Antiques Fate by Barbara Allan Read Free Book Online Page B

Millie.”
    â€œ What proceeds?” Digby snorted. “That event has always lost money—broken even at best.”
    Mother cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but, ladies and gentlemen? I do have a contract with the New Vic . . .”
    Which she hadn’t gotten around to signing.
    â€œ. . . that would have to be honored whether I perform or not. So you might as well have me perform, and take the opportunity to honor Millie with a precurtain eulogy.”
    The trustees exchanged looks. Then spokeswoman Celia said, “Good points, Mrs. Borne.”
    Father Cumberbatch, who’d been quietly listening, now spoke. “I would be happy to give a short benediction honoring Millie before the play begins. That is, if anyone is concerned about appearances or propriety.”
    â€œBless you, Father,” Mother said.
    â€œA splendid suggestion,” Barclay said.
    Nods all around.
    Celia asked, “Shall we vote on proceeding with the play?”
    It was unanimous; the show would go on.
    Just as Millie had asked . . .
    Mother clapped her hands like a birthday girl being given a pony. “I promise you to deliver the most unforgettable performance of my theatrical life!”
    A tall order, if this one really did beat her tumbling into the orchestra pit during a musical version of Everybody Loves Opal and getting her foot stuck in the tuba.
    The door to the Community Center opened, and a slender figure blew in—Chad Marlowe. He had exchanged his black T-shirt and jeans for a suit—also black. Tie, too.
    He strode right up to the table of trustees.
    â€œWhy wasn’t I informed of this meeting?” he demanded. “As my grandmother’s only living relative, I am entitled to take her place on the board.”
    The trustees exchanged wary glances.
    Finally Celia spoke. “Chad, we did not wish to intrude at this sad moment. But we would like to offer our sincere sympathy in the death of—”
    â€œSkip it,” he snapped. “Why wasn’t I notified ?”
    â€œDear boy,” Barclay intoned pompously, “as Celia has indicated, we did not want to bother you at this difficult time. Besides—”
    â€œOh, I’m sure that’s it,” Chad replied caustically.
    â€œI was going to say,” Barclay went on huffily, “that your appointment to the board isn’t official until our next regular meeting, which is on Wednesday, at which time you will be duly installed and granted all of the rights and privileges of any trustee. That is our procedure.”
    â€œOh . . .” The young man shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Then . . . you’ll be contacting me about the time of the meeting and what to expect?”
    â€œCertainly,” said Celia.
    No one offered anything more.
    Chad turned to leave, then swung back. “One other thing. You might like to know my position on incorporating the town.” He paused for effect. “It may surprise you, since all of you know I’m personally in favor of a better future for York. But just the same, I plan on honoring my grandmother’s position against incorporation.” He smiled, and what lay behind it was unclear. “Why? Because I know she would have wanted me to.”
    After hearing Chad grouse about the lack of innovation at the theater, for which he very much blamed his grandmother, I found his decision surprising, to say the least.
    And it obviously shocked the trustees, as well, only this was not unanimous: Celia, Digby, and the priest wore frowns, while Flora and Barclay were smiling.
    â€œSee you at the meeting next week,” Chad said with mock cheer.
    And he was gone.
    Digby growled, “That means we’ll still be stuck in deadlock.”
    â€œThree for,” Celia muttered, “three against.”
    Father Cumberbatch sighed, “And nothing in Old York will change.”
    The informal meeting concluded, everyone slowly filing