“That’s nice to know.”
Although Ryan was unable to get reservations at the popular Pirates’ House, he did get them into a fish and chowder house on the river. “This place might be haunted too,” he told Bernie as they studied their menus.
“Really?” She glanced around with a doubtful expression. “The building doesn’t look all that old, Uncle Ryan.”
“Maybe not, but I heard about a cook who used to be employed here.” His tone grew serious. “He was an ornery old cuss. Such a tyrant that the other kitchen workers hated him. Then he mysteriously drowned in the river one night. They suspected he was murdered by his co-workers, but no one was charged. Anyway, they say he returns from time to time to haunt the restaurant.” Ryan’s expression was totally deadpan as he pointed to the lobster tank in front. “One morning all the lobsters had been freed. They were crawling all over the place. Pretty weird.”
“Seriously?” Bernie glanced around the dining room. “It’s really haunted?”
Ryan’s face cracked into a smile and he laughed.
“You made that up!” Bernie socked him in the arm.
“Ouch.” He feigned pain. “Hey, you can’t blame me for playing the ghost game.”
“Uncle Ryan.” She scowled. “It is not a game.”
Ryan turned to Nicole, rolling his eyes dramatically.
Nicole suppressed her own laughter. “Hey, ghosts are serious business here in Savannah. You shouldn’t make fun.”
“Yeah,” Bernie warned him. “You might be sorry later.”
“I hope so. I’m looking forward to getting a good scare tonight.”
“Me too,” Nicole said. “I want to be deliciously afraid.”
Nicole thoroughly enjoyed dinner. Being with Bernie and Ryan was the most fun she’d had in a long time. When they went over to Johnson Square, where the walking ghost tour was supposed to begin, they were all in high spirits. Their tour guide was dressed in 1800s-style clothing and was obviously well versed in Savannah history as well as drama. Nicole was surprised that their tour group was so small—just six of them—but their guide didn’t seem to mind as he led them through the oldest historical section of the city.
It was interesting and somewhat spooky seeing some of the old houses and inns and hearing their strange tales. All had a ring of truth, along with something extra—probably drama. The Colonial Park Cemetery was definitely eerie with its old headstones and sculptures in the shadows of the streetlamps. When one of the women on the tour let out a squeal, Nicole felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
When the woman declared to have seen something move behind a gravestone, both Bernie and Nicole clutched Ryan’s arms. “It looked like a vapor shaped like a man,” the woman breathlessly exclaimed, “and he had on a three-cornered hat. Like from an old military uniform.”
“Probably one of our forefathers,” their guide said solemnly, “a soldier who laid down his life for our freedom during the Revolutionary War.”
No one disputed this, and it was obvious Bernie was eating it all up. For her sake, Nicole was glad. Although the young teen’s fixation on ghosts and haunted buildings was a little unsettling, Nicole supposed it was simply an adolescent phase that Bernie was going through. And after all, this was Savannah!
The last stop in the tour was a building currently known as Moon River Brewing, complete with a pub and restaurant. According to their guide, it had been known originally as the City Hotel and had a sinister reputation. He described a fire that had killed many and burned much of Savannah around two hundred years ago. “Some of the victims have never forgotten that horrible night.” He held open a side door with a serious expression. “Now we will go inside. But I warn you, some tourists have experienced some very odd supernatural effects in here. If you are of weak heart, you might prefer to wait in the brewery.”
“This is the best part,” Bernie whispered as they went inside.
“Sounds like it.” Nicole felt a shiver go down her spine and found herself reaching for Ryan’s arm again. She hoped he didn’t mind.
“Gina said she saw Mrs. Johnson up here,” Bernie said as they went up a semidark stairway.
“Mrs. Johnson is frequently seen up here,” their guide said.
“Who is Mrs. Johnson?” Nicole asked.
“No one seems to know for sure. But workers in the building have seen her and dubbed her Mrs. Johnson. She was probably a victim of the fire . . . or perhaps something far worse.”
