Page 40 of Easton Island: A Wedding to Remember

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. “You won’t print the story?”

“Nope. What did you say the customer’s name was?”

“Edward Ryze.”

“His name sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Maybe you read the story. Toronto Renaissance Gallery is the other art gallery who paid money to make him go away.”

“That sounds familiar, as well.” Priscilla reached for a pad of paper and pen. “I must be getting soft in my old age.”

“Or maybe you’re realizing the Easton family isn’t as evil as you thought.” Morgan clasped her hands. “This means a lot to me, to Grandmother. She has so much on her plate right now, dealing with negative publicity will only add to her stress level.”

“She’s down to the wire for the wedding of the century, at least by Easton Island standards,” Priscilla said.

“Grandmother mentioned you the other day and seemed excited about you being there.”

A look of surprise flitted across Priscilla’s face. “She was?”

Morgan nodded. “She still considers you a part of the family.”

The woman’s eyes watered. She quickly looked away. “It seems this past year I’m finally figuring out what’s important.”

“One of them being letting go of old grudges.” Morgan slowly stood. “Thank you. I know printing a juicy story about the gallery would sell a few papers.”

“It would. However, I intend to keep my promise.”

Morgan exited the office. She called Chester to her side, replaying the brief conversation in her head, more than a little shocked that Priscilla had agreed not to write the story. “I can’t believe it, Chester. She has a heart, after all.”

Chapter 16

Mrs. Arnsby and Morgan fell into step, strolling across Easton Estate’s driveway to the cook’s small apartment, more accurately described as half of a duplex, the other side of which was occupied by Jax. “I was hoping you could show me what Chester’s wedding outfit looks like, if possible.”

“More than possible,” Morgan quipped. “I have a picture on my phone. I did a little research online and found several companies who sell small leather boxes that would attach to his collar. They look fancy-schmancy. Reviewers biggest complaint was that they were a little bulky. I want him to be comfortable.”

“Another way of saying, you want to make sure he won’t try pulling it off and risk losing the rings,” the cook joked.

“You know how finnicky he can be about his clothing. I figured with your creativity we could come up with a custom ring box.” Morgan patted her pocket. “I’ll pay you for it.”

Mrs. Arnsby waved dismissively. “I don’t want money. It will be a labor of love.”

“A labor of love, but worth your expertise,” Morgan said. “I insist. If not, I’ll buy a box online and hope for the best.”

“We can’t have that. You twisted my arm. I’ll take a small payment.”

“For the materialsandyour labor.”

Chester strutted inside, acting as if he owned the place.

“He’s made himself at home here,” Morgan joked. “Too many more sleepovers and he’s going to think he should be invited for regular overnight visits.”

“You know he’s welcome anytime.” Mrs. Arnsby hung her keys on the hook by the door. “Can I get you a cup of tea or a glass of water?”

“Thank you, but I’m all set. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“I love to work on crafts and knowing this will be for Elizabeth’s big day, I’m tickled pink to contribute in some small way.” While Morgan and Chester waited at the kitchen table, Mrs. Arnsby hurried off to gather her craft supplies.

She returned, juggling three identical totes, and placed them on the counter. “What color is Chester’s outfit?”

---