Vickie chuckled as she refilled their mugs. “By a thirteen-year-old. I told you that kid was ahead of her years.”

Vickie had called Zoey over to her place that afternoon to check the ice dispenser on her refrigerator, but it was only clogged with a few ice cubes. Something Zoey suspected Vickie could have taken care of herself.

“She knew if she showed me twenty expensive ideas that I’d reject most of them, but that she’d also get some of them. And that black ceiling is obviously something she really wants.”

“Black is a trendy color for interiors right now. Lorraine Mansfield...she has that giant dark red Victorian down the road? Well, I was there for a festival committee meeting a month ago and they’ve done the entire entry hall with matte black walls. Not my taste, but they framed a few large paintings in heavy gilt frames and I have to admit it looked like something straight out of a home design magazine.”

“We both know how trendy my daughter is, and how expensive her taste is. That upholstered bed she wanted was eight thousand dollars. I’m not paying thousands for a sparkly bed in a room that’ll be empty when she heads to college in five years.”

Vicky looked thoughtful. “I might be able to help you with that. Come with me.”

Zoey followed her upstairs and into one of Vickie’s guest rooms. There was a towering upholstered bed against the wall. Vickie gestured toward it. “I’ve always thought that bed was too ornate for a guest room. It was a gift from my second mother-in-law, but I’d like something simpler in here. Hazel can have it if you think it meets her standards.”

Vickie ran her hand over the tufted gold brocade on the headboard. “It looks dated now, but if we glue some big crystals over the buttons in the tufting, and run some sparkly trim around the edging on the top, I bet it’ll be glitzy enough even for Hazel.”

It definitely had potential. “Vickie, I can’t let you just give us a bed. Put a price on it and I’ll buy it.”

Her suggestion clearly offended Vickie. “I can give my goddaughter’s daughter an old, outdated bed if I want to. Either you take it or I’ll donate it to the charity shop at St. Vincent’s.”

She knew Vickie would do it, too, if only out of spite. But still...

“What if Hazel does something to the fabric? Spills nail polish or grape juice or...”

“Is Hazel in the habit of splashing nail polish around?”

“No.”

“Does she drink grape juice in bed?”

“Not that I know of, but—”

Vickie held up her hand. “Then stop worrying. All we need to do is get it from here to your house.”