To Nicole’s relief nothing too abnormal happened as they walked down the dimly lit hallway. Bernie claimed to have felt something bumping her from behind, although no one was behind her.
When they finally were outside again, Nicole let out a sigh of relief. “I have to confess that scared me more than I expected it would,” she told Ryan and Bernie. “I’m glad it’s over.”
“It was absolutely wonderful,” Bernie said. “Thank y’all so much for taking me.” She linked one arm into Nicole’s and one into Ryan’s as they strolled toward the car. “It was the best night ever.”
“It was interesting,” Nicole admitted. “And I did learn some history.”
“I thoroughly enjoyed it,” Ryan said. “Nothing better than escorting a couple of frightened females on a ghost tour.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” Bernie claimed. “Just mildly scared. That’s all.”
“Oh, no,” he said with a grin. “You didn’t sound too frightened that time you let out a shriek. Just mildly scared.”
Bernie socked him in the arm, then pulled out her phone. “I have to text Gina about tonight. She’ll be so impressed.”
“Be sure to tell her you were only mildly scared,” Ryan teased.
Nicole chuckled. She was grateful that Bernie had felt at least a little scared. It would’ve been a letdown if she hadn’t. Nicole was thankful that Ryan had come with them tonight too. It was such a comfort clinging to his arm. And to be honest, it had felt like something more too.
10
For some reason, Nicole felt determined to win Amyra over as she got ready for work on Wednesday morning. She put on a lime-green sleeveless rayon dress that, according to her mom, looked fabulous on her. She even put on her best sandals and a pair of gold hoop earrings. For Nicole, this was dressing up.
When she got to the gallery, fifteen minutes before opening, she was relieved that Amyra wasn’t there yet. Her hope was to find a scarf that would complement her dress and make her look totally together when Amyra arrived.
She let herself in, punched in the security code, and turned on the lights. Within minutes, she found the perfect scarf—shades of green, yellow, and turquoise—and casually tossed it around her neck. Before long she even had a pot of coffee brewing. She glanced around the spotless kitchenette, smiling with satisfaction. Amyra would have nothing to complain about in here.
Nicole went back into the gallery, unlocked the front door, and glanced around outside. The sun was shining, and the flower planters that she’d watered two days ago still looked fresh and moist. Hopefully today would be busier than Monday. She was about to go inside when a man carrying a small package approached. “Delivery for Miss Anderson,” he said as he held out the parcel.
“That’s me,” she said, pausing to sign his receipt. “Thanks.”
Curious as to the contents, she hurried inside and opened the package. Just like Vivian had promised, it contained business cards for the Graham Gallery, with “Nicole Anderson, Manager” printed prominently on them. She smiled to herself, slipping several into the side pocket of her dress—just in case. She tucked the box beneath the counter.
“Hello?” Amyra’s voice reverberated through the gallery. “Nicole? Are you here?”
Nicole hurried toward the back room, smiling warmly as Amyra strolled toward her. She had on a short-sleeved charcoal-gray dress, and the dark color made her complexion look even whiter. In stark contrast to her pale face, her blood-red matte lipstick only added to the Vampira image. Not that
Nicole planned to mention that—ever!
“Good morning,” Nicole said cheerfully. “Did you have a nice break on your time off?”
“I guess so.” Amyra narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so chipper this morning?”
“No special reason.” She shrugged. “It’s a gorgeous day. I’m happy to be here.”
“Right.” Amyra continued into the main part of the gallery, pausing to set her purse beneath the counter.
Nicole glanced nervously at the box of business cards that she’d left there, but to her relief, Amyra didn’t appear to notice. Instead she peered around the gallery with a curious expression. “Did you move things around while I was gone?” Her tone had an accusing edge to it.
“I, uh, I did a little rearranging.”
Amyra’s eyes flashed. “Who said you could do that?”
Nicole remembered her reason for the changes—the missing Collin Turner painting. Suddenly her bravado vanished.
