Yasmine Galenorn - Chintz 'n China 01

by Ghost of a Chance

  “You’re such a sweetheart.” I held the door open for her. She carefully maneuvered the tray onto the worktable that Randa had convinced me to get for her instead of a vanity. I poured a cup of what turned out to be chamomile and took it over to my daughter. Randa pushed herself up in bed and sleepily accepted the tea and cookies. I rejoined Andrew and Harlow near the door, where we spoke in low tones so Randa couldn’t overhear us.

  “Okay. Harlow, why don’t you talk to Karri, see if she can shed any light on what’s going on.” I turned to Andrew. “Meanwhile, I need to talk to Walter. I don’t know what good it will do, but I can read most people; maybe I can tell if he’s hiding something. However, I need to be physically near him to do so.”

  He nodded. “I might be able to help. My writing group has been talking about putting together a small affair for those of us who loved Susan. If I host it, I can make it a public event. Walter can’t avoid coming to something like that—it wouldn’t look good if he snubbed us, especially not to her devoted readers.”

  “We could use that excuse to contact Diana, too. We could invite her up to her mother’s memorial,” Harl interjected.

  “Good idea.” I squeezed both their hands. “This week is insane. I promised to buy a tree and ornaments, and the shop’s annual sale starts tomorrow at noon.” We were offering a 25 percent discount on all tea-related items… teapots, teas, and teacups. I was also holding a drawing for a free teapot. Great promotion, and it brought people into the shop. Even though the teapot wasn’t “fine china,” it had a pretty sunflower pattern, and a lot of people had entered the contest.

  “I wish Nanna could help me. I need her advice.” Nanna had been one of the few I could turn to during a crisis. “Since that isn’t an option, I think I’ll call Murray again, ask if she’ll come over and get a feel for the situation. She’s a damn good psychic as well as a fine cop.”

  “Cop? Are you talking about Anna Murray?” Andrew sounded surprised. “I met her when she questioned everyone in our writers group after Susan died.” Andrew inched toward the door. Fatigue clouded his eyes. Harlow looked just as wiped.

  “Both of you go home. Harl, call me tomorrow if you find out anything. I’ll either be here or at the shop, depending on how Randa feels. And guys, thanks for being here tonight.”

  Andrew pressed his’ lips together. “Em, I won’t run again. Not because of ghosts or spooks or anything else like that. Would you like me to stay over tonight? I can sleep on the sofa downstairs.”

  “Let me know how Randa is tomorrow, babe.” Harlow gave me a quick kiss and took off down the stairs as we followed her out into the hallway.

  “Thanks for the offer, Andrew, but it’s not a good idea. I have to take things slow. Do you understand? I come with a lot of baggage. Two kids, a nasty ex… a ghost who has revenge on the mind.” At the last, I couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounds absurd, doesn’t it?”

  Andrew snorted. “At least you don’t look like Dan Akroyd!”

  “Hey, we may still end up turning into Ghostbusters.” My giggles subsided, and I yawned. Every muscle in my body hurt. It even hurt to think.

  He edged toward the stairs. “I suppose I should get on home.”

  “Go, sleep, rest. We’ll be okay.” I blew him a kiss, and he reached out and let his fingers linger against my cheek. “Lock the door behind you?”

  “Will do, ma’am.” With a salute, he handed me the cordless phone that Harlow had left on the upper hall table. “Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Before I realized what he was doing, he leaned over and caught me in a lingering, thigh-melting kiss and slipped downstairs. The sound of their voices echoed, and the front door shut with a loud click.

  I took the cup from Randa, and she burrowed under the covers and promptly fell asleep. After making sure she was tucked in, I crept over to the rocking chair that sat in the corner of the room and pulled an afghan over me as I leaned back and rested my feet on the footstool. The chair had been Nanna’s. When she died, she willed it to Miranda. Randa loved it, curling up on it with books and boxes of cookies and glasses of milk. As I drank my own tea, resting my head against the wooden frame, I understood why she spent so much time in her room. It was quiet and calm here. Somehow my daughter had managed to create a little haven of peace for herself.

