TEA OR LEMON AID?

It was a rather lemony looking hat, wider on the left then on the right, completely covered with biggish, lemon colored feathers and a giant sun flower on the shallow side. Lolly Desjardin was besides herself and beamed like a light bulb underneath it's lemony brim. Said that "Lindsay felt this to be her finest creation". Iggy Braithwaite gushed all over herself, making an early and, I thought, premature pronouncement that she'd be passing the torch to Lolly this year. That is, the Most Beautiful Hat torch, if you will. Now I do adore Lolly, well who doesn't. And on a normal day, one that didn't involve stacking tea cups and longing for a sip of Earl Grey while realizing my dream of winning Most Beautiful Hat at the Malvern Races was diminishing with every lemon swoosh of Lolly's hat, I would be giddy with excitement for her, too. But I'm sure that they, Lolly and Iggy that is, must have noticed the complete drain of color from my face as soon as Lolly showed us her, I must admit, quite spectacular hat. I'd been working so hard on my hat, and here before my eyes was quite possibly the most glorious, lemon colored creation that a head could wear. Maeve Huckleberry wore a somewhat similar, pink creation two years ago at the Point to Point races, and blabbered on endlessly about how some famous hat man in London made the thing especially for her. Unfortunately, this famous hat man neglected to build something to hide Maeve's rather unfortunate looking mug. Therefore, I believe he completely failed in his mission.

Now Lolly is such a pretty girl, one wouldn't want a hat to cover her smiley face. And happy as she was, well you can imagine the pickle it placed me when she asked about storing the thing in my cedar closet. "I'm so dreadfully frightened that The Burglar might abscond with it," she nearly quivered. Iggy shook her head emphatically in agreement, reminding us that he'd, The Burglar that is, taken off with her would be entry to this year's competition. "Don't know what I'll do now," Iggy almost sobbed, "Huston says I spend too much money on hats to begin with, and that I should just wear the one from last year since it was so successful. He really doesn't understand a thing!" And we all agreed. He's a darling man, but like most men, he can be a bit daffed when it comes to important things like the Hat Competition.

Now the thing about being magnanimous, which is precisely what I believe I was being, is that you can't actually go out and brag of your magnanimosity, now can you? What would I say, "oh hallo, I've just given over my house as a safe haven for Lolly Desjardin's most glorious Hat competition entry, absolutely blinding my dream of snagging that honor with an original creation of my own". And speaking of my original creation, I'd been spending absolutely bundles of time on it, and you know, I think the thing is no where close to being a finished product. I'd left the project in the able hands of Mr Heung, over at The Second Hand, you know. And between the two of us, we'd clipped the man made tails off nearly a dozen second hand stuffed animals and statuettes with the plan of reattaching them to the brim of a very smart looking hat I'd located in the shop. If I remember correctly, we had at least one faux rabbit tail, a purple dinosaur tail, a small number of faux cat and dogish type tails and a most rigid piece from the rear of a plastic horse. Mr. Heung had taken on the task of attaching these tails in an artistic fashion of which he assures me he is most talented. And I do absolutely believe him as he has been so excited about the project. That is until I introduced him to that Veronic girl. Lovely sweet girl, if a tad tawdry in her outfits, but none the less, quite a nice girl. And you see, this brings me really to the dilemma I sat in the middle of at this moment. As much as I adored myself for the arrangement I managed to create at The Second Hand, it was at the moment leaving me rather hat less. After all, the Malvern Races were right around the proverbial corner, I was staring at the giddy, happy and gloriously hatted face of Lolly Desjardin as my head was moving up and down in agreement while she, Lolly that is, placed her lemon prize into a large shopping bag, provided by the ever eavesdropping Constance Cortnoy, and handed it to me for a vigilant safe keeping. I suppose a second place finish might be nice, if indeed the committee chose to award such a thing.

But the point here is that I believe Mr. Heung has become a bit forgetful towards my hat. Now I do admit that fabulous things had been going on at The Second Hand since I'd introduced that Veronica girl to the situation. She'd managed to create actual departments in the store. Where once you could find a vintage Lilly Pulitzer along side a baby bassinet, Veronica had staged a Ladies boutique to the right front of the store, jewelry smack dab in the center, Menswear to the front left and so forth and so on. Not to mention the bright dabs of color she'd painted on the walls and bright, happy lime green trim. Flubberheaded as I am, this all reminded me that Veronica gave me a hand scribbled ad to place in The Weekly, announcing that every Wednesday afternoon, High Tea would be served at The Second Hand. I couldn't wait for that and was so dreadfully proud to show Mr. Petigrew the business I was bringing The Weekly.

