She opened the apartment door to look out and see who had such an urgent need to see her.

In just seconds Irene Potter’s excited face appeared in the stairwell, and when she saw Betsy waiting, she raised a thin arm to shake a wet umbrella at her. “I’m so glad to find you at home, Betsy!” she said, rushing up the stairs. “I have something exciting to tell you; I just could not wait!”

Betsy had to step aside or be sluiced down by Irene’s wet raincoat as she brushed by.

Irene trotted into the living room, shedding water all the way and exclaiming about the weather and her breathless state. “I hurried over because I was afraid someone else might be talking to you, and I wanted to be the first if I could—” She stopped in mid-sentence to stare. “Why, Mr. Mickels, what are you doing here?”

“This is my building, I can come here if I like,” he growled.

“Do you mean to tell me that you often call on your tenants?” Irene demanded, her tone suggesting she had a personal interest in his answer.

“I have business to discuss with Ms. Devonshire,” he said, a little more mildly.

“Why, I’m here on business, too.” Irene turned to Betsy. “No doubt you have heard that I am quite an expert needleworker,” she began in a reasonable tone, but excitement got the better of her and she continued all in a rush, “and I want you to know that I have some private financial resources, and a great deal of experience in running a small business as both an employee of Crewel World and as former manager of Debbie’s Gifts, so when you are ready to sell Margot’s shop, I know you will give me right of first refusal.”

“I’m tearing down the building,” announced Mickels.

“What? What? But that would spoil everything!”

“If it spoils some nutty plan you’ve concocted, then I’m twice as glad I can do what I like with my own property.”

Irene approached Mickels like a cat approaching a dog, but the man stood his ground. She came so close her forehead was nearly touching his nose. Then she lifted her face to his—for an instant Betsy was horrified to think she was going to lay a big wet one right on his lips—but she only said with quiet certainty, “I am going to be the new owner of the best needlework shop in this part of the state, maybe in the whole state, and if you get in my way, I’ll hurt you!”

This statement was in such marked contrast to Betsy’s first thought that she giggled. Both of them turned on her.

“What’s so funny?” they asked in near unison.

“The both of you,” said Betsy. “You’re both hilariously wrong. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the shop, but I doubt I will sell it to you, Ms. Potter; and until I decide, and so long as the lease is in effect, you can’t evict me, Mr. Mickels.”