Kissing Books

by Cat Johnson

  “But you have a million and one things to do with running your own shop,” I finished for her. I completely understood what it took to be the sole person running a business.

  “I do and I apologize for that. I’ll get on it. I promise. I’ll buy some of your books today if I can get the Wi-Fi at the store to work so I can get online.”

  “No. Please don’t buy anything. Let me give some to you. I have some paperbacks in the trunk of the car.”

  Red shook her head. “I couldn't let you do that. This is your business. I want to pay you for them.”

  “No,” I insisted. “It’s my thank you for the breakfast and the welcome.”

  “Okay. If you insist I'll take them and then I’ll tell everyone I know how much I love them, because I know I will.”

  This was a refreshing change. Someone who appreciated romance books and had actually heard of me. Not to mention someone who didn't judge me for being an outsider.

  Red was a store owner. She would welcome outside customers. The more strangers in town to support the economy the better, I would think.

  But corn man was also in the retail industry and he didn't seem to like us city folks buying his ears.

  Maybe he was just cranky that day for some reason. I didn’t know him or what his deal was. But I bet Red did. I could totally ask Red about the hottie farmer.

  “So, the only other place I've been in town is that farm stand that sells the corn,” I began, using all of my acting skills, what there was of them, to sound casual.

  She nodded as she swallowed a sip of coffee. “You mean Morgan’s. They open the minute the first ears of corn are ripe and stay open all the way through December.”

  “So . . . the uh one guy who was picking corn in the field didn't seem to be very friendly. He was like my age I guess. Light brown hair.”

  She let out a laugh. “Judging by that description I'm going to guess that was Stone Morgan.”

  Stone definitely seemed like the right name for the guy I’d met. He had muscles that looked as hard as a rock. But he probably had a heart of stone in that rock-hard chest of his. Although, actually, I bet his cold hard heart was tiny. More like a pebble than a stone.

  “So there are three Morgan brothers,” Red continued. “I figure you’re not describing Boone, the youngest, because he’s like a happy bouncy puppy. I swear if he had a tail he’d be wagging it.”

  “Yeah, no. This guy definitely had nothing puppy-like about him.”

  “Then there’s the middle Morgan brother, Cashel. Cash and I were in the same graduating class at Mudville High. He’s the funny one of the three. If it had been him you met, he’d have been cracking jokes with you. And he’s a big old flirt, so he’d definitely have been friendly. I mean, a cute woman like you . . .”

  I rolled my eyes at her compliment. I wasn’t feeling very cute at the moment. “Thanks.”

  She took another sip of her coffee and then nodded. “Yeah, I’m betting it was Stone. He’s the oldest and by far the most serious.”

  Serious was one way to describe him.

  “What’s his deal anyway?” I asked, laying one of the sticky buns on each of the antique looking plates I’d set out. I pushed one laden plate toward Red so we could dig into the breakfast she’d brought for us.

  I’d searched Agnes’s cabinets last night when I’d been preparing my dinner and discovered she only owned plates that looked antique, just as she only owned cloth dinner napkins. I’d resigned myself to eating on real china for my time here—and just being careful not to break anything because some of this stuff looked valuable. I’d even resorted to hand washing it rather than using the dishwasher, just in case.

  Red took a bite of the confection she’d brought and then licked her fingers before asking, “What do you mean, his deal?”

  I realized I’d forgotten to give her a napkin and spun to grab a carefully folded one from the kitchen linen drawer. I handed it to her and then retrieved from the counter the cloth napkin I’d used last night for my dinner. It was still clean. Clean enough anyway. Though I’d have to investigate Agnes’s laundry situation soon, I guessed.

  But Red was still waiting for an answer to her question.

  I knew what I wanted to know. What I was most curious about. I just didn’t know how to ask it. “Is he, like, married?”

  “Nope.” A small smile quirked up the corner of her lips. “Single and completely available.”

  That was no surprise. If he were that snotty to all the women he talked to he’d be alone for quite a while. A lone rolling stone . . .

  I glanced up and realized she was watching me closely, still looking amused I’d asked about Stone’s status. I needed to nip that right in the bud. I didn’t want him knowing I’d asked anything about him. I couldn’t have that man thinking I was interested in him.

  “Well, it’s a really nice farm stand anyway.”

  “It is. All local goods and it’s family run—the farm and the farm stand. In fact, the girl who was watching Agnes’s house before you is the Morgan boys little cousin.”

  This was a subject I was happy to talk about.

  “Shalene.” I nodded. “Yeah. She was the sweetest. Gave me a whole tour yesterday. The pig pen. The chicken coop. The embalming room . . .”

  Red laughed. “And here I wasn’t going to tell you about that so you didn’t get spooked and leave town.”

  “Yeah, it was a close call last night with all the noises this house makes.”

  “Yeah, mine does that too. If it helps any, all old houses make noises.”

  “As long as it’s not a ghost, I’m good.”

  “I doubt it is. The ghost in the basement of my shop never makes any noise.”

  I chuckled then, once again, realized she was perfectly serious. “For real?”

  “Oh yeah. Two ghosts, actually. A little kid and an old man.”