  I focused on Nanna’s energy, her winks and the quarters hidden in her pockets and tiny dolls she sewed from bits of rags. “Nanna? Nanna—if you can hear me, please watch over us as I sleep. Please watch over my little girl and make sure that nothing hurts her. And please, let Kipling be safe.”

  The prayer was halfhearted. I really didn’t expect an answer, but the curtains fluttered even though there were no drafts and I felt a firm, guiding hand on my shoulder. Miranda stirred again, and a smile broke out on her face as she slept. I squinted, peeking through half-closed lashes, and saw a golden outline standing near the bed. Nanna. Nanna had come in response to my plea. Content that we would be safe the rest of the night, I closed my eyes and fell asleep, drifting into a deep and dreamless slumber.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  I WOKE BEFORE dawn. My night in the rocker had left me no worse for wear—I was used to it, though when I stretched and yawned, I could feel a sharp twinge in my side from sitting too long. As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I remembered—Nanna had been there, watching over us. No wonder the room had been so comfortable. I had slept so deeply that I couldn’t even recall one speck of a dream.

  Randa was resting peacefully.

  A peek out the window showed that the ever-present clouds had decided to take the day off. A glimmer of light promised a clear morning, although at these temperatures, clear weather meant cold weather. We’d be turning the furnace up another notch before dinner tonight. The dawn was settling in—vague streaks of pale yellow infused the horizon with the illusion of warmth. The combination of the ever-growing snowdrifts against the robin’s egg blue sky seemed both beautiful and surreal.

  Ice layered thick on the outside of Miranda’s window, but the inner sill was warm to my touch. I stood for another minute, watching the world wake before I padded back over to her bed and knelt by her side. Her breathing was shallow, and she was close to waking. I shook her gently by the shoulder and she dragged herself into a sitting position and looked around. Her mouth puckered with the beginnings of a frown.

  “What happened? What time is it?” She squinted at the alarm clock. “Seven-thirty?”

  “Do you remember much of last night, honey?”

  She scratched her head, frowning. “Not much. I came back for a book and… I guess I got sick?”

  I didn’t want to scare her, especially since I wasn’t even sure myself what had happened. She’d be terrified if I told her about the ghosts. I felt her forehead. Her skin was slightly warmer than it should be, but I didn’t see any other signs that she was the worse for wear. “I think you were, sweetie. We found you on the roof in the snow. You fainted. Probably overexhaustion—all the studying tired you out.”

  She rubbed her eyes and quietly laid back against her pillow. “I guess I am feeling a little strange. I was out on the roof last night?”

  “Yeah, that’s where we found you. Remember, Andrew and Harlow were here?” She nodded. “Okay, well, I’m keeping you home today. We’ll drop by the doctor’s office later on. Would you like to lie on the sofa and watch some TV while I make breakfast?” Cinnamon would have to handle the shop for the day. She was a good clerk; she would call me if there was a problem.

  “You’re staying home?” Miranda allowed me to help her up and into her bathrobe. “You never stay home.”

  “I do when you go fainting on the roof during the middle of the night.” I grabbed her Nanna quilt as we headed toward the hall. Miranda stopped long enough to retrieve Mr. Sanders from her keepsake trunk. She hadn’t hauled out that old bear in quite a while. She must be feeling a bit shaky. In the living room, I tucked her in on the sofa and turned on th
e television. Miranda didn’t usually like kids’ shows, but she did love Bugs Bunny. I found a Looney Tunes special on the Cartoon Network and left her laughing at the antics of Elmer Fudd.

  It worried me that she didn’t protest when I told her I was keeping her home. Randa never cut class, she was a homework machine, and the few times she got sick I practically had to tie her down in bed to make sure she wouldn’t sneak off to school. Her easy capitulation was out of character.

  As I filled the kettle for tea, I remembered the raffle at the shop today. Damn! I couldn’t afford to miss that. My customers expected me there. I glanced at the clock. Almost eight. The drawing was set for one this afternoon. Maybe I could drop Randa off at Mrs. Trask’s after the doctor’s office and pick her up on my way home after the drawing. I’d better call Ida to see if she was going to be home.

  While the water was heating, I grabbed my Day-Timer and scribbled down the phone calls I needed to make. Ida, and Cinnamon… the doctor to schedule an appointment… also, I wanted to ring Murray to see if she would come over. While I was thinking about it, when I called Mrs. Trask, I’d better speak to Kip, see how he was doing.

