Julianna Morris - Undercover In Glimmer Creek

Tessa nodded. “Thanks, Charlotte. It’s fine to go back inside now.”

“Heavens, I know that. I’ve never seen so much drama in my life—one of our guild members from the East Coast yelled for everybody to run outside, and it practically started a stampede. I wouldn’t even get out of bed for a quake this small.”

“I can’t imagine an earthquake daring to wake you up,” Tessa teased.

The older woman chuckled and marched off with her clipboard.

“That’s a very impressive lady,” Gabe murmured.

“She certainly is. I’ve always—”

“Ms. Connor, where’s Jamie? I can’t find her,” interrupted an anxious voice.

“Take it easy, Lance, Jamie is fine.” Tessa patted the young man’s arm. “I heard her status reported over the radio. She was giving a tour to a school group and has taken them to the general store for lemonade.”

The alarm on Lance Beckley’s face began to fade, and his breathing slowed. “Oh.” He looked at Gabe. “I wasn’t scared, except for Jamie. Honest.”

Gabe didn’t know why the kid had wanted to make the assertion to him—they’d spoken only a few times—but he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Lance, I want you to report to Polly Murphy,” Tessa said. “She’s coordinating in Old City Hall and will let you know if there’s something you need to do.”

“Okay.”

Lance left, and they headed first to the historic church, then to the Gold Rail Hotel. Most of the occupants had gone to the guild’s meet and greet, though a few remained in the downstairs parlor—primarily husbands who’d already called their wives to check on them and had returned to relaxing with their newspapers. While focused on the task at hand, Gabe also noted that Tessa carried a master key, giving her access to all rooms in the historic building.

From there they went to the Glimmer Creek Train Depot. It was quiet, with historic re-creations and discreet exhibits about early California railroad history on the ground level.

“The Beckley kid sure overreacted,” Gabe commented as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

“He was worried about Jamie.”

“There wasn’t any cause for concern. The other day he mentioned growing up in California, so he must have experienced earthquakes.”

“I think it’s sweet that his first thought was for Jamie’s safety,” Tessa murmured, opening doors and looking into each office.

She really was a sentimentalist, or else putting on a darned good act.

“You don’t know it was his first thought,” Gabe retorted. “He might have just told you what you wanted to hear.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you always this cynical?”

“I’m just being realistic.”

“That isn’t what I call it.”

A static burst came over the radio, followed by a report to Tessa that two large pottery planter pots had knocked together and cracked in the garden at the Victorian Cat.

Damage to a garden feature seemed inconsequential, but the expression on Tessa’s face tightened. “Thanks, Aunt Polly. How are the cats?”

“They seem to be fine, but Mrs. Canter asked if you could stop by when you have a chance. Moby Dick is hiding, and she wants to be sure that he’s all right.”

“Will do. The train depot is clear.”

“That’s everything, then. The city building inspector is doing a walk-through, but he doesn’t anticipate any issues,” explained the woman on the other end of the radio. “Are you, um, going over to see your dad?”

Tessa pressed a finger to her temple. “After I stop in at the guild’s meet and greet and before I check on Moby Dick. Is Pop at the VC?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.” Tessa glanced at her watch. “Will you also call Sarah and see if she has additional munchies available to put out at the concert hall? It might improve the mood over there.”

“Already done. Talk to you later.”

Gabe stayed with Tessa as she walked toward the concert hall again. “Who is Sarah?” he asked.

“What?” Tessa gave him a distracted look. “Oh, one of my cousins. She has a bakery and catering business. We have a contract with her to provide all the food and beverages served at Poppy Gold.”

Gabe thought about the interrelations of family working for the conference center. Having so many people intimately connected meant more potential cohorts who might be willing to look the other way in case of wrongdoing. Even when appalled by their behavior, people often hesitated to blow the whistle on a relative.

The old town square park was quiet once more, and they found everyone back in the concert hall. A few were nervously discussing the earthquake, but most were chatting about the upcoming conference and classes. Contrary to what he would have expected, a number of them were fairly young.

“I thought everyone from a craft organization would be a grandmotherly type,” he commented when he and Tessa were back outside.

“Don’t say that to anyone in there,” she advised hastily. “The guild gets all ages. People are fascinated by American patchwork. It’s one of the few art forms that originated in the United States. My mom used to have weekly quilting bees, and our guests loved attending.”

“You aren’t going to revive the custom yourself?”

“When I have more time. Possibly this fall. You should head back to Maintenance now,” Tessa suggested as they crossed the street.

“I thought we were teaming up for the rest of the day on earthquake tasks.” Gabe tried to make the comment sound innocent. He was having trouble getting a handle on Tessa, so an excuse to spend the afternoon with her was a windfall.

“We were only teamed for the building checks following the earthquake.”

“I should still check with your father to see if he wants me to work on the parking lots, or if there’s something more critical now.”

* * *

WHILE IT WAS a valid consideration, frustration welled in Tessa. She wanted to talk to her dad in private. Liam was unpredictable these days, but it was a fair guess that he’d be unhappy about any damage at the Victorian Cat. It had been the first place her parents had restored when they were developing Poppy Gold, and they’d lived in the apartment there until she was four.

On the other hand, maybe it would help to have Gabe around. The two men obviously got along well, though Tessa wasn’t sure what Pop saw in the former navy man. They were complete opposites. Her father, despite the realities of running a large bed-and-breakfast business, still had faith in people, while Gabe seemed to be a hard-nosed skeptic with the sensitivity of a bulldozer.

“All right,” she acceded reluctantly.

Tessa walked swiftly toward the Victorian Cat. The earthquake, however minor, had disrupted a busy afternoon, but at least the staff’s emergency-preparedness training had paid off.

“Hey, Pop,” she called as she entered the garden and saw him cutting faded roses from a bush.

He smiled, though he still looked melancholy. The broken ginger jar–style pots were nearby. They were tall and made of fired cobalt pottery. Seven of them surrounded a birdbath, with flowers spilling over the sides. A smug brass cat sat in the middle of the water, as if daring any bird to come for its daily bath.

It was one of the focal points her mother had created in the gardens at Poppy Gold, and a pang went through Tessa. The rounded sides of two pots had smacked together, and nearly identical chunks of pottery had broken off, exposing the soil inside.

“We were lucky—it looks as if this is the only damage,” she said, determinedly upbeat. “But it’s okay. We can turn the pots so the breaks are pointed toward the birdbath until we get them repaired or replaced. The holes won’t be visible once the trailing flowers grow out more.”