Asking for Trouble by Millie Criswell

Author:Millie Criswell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQN Books
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BETH HAD JUST ESCORTED the seventh and eighth guests of the day upstairs and reseated herself at her desk when the front door opened again.

Saturdays were usually busy, so she hadn’t been overly surprised by the steady influx of people that had arrived earlier that morning, though she was half tempted to hide under her desk to avoid another interruption. She’d been trying without much success to double-check Lori’s extensive grocery list for the restaurant’s opening, to make certain her chef hadn’t forgotten anything. She knew Lori was waiting anxiously for the go-ahead to place the order.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

At the sound of the familiar voice, chills skittered against Beth’s backbone like icy fingers, and her mouth suddenly went dry.

It couldn’t be! Please, God, don’t let it be!

Bolting to her feet, she caught a glimpse of the woman she dreaded seeing most in the world—her mother. “Mother, what on earth—” She needed this right now like she needed another crisis to avert.

Hell, who am I kidding? This is a crisis!

“Surprise, Beth! Are you happy to see me?” Margaret Shaw’s smile was filled with a touch of uncertainty, which surprised Beth. Margaret was nothing if not audacious, presumptuous and insensitive. “I’ve come to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with you and maybe Christmas, too.” Honestly, the woman had more chutzpah than a rabbi trying to convert a Christian to Judaism.

“Beth? Won’t that be fun?” Was she kidding? Since when had her mother ever been fun? Fun and Margaret uttered in the same breath was oxymoronic at its finest. “But I wasn’t expecting you. You didn’t call to let me know that you were coming. I’m not sure I can accommodate you. The inn is booked solid.”

“Don’t worry about that, sweetie. I’ve already reserved a room. My friend Elise Little called on my behalf and reserved a room under her name, so I could make this visit a complete surprise. I see by your expression that I’ve succeeded.”

Forcing a smile, Beth moved forward to hug her mother, who enveloped her tightly, and then asked, “Have you gained weight, Beth? Those jeans look rather tight on you.”

Counting to ten, twenty, and then finally thirty, Beth extricated herself from her mother’s hold. “I don’t really know. I haven’t weighed myself in years. I don’t even own a scale.” Owning a scale was an exercise in depression, and if Beth wanted to be depressed, she had only to talk to her mother or ex-husband.

“Isn’t that unusual? I weigh every morning without fail. If I gain even a pound, I diet until I lose it. That’s how I’ve kept myself looking so trim all these years. A woman alone has to—”

“Since when have you ever been alone, Mother?” Margaret Shaw was the kind of woman who didn’t do alone very well. Her mother needed someone—anyone—to harass or she couldn’t be happy. “What happened to Herb? I thought you two had gotten serious. At least, that’s what you said in your last letter.”

Brushing away from her face

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