  I chose a bright blue teapot for the morning and tied together four bags of Moroccan Mint, looping the strings around the handle to keep them from settling on the bottom. Moroccan Mint was my favorite—it was good for almost anything that ailed you. On top of everything else, a quick survey of the refrigerator convinced me I needed to go grocery shopping. We were out of eggs and bread. I didn’t want to feed Miranda cold cereal, so I dug out the oatmeal and started boiling water. I found a package of sausages and tossed them in the frying pan, then set up the tea tray I always used when the kids were sick. On Mother’s Day they covered it with a doily and served me breakfast in bed.

  When everything was ready, I carried the tray in and set it on the coffee table next to the sofa. Miranda scooted up, and I propped a pillow behind her back. “Ready?”

  “I’m cold. I have a headache, and my back aches.” She wrapped her bathrobe around her and tied the sash tighter.

  “Wait a minute before you put anything in your mouth.” I hunted in the downstairs bathroom where I kept most of the medications, fishing through the drawer until I found the thermometer. A quick tuck under Randa’s tongue, and sixty seconds later I was staring into her hundred-degree face. “You have a little fever. Eat your breakfast, and I’ll call the doctor.”

  As she sprinkled brown sugar on her oatmeal, I retreated to the kitchen and dialed Dr. Adams’s office. He wasn’t in yet, but his nurse scheduled Randa for a ten-o’clock appointment. I thanked her and called Mrs. Trask.

  Ida Trask was not a woman whom one blithely called by her first name, at least not to her face. She had been married once. Her husband had been drafted into the Korean War. A chopper pilot for a medical unit, he crashed during a rescue mission after saving sixteen people from a wrecked cargo truck they had been riding in. His chopper went down when he made one last run to make sure everybody was out.

  After his death Ida left her young son with her mother and enrolled in Western Washington University. Two years later she returned to Chiqetaw to raise her son, and she raised half of the town along with him. Feared and revered, Ida Trask had become an institution in this burg. After retirement, she took care of children from her home. I felt safer leaving the kids with her than with anybody else.

  I told her that Randa had gotten sick last night after she’d dashed home for a book and asked if I could drop her off after the doctor’s appointment. Ida still sounded miffed over Randa’s little escape, but she accommodated us. I would tuck in a little extra when I picked Randa up; there was no way I could afford to lose her as a babysitter.

  Kip came on the line and prattled on about their evening. Mrs. Trask had managed to wean him out of his bad mood, and they’d had a good time; they played two games of Life and watched a movie and ate thick deli-sliced roast beef sandwiches for supper. Relieved, I told him I’d see him after school and hung up.

  Randa had finished her oatmeal, but she left the sausages. “I’m kind of queasy. Can I have more tea?” Both of my children had learned the art of tea drinking at an early age, though I only allowed Earl Grey on special occasions; otherwise they got caffeine-free herbal teas like Wild Berry Zinger or Lemon Spice. I gathered up her dishes.

  I poured her another cup and carried it back into the living room. Daffy Duck was trying to outfox Bugs and, as usual, was losing. Satisfied that Miranda had everything she needed, I returned to the kitchen and put in a call to Cinnamon.

  “I’m going to be late coming in and early leaving. Miranda is sick, and I really want to be home with her today. Can you open up the shop?”

  I could hear her cover the receiver in order to yawn. “Sure, I can handle it. Take care of her and I’ll see you when I see you. Will we still hold the drawing at one?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there by noon unless something goes wrong. Go ahead and drop by the bakery to pick up the box of sugar cookies I ordered. There’s a big box of chocolates and a bag of candy canes in the storeroom. Arrange them on the clear crystal platter. The cookies can go on the cake-plate tower—use the holiday plates I bought for it. They’re in the NFS cabinet. Make up a trio of mint teas—wintergreen, spearmint, and peppermint flavors. Mark the board Yuletide Joy. That should do nicely.”

  The NFS china hutch had been Cinnamon’s idea. We kept shop pieces in there—plates for setting out pastries, teacups we served the customers’ tea in, special trays and items I loved and wasn’t sure whether I wanted to sell. Clearly labeled “Not for Sale,” the hutch served as eye candy for the customers.