"A paid advertisement," I told him triumphantly. I must have bragged just a tad too much about how I masterminded the whole plot, looked like love and all that, for Mr. Petigrew grew into a foul mood and stormed off into his office, refusing to take calls. Which really is too bad, I had such a good idea to run by him. But in that mood, Sue-Nancy Quigley suggested, better not to bother him at all. So, as Sue-Nancy suggested, I decided not to bother Mr. Petigrew and to just go ahead and print my column with this new twist:

Dear Mr. Burglar,
I must say that I am an absolute fan of yours. I imagine you to be very busy, but a talented man with a special kindness towards animals. All things wonderful with that. Be that as it may, I've a special object in my home that I'm keeping safe for a dear friend and I would be most appreciative if you held off from nicking it until after the Malvern Races.
Thank you so much, you dear man and good luck,
Veronica

A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC

Now the thing that made last Tuesday so special wasn't just how glorious the sun was that day, or the absolutely gorgeous canopy that the Cherry Blossoms created along Overlook Lane, but obviously it was just how perfect things worked out for Mr. Heung and that Veronica girl. You see, I started to become most concerned about Eliahas Wayne's insurance man. Mr. Kuflick I believe him to be.

You may even think that Eliahas was a tad understated in his description of Mr. Kuflick, that is if you had actually heard the entire description. Suffice it to say, it was long and detailed and not a bit shy of being unmannerly. But that's Eliahas. He doesn't mean it, really. That's just the way things seem to come out of Eliahas' mouth. He's a talk first, think second sort. But a darn good violinist, you know. He plays in a string quartet and Charlie and I have had the pleasure to be guests at several recitals at Eliahas and Katerina's home. Lovely couple, really. A bit no frills. Well, except for the violin. And don't you see that is why Mr. Kuflick has presented such a dilemma for Eliahas.

Now as I understand it, and mind you I've had some coaching from Isabel so I think I'm quite straight on this. Anyway, Eliahas' violin was quite priceless, having been a one of a kind. I suppose it is still one of a kind and priceless, but unfortunately it can no longer be found in the Wayne's house. It was 'lifted' apparently by The Burglar. I do wonder if Mr. Burglar plays the violin. He is such a fascinating and talented man, you know, I wouldn't hesitate to doubt his violin abilities.

But the point here is that Eliahas Wayne's custom made, quite priceless violin has been lifted and there's quite an investigation into this by his insurance man, Mr. Kuflick. Mr. Kuflick is apparently not a musical man and has some misgivings about the value Eliahas has placed on this particular musical instrument. Now I must admit, having seen Mr. Kuflick I am not at all surprised by his lack of musical anything. I was enjoying a cup of Hazelnut coffee at The Gryphon with Isabel, Lolly and Katerina when Katerina pointed him out, Mr. Kuflick that is, walking along Lancaster Avenue. He was a bit hunched over, you know, but as a thin man that sort of thing does happen. But really what an unhappy stroll he had. Absolutely no music to his step and I found myself feeling just a tad sorry for this Mr. Kuflick. Afterall, dealing with Eliahas, that is if you are unaccustomed to Eliahas' ways, I imagine could be a bit uncomfortable.

Well I am sure you can imagine how shocked and horrified I was to see this tiny little man with no pep in his stride heading straight for the entrance of The Second Hand. Why I nearly knocked the entire table of coffee's onto poor Lolly's lap. Really so good of her to catch them all as I darted out of The Gryphon and on over to The Second Hand. Why whatever was this Mr. Kuflick up to, I muttered to myself. I don't even recall when it was that Isabel caught up to me with her plan. She's just so devilishly smart, you know. Both of us worried to bits, I'm sure you can imagine, about what that Mr. Kuflick might find in The Second Hand. I know that I've not seen a violin in the store lately, but who can tell, really.

But the point is that we, Isabel and I that is, had a plan. Isabel would hide anything that looked a bit familiar, you know, something that could have been lifted. While I was just anxious to translate for Mr. Heung. We managed to catch our breath, the two of us, before we pretended to saunter into the store.

"Lovely day, isn't it Abigail?" Isabel smiled and proclaimed as we entered.

"Oh yes, it's a pleasure to be outside, isn't it?" I added.

"Oh, what a glorious necklace here, " Isabel called over to me as she held up a rather ghastly and ornate thing.

"I'm sure that I've never seen anyone in town ever wear that," I answered back with a cheery voice.

"I'm certain you haven't," Isabel responded, but with just a tad bit too much sarcasm in her voice. Why, when I caught the look on her face and saw her curled up lip I had to bite my own for fear I'd laugh.

Good thing I did, bite my lip that is, for if I'd been laughing I never would have heard Mr. Kuflick saying to Mr. Heung, "If you keep playing games with me, sir, I'll involve our law department."

I hurried over to the counter as Mr. Heung shot me a look of confusion.

"I don't mean to interrupt," I said as I smiled at Mr. Kuflick and patted his hand, tight fisted as it was against the counter. "maybe I can be of assistance. I'm a very, very good customer and know just about every piece of merchandise in the store. You see, " and I smiled at Mr. Heung, "Mr. Heung speaks mostly Korean and unless you do to, I'm afraid you'll rather have to get into the spirit of it."