  “Oh my God. What do you do about it?”

  “Not a whole lot I can do. I’ve never seen them personally but enough different people have reported it, unrelated customers, including little kids who wouldn’t make that kind of thing up, that I have to believe it.”

  “Wow. I was spooked before but now I’m really never going into this attic.”

  “The attic?” Red frowned. “The embalming room was in the basement. And the bodies were laid out on the first floor. Why does the attic spook you?”

  As if embalming room wasn’t a horrifying enough phrase to hear in relation to my new home, picturing where the bodies were laid out was really the cherry on the top of my horror sundae.

  I let out a breath and shook my head. “I don’t know why but that upstairs hallway leading to the back bedroom and the whole back staircase scare me.”

  “No. Don’t be scared of the attic. It’s amazing up there. Come on. I’ll go up with you. You really have to see it. In fact, I always thought it would make a great master suite, if Agnes cleaned it out.”

  I really did want to see it. I’d used every movie and television show I’d ever seen that had a great attic in it to conjure what Agnes’s might look like. “Okay. If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, I don’t mind. Come on.” Red led the way to the door of the back staircase.

  The door I’d eyed suspiciously since last night but was afraid to open. I had made sure it was closed nice and tight before I’d gone upstairs for the night though, before it got dark.

  Just climbing the back staircase was an exercise in cardio in itself. By the time we reached the top floor I was winded. But Red had been right. It was amazing.

  The big open space was as large as the footprint of the house. With high vaulted ceilings and windows on all four sides, it was a bright and airy space. There was even a colored border made out of stained glass above each clear window.

  I looked around, taking it all in. “My God. You’re right. It’s gorgeous.”

  This was a space that was meant to be used—and for more than storing Agnes’s dusty old stuff.
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br />   “I know.” Red nodded. “I even offered to help her clean it out. I mean I did have some ulterior motives. I’m thinking there’s stuff in here my customers would love. Just that old trunk alone would probably sell for a hundred bucks.”

  She moved toward it. I did the same, in awe of the potential.

  As the dust particles swirled in the beams of sunlight streaming through the windows an idea struck. “Now I’m kind of curious. I really wanna see what’s here.”

  Red’s face brightened. “If you do go through this stuff I hope you invite me. I’ll be right here with you. I’ve been dying to see what’s up here.”

  I cringed and glanced at Red. “Would it be horrible if we went through Agnes’s stuff?”

  “I don’t think it’s horrible at all.”

  “It’s not an invasion of privacy?” I asked, tempted but waffling.

  Red blew out a breath. “No. I don’t think even Agnes knows what’s up here. Half of this was here when she was born.”

  “Wow.” The history, the potential, was breathtaking. “I have to do it. I have to look.”

  “Darn it.” Red stomped her Converse against the worn wood floor. “I want to see too but I can’t stay long. I have to open the store at ten.”

  “It’s probably for the best. I’m supposed to be writing anyway. Not pawing through Agnes’s stuff all day.” I pulled my cell out of the pocket of my sweatshirt and glanced at the time. “But it’s only nine now.”

  Her eyes widened. “Pick a box. Just one. We look. Then we both go to work.”

  “Okay.” I smiled, liking this plan.

  I spun and saw immediately where I wanted to start. I moved to the old wooden truck, big enough there could be almost anything in there, including a body.

  “I was hoping you were going to pick this one.” Red rushed to my side, clapping her hands.

  With one glance at my cohort I planted two hands on the edge and raised the lid. We both stared into the cavernous interior, packed to the top with big leather books stuffed full with papers. It was like a lifetime’s worth of scrapbooks.

  “Wow. That’s a lot of stuff. What do you think these are?” I asked.

  “I know exactly what these are.” Red looked from the trunk to me. “These are Rose’s diaries.”

  “Who?” I frowned. Did I have a Great Aunt Rose I didn’t know about?

  “Rose Van de Berg. She was a real character. She passed away about twenty years ago at ninety-nine years old. Lived here in Mudville her whole life.”

  “Wow,” I breathed, taking in the sheer number of books in the trunk. A lifetime’s worth.

  “Yup. She was a bit of a nut. Clipped coupons and pinched pennies like a miser even though there was a rumor she had more money than she could ever spend. But she’d also clip articles out of the local paper. News, the police blotter, obituaries, birth announcements, whatever. And she’d put them in these books along with anything else she came across she thought was important or interesting. She was really dedicated. You know, like it was her job to record everything to do with the people of Mudville.” Red ran one finger over the dark brown leather of one book. “I wonder how Agnes got them.”

  “I don’t know, but what’s in here could really be fascinating.” Or be really boring. I was trying to decide which as Red flipped open the cover of one of the books and started to gently turn the pages.

  “It sure is going to be fascinating. Because it looks like she didn’t just keep clippings.” Red glanced sideways at me. “She added commentary.”

  My eyes widened as I realized two things.

  One, I’d get no writing done again today on my book that was going nowhere because I still didn’t have a good story idea for it.

  And two, if these diaries contained half as many plot bunnies as I hoped they would, my bout of writer’s block was about to come to an end.