“I’m gone a couple of days and you think you can just take over?” Arms folded and wearing a dark scowl, Amyra walked over to a wall that Nicole had carefully redesigned on Monday. “Who do you think you are?”
Nicole wanted to say “the manager” but suspected that wouldn’t go over too well. “I just rearranged a bit,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Well, I do mind,” she snapped.
Nicole bit her lip, watching as Amyra came up to the section where the missing seascape had hung. “Where is the Turner seascape?” Amyra demanded.
“I sold it.”
Amyra spun around to glare at her. “You sold it?”
Nicole simply nodded. She didn’t want to go into the details just yet.
“Who did you sell it to?” Amyra came closer, getting inches from Nicole’s face. “Was it the Goldsteins?”
“No,” Nicole said.
“Because Marsha Goldstein was very interested in it. And she is my customer.”
“It wasn’t Marsha Goldstein.”
“Then who was it?”
Despite her misgivings, Nicole confessed her story.
“Are you kidding me?” Amyra looked shocked.
“No. They provided me with proper ID and—”
“And you just let them carry the painting off? Just like that? People you’d never met? You didn’t know? You let them walk off with a painting worth—”
“I took a photo of their car—”
“Seriously?” Amyra let out a sarcastic laugh. “You took a photo of their car? And you think that makes this okay?”
“Well, I—”
“What you did was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.” Amyra stormed over to the counter, where she immediately began looking for something on the computer. “You better hope and pray that their debit card was legit. Otherwise you’ll be reimbursing Collin Turner and Vivian for that painting.” She muttered a swearword. “And you’ll be looking for a new job.”
“Wouldn’t that be up to Vivian?”
Amyra locked eyes with her. “Vivian is gone. I’m in charge. If I send you packing, you will go.”
Nicole swallowed as Amyra picked up the phone. Even if Nicole was supposed to be the manager, with Vivian gone, Amyra was still convinced that she had the authority to fire her. To be fair, if Nicole had given away the painting like Amyra seemed determined to prove, then she probably deserved to be fired. But what then? Go home to Seattle? She didn’t even have airfare. And what about house-sitting? Who would take care of Mimi? And what about Bernie?
It sounded like Amyra had someone from the bank on the other end of the phone. “Fine, call me back at this number,” she said crisply. “As soon as you find out for me. Thank you.”
Amyra hung up the phone and looked evenly at Nicole. “I shouldn’t be so hard on you,” she said in a gentler tone. “You obviously don’t know what you’re doing. You’ve never worked in a gallery before. I’m sure if you weren’t a friend of the family, Vivian never would’ve asked you to come out here.” She shook her head as if she really cared, although Nicole was certain she didn’t. “When Vivian finds out what you’ve done, I’m sure she’ll understand why I had to let you go.”
“Didn’t the bank know if—”
“They’re checking on it, but even if by some miracle the mysterious young couple didn’t steal the painting, which would surprise me, I think this proves you’re a bad fit for the gallery, Nicole.”
Nicole wanted to stand up for herself, but without knowing the outcome of the Turner painting, well, what could she say? So she simply excused herself to the back room. She poured herself a cup of coffee and, nervously sipping it, returned to the gallery.
She was barely in there when she heard Amyra’s voice coming from the front of the gallery. She seemed to be talking on the phone. Although Nicole didn’t really want to eavesdrop, she couldn’t help herself when she heard her name mentioned.
“Nicole is useless here,” Amyra said in a hushed voice. “I’m about to give her the sack. Vivian will probably thank me for it. So you need to be ready to come to work, Vanessa. Yes. As soon as tomorrow.” She snickered. “Of course. You’re welcome.”
Nicole returned to the back room, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. Amyra obviously had someone waiting in the wings, ready to jump in and take Nicole’s job. She’d probably had this in mind for a while. It could be just one more reason she’d resented Nicole right from the start. Talk about having two strikes against her. Even so, if the bank came back with unfavorable news, it would probably be better for her to leave anyway.