Well Mr. Kuflick started sputtering out something unfriendly, looking rather like Mr. Petigrew does when he gets those migraines of his. But Isabel glided over, you know how graceful she is, well she glided up to his side and extended her hand, which he had no choice, really, but to shake.

"Why you're that insurance man I've heard such marvelous things about, aren't you?" Isabel gushed, and he shook his head a bit and attempted to answer but by that point, Isabel had his arm and was walking him towards the used book section. "Just such a fascinating job you have," she was saying and then much to my surprise I heard her ask Mr. Kuflick "would you speak at my Women's Club. We'd be absolutely enthralled by your stories." And then she invited him to a meeting that I knew had been devoted entirely to our tea cup drive.

I'm sure that Isabel saw the startled expression on my face as she walked Mr. Kuflic out of The Second Hand and over towards our club house. That left me with poor, confused Mr. Heung and, much to my horror, a positively exquisite violin that I was sure I'd seen on the playing shoulder of Eliahas Wayne. Really, I had not idea how to act any of this out for Mr. Heung. So, I quickly rang Babson and she came right over with her check book.

Well, we were one up on silent auction items for the fabulous party that Babson would throw to raise money for our local animal shelter. But there was still the situation of Mr. Heung and the police and now this insurance man coming round. One false move on Mr. Heung's part, and I do mean move because, you know, he hardly speaks a lick of English, so it's all moves. Anyway, the point here is that something had to be done to help protect Mr. Heung from the police and this insurance man. They really should be looking for The Burglar and not bothering a sweet, hard working immigrant. Although, I'm not entirely certain I want them to catch The Burglar. Really, what would happen to the poor man.

And that is when I ran into Veronica. Absolutely, completely ran smack into her. Why neither of us had been looking where we were going and 'bang'. We both fell backwards. Me in my natty capri's and Taryn Rose flats. She in a tiny little skirt and three inch heals. I've a good guess she got the worst of it. A bit teary eyed she was. Said she'd just come from The Weekly and that I could "have it". Which, now, I found rather strange because really anyone can have a copy. They're free, you know. But I sensed there was more to Veronica's dilemma and I suggested she'd had a bit of a tough time, job wise, and that maybe - and here is where I became completely brilliant - I suggested with her style that a career in Women's clothing seemed a fabulous idea.

She perked up just a bit in time for me to yank her off of the sidewalk and march her back towards The Second Hand.

"I've got a friend," I told her, "with an absolutely charming little store that needs a smart, female touch." And it really does, you know. Poor Mr. Heung does try, but he's no idea how to present some of his merchandise.

"Don't be dismayed," I said when I saw the ghastly look on her face as we entered the store, "you'll turn this into the chicest boutique in town in no time. Just don't change the dress sizes."

"And it's down the street from The Weekly, too." she said with an odd smirk.

Well you can imagine how excited Mr. Heung was to meet Veronica and how pleased he was with my idea that he take her on at The Second Hand. He was a bit confused, at first, by me calling her Veronica. You see, in the past few weeks Mr. Heung has grown accustomed to me being Veronica. At least, that is, to me being Dear Veronica. He pointed at me with a look of question and said "Dear Abby?". Which, I think, has a nice ring to it and so we laughed and kept it at that.

When I finally left, absolutely aching from what seemed an entire day's worth of dancing and acting at The Second Hand, I left two very happy people behind. Veronica turned a radio on and she and Mr. Heung were dancing away. I really don't know if they were just dancing or trying to tell each other something, but they certainly both seemed quite enthralled.

I was feeling quite pleased with myself when I dropped my column off the next week. I'd helped to steer that insurance man away from The Second Hand. And if he came back again, Veronica would be there to discuss things with him. And you know, she's really much smarter than I thought. I've no idea why Mr. Petigrew has such a difficult time helping her to find work. I'd managed it in less then ten minutes. And it seems that Veronica and Mr. Heung have really been enjoying their arrangement. I understand they close shop early and have dinner together quite often. I've really no idea why Mr. Petigrew seemed so peculiarly annoyed that day, having run into Veronica at The Gryphon and met her new boss. Should have been quite happy, I'd think.

But alas, Mr. Petigrew may just be a project for another day.

Dear Veronica,
My neighbor gets up very late at night and goes out for hours, then comes home even later at night and makes all kinds of noise banging round his garage. The man's wife is even worse, yelling "that's not enough," and "you have to go back for it" at all hours of the night. And then the other night he began practicing the violin. It was past midnight. I don't even know what song he was trying to play. Should I leave him a note?
Sleepy

Dear Sleepy,
I think you should just ask him in person. That way, you might be able to make a request, at least if he knows the song that you're requesting.
Veronica