by Josie Belle
“To maintain the historical integrity of the Dixon home, you can’t change anything,” Ruth said. She bobbed her head while she spoke and Maggie thought she looked like a chicken pecking relentlessly in the dirt. Then she leaned close into Maggie’s personal space and her eyes went wide behind her spectacles. “You can’t change anything.”
“Okay,” Maggie said.
She was now at the point where it was a matter of pacifying the crazy person. She knew Sam would be in to talk to Ruth later and, although she had agreed to tell Ruth he was coming, now she wasn’t so sure. Ruth’s obsession with the integrity of their house was making her edgy.
“I have some books that might help you appreciate your new home,” Ruth said.
She turned and walked over to one of the bookshelves against the wall. She ran her hand lovingly over the books and pulled three off the shelf. When she held them out to Maggie it was with obvious reluctance.
“You can take these since they are recent histories and we have multiple copies; for anything else you need to come in to use inside the building.”
Maggie glanced at the titles. One was about the early families of St. Stanley, another was historic homes and the third was a handbook about the requirements for historical designation for properties in St. Stanley. Subtle, Ruth was not.
“Thanks,” Maggie said. “I really appreciate it.”
Ruth bobbed her head and Maggie beat a hasty retreat before Ruth changed her mind and snatched the books out of Maggie’s hands.
“I’ll return these very soon,” Maggie said. “I promise.”
“I’m sure you will,” Ruth said.
Maggie hurried out the door with Ruth still watching her with an intensity that made her skin itch.
As she pushed open the door, she ran into Mary Lou Sutton, who was on her way in.
“Sorry,” Maggie said. She dodged to the side to keep from knocking Mary Lou down.
“It’s all right,” Mary Lou said. She was a sturdy middle-aged woman who wore her short brown hair in a mop of large curls and always had a pair of reading glasses perched on her head. “Don’t tell me, let me guess: Ruth is in rare form today.”
Maggie smiled in relief. Mary Lou understood.
“A bit,” she said.
“I’ve been here for several months now and every time I walk through the door I wonder if it’s a bad day or a good day,” Mary Lou said. “Well, at least today I’m prepared. Thanks, Maggie.”
“You’re welcome,” Maggie said. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Mary Lou said. She pulled open the door and called, “Mornin’, Ruth.”
* * *
Maggie hurried down the steps, hopped into her car and drove to her shop. She could feel the pressure of a headache building at the base of her skull. She needed a steaming cup of java and how.
She parked down the street from her shop in a side lot, leaving the spots in front of the store for customers. She took her books and unlocked the front door of her shop, flipping the CLOSED sign to OPEN.
She stored the books and her handbag in the break room and then fired up the coffee pot. She stood beside the pot, tapping her fingers on the counter and staring at it as if that would make it brew any faster.
When she heard the jangle of bells on the front door, she sighed. Then she shook it off. Customers were always a good thing, even precaffeine. She put on her brightest smile and left the break room to greet the person out front.
“Good morning,” she said. She glanced across the store to see Mrs. Shoemaker there. A tiny little bird of a woman, Mrs. Shoemaker collected cookie cutters. She had developed a slight hoarding problem when she discovered what all she could buy on eBay, so her children had put her computer on lockdown. Now she came to visit Maggie every week in the hope that Maggie might have some cookie cutters for her.
Maggie was torn between going out of her way to find one or two for the sweet elderly lady just to keep her happy and respecting her family’s wishes that she not bury herself alive in cookie cutters. It was a dilemma.
“Good morning, Maggie,” Mrs. Shoemaker said. “Get anything new?”
Maggie sighed. She’d been so busy with the house and the wedding—okay, not so much the wedding but definitely the house—that she hadn’t thought to put aside anything for Mrs. Shoemaker.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “No cookie cutters this week.”
“Darn it,” Mrs. Shoemaker said. She swung her right fist in an “aw shucks” motion that Maggie found endearing coming from the elderly lady.
“I’ve just made some coffee,” Maggie said. “Would you like a cup?”
