Adele was right on that point-I had never been on one of the retreats. I had been left in charge of the bookstore while Mrs. Shedd and Adele went. But I had already arranged to go this year as a participant and to help Mrs. Shedd. Why should it matter that I hadn’t gone before, anyway? I had put on countless author events. Yes, there had been a few problems, like the smoke alarm going off during a cookbook demo and the fire department showing up. Another time the men’s bathroom flooded when it turned out a fixit book author didn’t know quite how to fix it. But the sense of not knowing what was going to happen had turned out to be a benefit, and was attracting more and more people to the bookstore’s events.

It occurred to me that that sort of unpredictability might not transfer well to the retreat. But certainly I could get through four days without anything terrible happening. I was in my late forties, mature and able to handle things, right? Okay, I’d gotten involved in a few murders, but I’d managed to solve them, hadn’t I? Besides, there weren’t going to be any murders during the weekend. I simply wouldn’t allow it to happen.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Adele, but it’s a done deal,” I said, trying to end the discussion. I knew there was nothing I could say that could smooth things over. At least I now understood Adele’s over-the-top behavior. Once, when we had sat crocheting together in the kids’ department, she had opened up and told me her life story. It was kind of like Cinderella without Prince Charming, the fairy godmother, or the happy ending. All she’d gotten were the nasty stepmother and stepsisters.

But understanding her history didn’t mean her personality was always easy to take.

I sensed someone come up behind me. “Excuse me, ladies,” a female voice said. “Which one of you is Molly Pink?”