was probably not yet thirty.

Betsy studied Joe curiously. His hair was thick and wavy, and looked as if it might once have been blond—his immense eyebrows were the color of sand, as were his old-fashioned bushy sideburns. He looked immensely strong, with a proud nose, wide mouth, and fierce eyes set well back under those eyebrows. Viking blood there, thought Betsy.

She glanced at Margot, who nodded once. So this was the evil landlord, Joe Mickels.

“How about you, Shelly?” This came from George Anderson, the inn’s owner, and Betsy was suddenly aware that he was seated between the two tables in a way that made him one of the group. And on the committee, apparently.

“How about you?” she countered.

“Well ...” he said, and everyone jumped happily on this sign of weakness.

“Oh, all right,” he said, and there was applause mixed with laughter.

George proved as deft at running a meeting as he was at serving tables, and soon the committee had agreed to hold the event at the Lafayette Country Club in a month’s time, offering a dance, buffet, cash bar, and silent auction.

“These silent auctions can be a big success,” said George, “but you’ve got to deliver the goods.” He pointed a finger at every member and asked him or her to pledge something of significant value to the auction and to badger friends and acquaintances to do the same. Margot offered a slash jacket. Shelly groaned with approbation, or acquisitiveness, as Betsy wondered what a “slash jacket” was. Hud offered a Dick Huss glass bowl, and this time the acquisitive sigh came from Margot. Jill offered sailing lessons next summer. The finger wavered, and Betsy, ashamed of being passed over, said she would contribute something, but would need time to think what it might be.

Joe Mickels offered a luxury weekend at a ski lodge; Shelly ten hours of private tutoring; George a getaway weekend at Christopher Inn, “including an afternoon of bass fishing.”