There was a collective sad sigh from the Monday Bunch.

“We can still get an ad in the weekly paper,” said the woman who had been picking up buttons and beads. “And maybe if we put up posters—is there a photo of her?”

Betsy shrugged. “I don’t know. I could look, I guess.”

“I’m sure there is,” said Jill; and to the bunch: “Remember those pictures Margot took at the Christmas party?”

That brought smiles and comments.

The humane-society volunteer said, “Give me the best one. I finally figured out how to use that scanner on my computer, and my son gave me a really nice publishing program for my birthday, so I can make up some attention-getting posters. We’ll put them up right away. Why, it wouldn’t be the same store without Sophie in it.” She looked around, saw the faces looking back, and a little silence fell. It wasn’t going to be the same no matter what, they all were thinking.

And Betsy didn’t have the heart right then to say there wasn’t going to be a shop at all.

9

The shop looked almost normal, if you didn’t look too close. Jill shut off the vacuum and one of the Monday Bunch pulled the plug. It was close to five o‘clock. They had turned away six people; one, a part-time employee, was coming tomorrow to help with inventory.

“Count up what you have left, how much is ruined, and all that,” said Jill, with a look in her eye that warned Betsy it still wasn’t time to tell anyone she planned to close the shop.

“I think—” Betsy started to say anyway, but was interrupted by another knock at the door.

This time it was a handsome man of about thirty with fine dark eyes. He was standing under a big black umbrella, though it had stopped raining. He was wearing a good gray suit and carrying a large briefcase that looked older than he was.

“Hello, Mr. Penberthy,” said Jill.

That was the name, this was Margot’s attorney. Betsy had meant to call him today but hadn’t gotten around to it.

“Ms. Devonshire?” he said, looking at Betsy.

“Yes?” she said.

“I was out of town, closing our cabin at the lake, and so missed this entire sad business of your sister’s death. I was shocked to hear the news, and I hope you will accept my belated condolences.” He spoke with a formality that somehow made him seem even younger.

“Thank you,” said Betsy.

He made his umbrella collapse. “I hope you don’t mind my just stopping by. I’ve been calling your apartment today without an answer, then someone told me you were in the shop.” He put down his briefcase while he fastened the umbrella shut. “I live right across the street from you, so I decided to stop on my way home. Perhaps you know, I was Margot’s attorney.”

“Yes, I’d heard your name; how do you do, Mr. Penberthy?” Betsy extended her hand.