The Postman Always Purls Twice Read Free Page B

she’d signed with the production company, giving them permission to use the space. She just hadn’t read it closely enough the first time, Suzanne pointed out.
    As she rounded the turn on Main Street, she would have thought a town holiday was in full swing—the annual tree lighting or Founder’s Day parade. Blocks away from her shop and not a parking space to be found.
    She was feeling rather hopeless, wondering if she had to park down at the harbor, when she spotted a car pulling out. She quickly steered into the space and grabbed her belongings.
    Once on the sidewalk, she found herself in a stream of walkers, headed in the same direction, most chatting eagerly, some practically running. All hoping to spot movie stars, as if they were creatures in the wild. Many had field glasses and cameras slung around their neck. Some even carried knapsacks and lawn chairs, prepared for a long wait. Such devotion. She was amazed.
    The line of cars on Main Street quickly gave way to a row of very large, box-shaped trucks and white RV-type trailers. Many busy and official-looking people were climbing in and out of the trucks that held mysterious equipment and large black cases and boxes.
    But quite a few of the movie people were just milling about, looking over silver clipboards and chatting with each other. Or speaking into the headsets that were wound around their heads. They paid little mind to the onlookers. They were used to doing their jobs with an audience, Maggie realized.
    A deep crowd had already assembled around the front of the shop, spilling out onto the street. Wooden barriers—set up by either the movie people or the village police?—stood around the perimeter of the property, keeping the fans at a reasonable distance. The white picket fence that enclosed the property helped, too.
    She always welcomed the first sight of her shop. A wide porch wrapped around the front and long windows that were trimmed with wooden shutters. Stark looking at this time of year, but it would soon be covered with flowers, the window boxes filled, hanging pots trailing petunias, along with the garden blooming in front.
    Phoebe, who attended a local college part time in addition to working for Maggie, lived in an apartment upstairs. A convenient arrangement. Though not today, with all the noise so early, Maggie realized. Her young friend could sleep until noon on days she was not due at school or downstairs to work. Sometimes, even when she was.
    As Maggie approached, she felt a small pang in her heart, as if seeing a friend in some distress, but not knowing how to help her.
    Don’t worry, you’ll be all right, Maggie told the shop silently. I know it seems like an invasion of ruffians, but it will all be over soon. Then you’ll have fun telling the story. Isn’t that what her friends had promised her? More or less?
    Maggie was thankful for the wooden barriers, keeping some of the barbarians at the gate. It had been a long winter and tender green shoots were just starting to sprout in the flower beds that rimmed the walk and the edges of the fence and porch. She did fear for their survival.
    She was glancing around, wondering if anyone was there yet, when she felt a firm grasp on her shoulder.
    â€œMaggie . . . we’ve been waiting for you.”
    Suzanne stood right behind her, dressed for her role of Real Estate Lady to the Stars in brand-new black skinny jeans, a slim leather jacket, and a fine peach-colored scarf she knit herself in Maggie’s ribbon yarn class. The color set off her dark brown hair and big brown eyes perfectly. Huge designer sunglasses that hid half her face were the finishing touch. Even though the sun had barely risen past the horizon.
    â€œI almost didn’t recognize you . . . Are you hiding from the paparazzi, too?”
    Suzanne ignored the question and grabbed her arm. “You just missed Jennifer Todd. She came out of her trailer and walked into the