7 Madness in Miniature Read Online Free PDF Page B

was held back once more, with Catherine pressing on my hand. A signal: Wait, Gerry. Not so fast.
    Craig Palmer pushed through the entrance to Sadie’s the way movie cowboys of yore swaggered into saloons, leaving the half doors swinging behind them and stopping all conversation cold.
    I was surprised he didn’t say, “Howdy,” but rather, “Catherine, I’ve been trying to call you. Your phone is off.”
    “Oh, I muted it,” Catherine said, adding a nervous apology.
    “And someone left the door to the street open.”
    “I’ll take care of it right away,” Catherine said.
    “I locked it myself. You know we had to send the cameras back to the alarm company, so it’s even more important to keep all the doors locked.” He lowered his voice once he realized that the hoods of Lincoln Point might be listening and ready to take advantage of an unmonitored store.
    I found myself channeling Bebe, thinking, Maybe if you’d used a local alarm company instead of signing a contract with New York … I was glad Craig was paying no attention to me.
    Catherine, looking deflated, with good reason, stood and tried to make a comeback. She cleared her throat and announced, “Craig, this is Geraldine Porter. I’ve told you about her invaluable assistance with this project.”
    At times like this, I was grateful for my height. My taller-than-average build came in handy when there was potential for intimidation. Palmer and I were almost at eye level. I could tell he was much younger than I was, about the same age as Catherine, but I noticed that the patches of gray in his brown hair were a close match to mine. Aging quickly, I thought. If I were disposed to wear heels higher than two inches, I’d have passed him up.
    Palmer gave me a distracted smile and offered his hand. “Yes, Catherine tells me you’ve been a big help with the locals,” he said, looking over my shoulder. Was he choosing an ice cream flavor from the chest? I doubted it. Thinking up more perks for the locals? I doubted that, too. More like reviewing whatever agenda he had with Catherine.
    I shook his hand, then quickly withdrew mine and offered it to the young woman in his wake. “I’m Gerry Porter,” I said. “Did you just come in from New York also?”
    The small woman seemed surprised to have been noticed but recovered in time to nod and say that her name was Megan Sutley. “Mr. Palmer’s administrative assistant,” she said. As if I couldn’t tell.
    “This isn’t exactly the place for a business meeting,” Palmer said, looking around at Sadie’s latest attempt at a lighthearted ambience.
    I wholeheartedly disagreed, but I had to admit that Sadie had gone overboard, using her extra money for over-the-top redecorating. She’d never intended her ice cream parlor to be used for serious boardroom talk. The most extreme new attraction was a large booth at the back of the shop. Formerly bright pink vinyl, the booth was now the color and design of a waffle cone, adorned with a giant molded plastic replica of the top of a sundae, including fudge sauce dripping over vanilla ice cream topped with whipped cream, multicolored sprinkles, and a huge cherry. I decided it should be called a maxi-sundae, the opposite of miniature, and thought of the latest room box project Maddie and I had started: a miniature ice cream parlor, of the black-and-white-tile floor variety, with posters of mouthwatering treats on the walls.
    While I was mentally shaping tiny scoops of ice cream from polymer clay, Palmer had decided to take the meeting back to SuperKrafts. I wondered why the big man had bothered to cross the street in the first place, instead of sending his admin to fetch Catherine. Unless it was to embarrass her. I cut off my speculation—who was I to try to understand the corporate world?
    I said good-bye and placed an order to go—a small cup of summer berry for me and a brownie sundae with extra nuts and no cherry for Maddie. I added a chocolate shake for her