She set her nearly full coffee cup in the sink. Closing her eyes, she silently prayed for mercy. It wasn’t her first prayer about the painting, but it was perhaps her most desperate. More than ever she wanted to remain in Savannah. She wanted to spend a full summer working at the gallery. She wanted Vivian to feel she’d made the right decision bringing her out here. Even if she’d made a big mistake, it hadn’t been intentional. Shouldn’t that matter?
She jumped at the sound of the landline phone jangling loudly. She made a dash for the extension in the back room, but before she got there, it stopped ringing. Amyra had answered at the front desk. Suspecting it was the bank, Nicole went out to listen. This time, not wanting to look like an eavesdropper, she stood in full view as Amyra spoke to the person on the other end. Her voice sounded flat and emotionless.
“Yes. Well, thank you. No. I appreciate that. Right. Thanks.” She hung up the phone and looked at Nicole with a totally blank expression.
“Was that the bank?” Nicole asked.
Amyra just shrugged.
“Well?”
Amyra shrugged again, acting even more blasé.
“Didn’t they know if it had cleared?” Nicole asked. “Why did they call?”
“They called because, unlike some people, they are doing their job.”
“Yes. Fine.” Nicole felt herself growing aggravated. “What did they say?”
“Did you make coffee?”
“Amyra,” Nicole said firmly. “What did the bank say?”
“Why don’t you fix me a coffee and then I’ll tell you.” Amyra gave her a smug smile. “You know how I like it.”
Nicole resisted the urge to say, “With arsenic?” as she went to the back room and sloppily stirred cream and sugar into a mug of coffee. She hurried back and held the mug out to Amyra. “Here. Now please, quit torturing me. What did the bank say?”
Amyra took a slow sip, then set down the cup. “You got lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“The Strattons’ debit card cleared.”
A wave of relief washed over Nicole. “Thank God.”
Amyra shook a finger at her. “But what you did was still wrong, Nicole. Do you understand that?”
Nicole nodded. Of course she understood. Amyra had made it crystal clear.
“Marsha Goldstein, a regular client, will not be pleased to find out that the painting is gone.” Amyra shook her head. “It would’ve been m
uch better to have sold it to her.”
“I don’t see why. The Strattons loved the painting and—”
“That just proves my point, Nicole. You don’t know what you’re doing. This gallery is built on faithful clientele. Return customers. The Goldsteins frequent our gallery. They are regulars. A sale to them is highly preferable to some no-name couple who just happens to drift in. Don’t you get that?”
A light went on in Nicole’s head. “Is this about commission?”
Amyra rolled her eyes.
“Are you worried that I’ll get a commission on a painting you’d hoped to sell to the Goldsteins?”
“You really don’t get it, do you? Everything is not about money, Nicole.” Amyra turned away as if highly offended, and before Nicole could respond, the bell on the front door rang. Amyra hurried to greet the customer.
Until now Nicole hadn’t seriously considered the prospect of getting a commission on anything. But suddenly she was doing the math, and the sum was considerable. Of course, this was just one more reason for Amyra to resent her. Even so, Nicole couldn’t help but feel happy. The Strattons were real customers. The young couple had been completely trustworthy. Nicole had made a legit sale. With or without commission, that felt incredibly good. Now if she could just make amends with Amyra. Like that was even possible.
For the next couple of hours, Amyra seemed to be avoiding Nicole, which was just fine. Since Amyra was running herd on every single customer who stepped into the gallery, Nicole tried to occupy herself with menial tasks that seemed to have been neglected. But as noon approached, she wished she’d brought some art supplies. It would be nice to have something creative to occupy her time. She was just heading into the gallery to tell Amyra she was leaving for her lunch break when she heard Amyra’s voice.
“She’s in back.”
“Thanks,” a guy answered.
“Don’t just run off like that,” Amyra said in a surprisingly warm tone. “After all, I haven’t spoken to you in ages. How are you doing, Ryan?”
“I’m well, thanks. How’re you doing?”
Under a Summer Sky--A Savannah Romance Page 9