  The sound of scribbling told me she was jotting down my instructions. Good. Cinnamon was a bright girl, but I was glad she wasn’t relying on her memory. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, but sometimes smart people don’t always have it together in other areas. Her memory was on the blink as often as her find-a-good-man meter.

  The kettle whistled and I filled the teapot a second time, this time with a chamomile-and-lavender tea. I carried it out to where Miranda could serve herself. “Drink this and rest a little if you can. We’ve still got a couple of hours before your appointment, and I think the extra sleep would do you good.” She was already yawning; the tea would put her out gently but firmly. She nodded, eyes heavy. I returned to the kitchen, where she couldn’t hear me.

  Even when she worked swing shift, Murray was one of those up-with-the-sun people which, in western Washington, doesn’t say much most of the year. But overcast weather or not, she was usually awake and in full gear by first light. I punched in her number and waited. On the fourth ring, she answered. I told her what happened and begged her to come over to do what she could to help me sort out this mess.

  “Damn, I wish I could get away, but sugar, I don’t have a spare minute, not until the weekend. White Deer is coming to visit today, and I’ve got a stack of paperwork to finish at work that’s so high I can’t see over it, as well as my regular beat. Can you last until Sunday, when I’m taking a few days off?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks anyway, hon.” Disappointed, I dropped the receiver back onto the phone base. Waiting until the weekend wasn’t my idea of comfort, but there was nothing I could do. Murray was always busy; it was a wonder the woman hadn’t put herself in the hospital with a stroke. We’d have to manage on our own until then.

  I decided to take a shower. When I peeked in on Randa she was asleep, with the quilt tucked up under her chin. As quietly as I could, I edged the remote out of her hand and turned off Daffy Duck. I placed it on the table in easy reach in case she woke up while I was upstairs.

  The sting of the water felt good on my back. I was playing with my health, losing too much sleep. Sore from the fall last night, it was obvious the tension was starting to get to me. Add to that the hectic schedule at the store and I knew that my body would make me pay, sooner or later. I scrubbed my skin with the loofah, hoping the bracing scents of ging
er and pineapple would wake me up, but all they did was make me smell like a Hawaiian fruit basket.

  I leaned out of the shower and reached for the towel, then realized that I’d forgotten to grab one. The steam coiled thickly around my arm, and a rash of goose bumps puckered up along my skin. As I fumbled, trying to get my bearings, another hand about the same size as my own but cold—icy cold—covered my fingers. What the hell? Someone was in the bathroom with me!

  I jerked back, slipped, and landed in the tub on my tailbone. Another inch and I could have split open my skull, but luck held. Shaken but not seriously hurt, I scrambled to my knees and cautiously stood. I needed my clothes. Naked equaled vulnerable equaled danger. Even a scrap of a washcloth would give me some protection.

  There were no sounds beyond the shower curtain. Maybe I was being paranoid? Maybe all the stress had brought this on?

  Nope, not a chance. As I calmed myself so I could focus, I knew someone was in the room with me. Susan? Mr. Big & Ugly? Given a choice, I’d opt for Susan any day, but I wasn’t going to bet my life that it was her. What next? I covered my breasts, tucking my arms tightly around me, and waited, listening. At first the only thing I could hear was my own breathing, but a faint squeaking noise, like fingers on a wet window, echoed through the mist-shrouded room. I had to get out of here, had to go check on Randa…

  Randa! Randa was alone downstairs. As I yanked open the shower curtain, the vinyl liner ripped under my frenzy. I stumbled out of the tub, waving away the mist until I could see the door, but when I reached to open it, my hand slipped on the handle. The ceramic knob began to turn against my grip, rattling as it did so.

  “Oh, hell! Leave me alone!” The power behind the force on the doorknob was tremendous, and I knew it couldn’t be Susan. My hand slipped off the knob, and I fumbled to regain my grip. Low mutterings began to reverberate around me—I thought I could hear a woman calling for help and the deep laughter of a man, low and menacing. Shit—they were both here. I couldn’t catch the words, but from the tone of his voice, his intentions were clear, and it sounded like he was terrorizing Susan.