  From the Journal of Rose Van de Berg

  MUDVILLE INQUISITOR

  1926

  The Mudville Chamber of Commerce has commenced issuing automobile licenses and plates.

  EIGHT

  Stone

  Everyone in town said she was living there but I’d yet to see proof of a human occupying Agnes’s house. Not the sassy city girl. Not anyone.

  The kitchen curtains didn’t open during the day. The living room and bedroom shutters on the windows didn’t move. I was starting to wonder if she was alive in there.

  Of just as much of a concern for me was if the animals were being fed and watered. The chickens and the cats might survive on their own, but I had half a mind to drive around back and check on Petunia.

  The light was on upstairs in one of the front bedrooms when I drove home late from the bar last night. But it was still on this morning when I drove past the house at dawn on my way to the gas station this morning.

  Either she slept with the lights on or she really was dead inside.

  That would be a shame. She wouldn’t be the first person to die in that house but she could just be the prettiest. She might be a cocky city girl but she didn’t deserve to have Agnes’s barn cats eat her dead body.

  It was still hella early so I couldn’t stop by now. I needed to pick up some bug spray before heading out to work. The mosquitos were vicious this year and we were all getting eaten alive in the cornfield.

  Well, everybody except for old Jeb, our hired hand. The old man always reeked so much of booze the damn bugs steered clear of him.

  But if I didn’t see some signs of life in Agnes’s house by this evening, I was stopping by. At least to check the animals.

  That had been Shalene’s job all summer. Agnes had entrusted her with the care of her home and pets. Now that she’d gone back to school, I felt like I, as Shalene’s family, needed to step in and make sure everything was all right.

  It didn’t have to be anything more than that. It didn’t have to have anything to do with the fact the woman had been here in town for five days and I still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her.

  Besides, somebody should probably remind her about Friday night’s game. If she wasn’t going to walk Petunia down to the school, other arrangements would need to be made.

  The Mudville Hogs needed their mascot. This game more than ever, as the first game in a new season after they were the undefeated state champions last year.

  I was looking up, reading the signs on the aisles and trying to figure out where mosquito repellant would be, when little miss city girl, alive and well, body slammed me.

  She’d been looking down, distracted, typing something into her cell phone as she motored down the aisle toward the register. She nearly knocked me over.

  “Jeez, I’m so sorry—Oh. It’s you. That figures.” She mumbled the last part under her breath but I heard it just fine.

  “Good morning to you too. And what figures?”

  She drew in a huge breath and let it out. Only then was I finally able to wrestle my gaze off her cleavage and back to the annoyed expression on her face.

  “I run out of the house for literally five minutes and I see you.”

  “And that’s a problem why?” I asked, starting to wonder if I was being insulted. And if she was going out of her way to try to be rude or if it just came naturally.

  She glanced down at herself with a sigh. “For obvious reasons.”

  I evaluated her and what could be wrong. I had no problem with the tight tank top displaying creamy globes of skin that looked like it had never seen sun. Or the tight little stretchy pants that covered her bottom half.

  “I don’t follow,” I said.

  “I slept in these clothes.” Reaching up she smoothed her ponytail. “And I haven’t showered.”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Wouldn’t have known if you didn’t tell me. So you should probably keep all that to yourself from now on.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement. Thanks.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Everything okay at the house?” I asked.

  She let out a huff
. “Well, the windows and the walls are still creaking and popping. Why, I don’t know. You’d think the house would have already settled after a hundred and twenty years.”

  “I was talking more about the animals.”

  “Oh, yeah. They’re fine. I have enough eggs to feed an army and the cats won’t come anywhere near me, but otherwise they all seem good.

  “What about Petunia? Her first game of the season is this week.”

  “What day is today?” She mouthed a curse and whipped out her phone. “Phew. Okay. It’s not Friday yet.”

  I watched her confusion with amazement mingled with concern. “If you can’t take her down, I’ll . . .”

  “No, I’ll do it. I put it in my calendar and scheduled an alert. It’ll be fine. It will be good for me to get out of the house once a week.”

  I had to agree. Though I’d think going outside more than once a week was advisable. But her health and welfare aside, the Mudville Hogs were important to this town. And Petunia was important to them. Call me cynical but I didn’t trust city girl to understand that or to keep her word.

  “Look, maybe it’s just better if somebody else comes and gets Petunia.”

  She leveled a glare on me. Possibly the first time she actually met and held my gaze. Definitely the first time I’d noticed what nice eyes she had. Big and deep blue. Almost violet. Beautiful, even if she did have rings from lack of sleep beneath them.

  “I’ll get her there. I promise.”

  I must have looked as skeptical as I felt.

  She huffed out a breath. “I’m on a deadline and now that I’m finally on a writing roll I’m a little distracted. But Friday night is in my calendar, and I promise, anything that’s in my calendar gets done.”

  She was frazzled and harried but seemed seriously committed to getting Petunia to school.

  “All right. I trust you.” I nodded.

  She didn’t have to know that I’d also be around Friday night to make sure she kept her word. And if she didn’t, I’d deliver the pig to the ball field myself.

  “Thank you.” She drew in and let out another shallow breath, frowning as she glanced around us.