Free Wreath of Deception by Mary Ellen Hughes Page A

don’t mind?”
    “Not at all. Just give me a minute to close up the shop.”
    The others said their good nights, and Deirdre helped Jo do a final straightening up before turning out her lights and locking up. When they left, Jo pointed out her Toyota, then led the way to the house, waving Deirdre, once she’d parked her Mercedes, into the garage.
    “I’ve set up my jewelry bench in this little built-in workroom,” she explained, pulling out her keys and unlocking its door. “I think one of the owners used it for a photography darkroom. It has good lighting and a lock, so I feel safe leaving my things in it.”
    “How very handy. What a cute little place you have here,” Deirdre said, referring to Jo’s house.
    Jo smiled, aware of her house’s shortcomings but satisfied with the rent. “It’s comfortable,” she said. She took Deirdre’s bracelet out and got to work, removing the broken clasp and replacing it with a new one. As promised, she finished the job quickly.
    “Wonderful!” Deirdre cried when Jo handed it back to her. “What do I owe you for this?”
    “Never mind,” Jo said. “It was my pleasure.”
    Deirdre protested, but Jo waved it away. “Just bring a few friends to the craft show if you like. I want Bob Gordon to be happy with the turnout.”
    “I surely will, then.” Deirdre paused, looking around. Jo got the feeling she hoped to be invited into the house.
    “Like to stay for a minute, for coffee perhaps?”
    Deirdre lit up. “Maybe just a minute, if it’s not too late for you?”
    It had been a long day, and Jo was feeling tired. But it wouldn’t kill her, she thought, to be a little hospitable. “We can go in through here.” Jo indicated the connecting door between the garage and her kitchen. Deirdre followed as Jo flipped on lights.
    “What a charming place,” Deirdre said, and Jo smiled once again, this time at the word “charming.” By now she was familiar with the buzzwords real estate people used for various properties. “Cozy fixer-upper” often translated as “run-down shack,” and “charming,” Jo thought, was code for “cheap but livable.” She hadn’t seen Deirdre’s house but could imagine something worthy of hiring a full-time housekeeper to manage. Jo made no apologies for her own living situation, though. It was within her means, it kept her out of the rain and cold, and, hopefully, it was temporary.
    “Regular or decaf?” Jo asked, going to her coffee cupboard.
    “You know, if you have something cold, that would be great.”
    “Sure.” Jo pulled open her refrigerator and looked in. “Iced tea?”
    “Great. Mind if I look around? I love old places like this.”
    “Not at all.” Jo poured out two glasses of tea and handed one to Deirdre. She led her to the living room.
    “Oh,” Deirdre cried, “you’re making a new wreath.” Jo had left her work-in-progress on the coffee table, her supplies scattered on the floor about it.
    “I’m working on a prototype for the next wreath-making class. This one’s a spring wreath, and I’ll probably hang it on the Craft Corner’s front door next March or so, to freshen up the seasonal look of the store.”
    “Wonderful idea. And I love what you’ve done so far with those pretty flowers—you’re so creative! I’ll have to sign up for that class, definitely.”
    Jo walked her about the rest of the house, and they chatted about some of the interesting features—at least Deirdre seemed to find them interesting—of the small house, such as the built-in bookcases in the living room, still mostly bare, and the stained-glass window in the powder room. Jo did like that but would have traded it in a flash for a rust-free sink.
    Jo began to wonder once more if Deirdre might be feeling a little lonely. Wasn’t her senator-husband around to go home to and chat with? Or perhaps Deirdre really did enjoy older houses. Maybe she was considering a career in real estate, or home makeovers, to fill her time. But