“Why, I don’t mind if I do.” Mrs. Shoemaker beamed.
Maggie gestured for her to sit in the small seating area Maggie kept in the shop. All of the furniture pieces were for sale, so it was an ever-changing arrangement that Maggie felt suited her store’s ambiance.
Currently, it was an upholstered loveseat with a matching armchair and a glass coffee table. While Mrs. Shoemaker settled into the armchair Maggie went to fetch the coffee. She used a vintage dish set on a silver tray, all of which were also for sale.
She settled the tray on the table and poured the coffee for Mrs. Shoemaker, letting her add her own milk and sugar. Maggie handed her a cup and then made her own. It was all she could do not to purr when she took the first few sips. It had been a long morning.
Mrs. Shoemaker savored her first few sips as well and then she smiled at Maggie. “The big day is coming soon, isn’t it?”
“Just a few more weeks,” Maggie agreed.
“You are going to make a lovely bride,” Mrs. Shoemaker said.
Maggie looked down into her coffee cup. Bride. She didn’t really think of herself that way. To her, a bride seemed like a term for someone who was new to being a grownup. It didn’t feel new to her. She did feel like she was on the verge of becoming a wife, and she liked that, but the bride thing. It just didn’t feel like it fit quite right.
“Thank you,” she said. “We bought the Dixon house, did you hear?”
“I did.” Mrs. Shoemaker took a delicate sip of her coffee. “It’s about time someone made that old place a home again. I’m so glad it’s going to be you and Sam. He’s a fine man.”
“Thank you. I think so, too.”
Maggie glanced at Mrs. Shoemaker. She knew that she had lived in St. Stanley most of her life so it stood to reason that she knew something of the Dixon family history. Maybe she even knew who the skeleton in the root cellar was. It was worth a shot.
“Did you know Ida or Imogene Dixon very well, Mrs. Shoemaker?” Maggie asked.
“Call me Mildred, dear, there’s no need for formality between friends,” Mrs. Shoemaker said. “No, the Dixon twins were older than me by about ten years. When I was a girl, I thought they were like movie stars. We all watched them from afar.”
“All right, Mildred.” Maggie smiled. “What do you remember about them?”
“Well, Ida was the dreamer, she always wore pink and loved to recite poetry,” Mildred said. “Imogene on the other hand was the practical one. She always looked like she was working out a math problem in her head. She was the caretaker of the two of them. Their mother died when they were teenagers. Imogene stepped up and took over the mother role for Ida, she was the more sensitive one and seemed to suffer from the loss of their mother more. That always made me feel badly for Imogene. She was so busy taking care of Ida that I wondered if anyone ever took care of her.”
“Oh, that would have been hard,” Maggie agreed. “What about their father?”
“He was a wreck after their mother passed,” Mildred said. She paused to sip her coffee. “He tried his best, but really, a man back in the forties had no idea how to raise two teenage girls. It’s lucky Imogene was so level-headed.”
“Do you know why neither of them ever married?”
“I think Ida was almost married once,” Mildred said. “But something happened. It was during the war so he could hav
e been killed and knowing how sensitive Ida was she might not have wanted to marry another.”
“And Imogene?”
“She’d never leave Ida,” Mildred said. “It’s too bad. They were both lookers in their day, with Ida being the more outgoing one while Imogene was rather shy.”
“Do you remember who it was that Ida was supposed to marry?” Maggie asked.
Mildred looked thoughtful for a minute and then she shook her head. “No, it was seventy years ago and I’m afraid my brain is too crowded to remember. I’ll think on it if you’d like.”
“Please,” Maggie said.
“Why is it so important?” Mildred asked.
Maggie wondered if she should mention the skeleton in her house. She couldn’t even wrap her head around how to start that conversation. She knew it would become public information soon enough but she wasn’t sure Sam wanted it known just yet.
“We’ve found some interesting things in the house,” she said. Not a total lie. “So, we’re just trying to put together a picture of the Dixon family to get a sense of our new home.”
Mildred’s gaze was shrewd, as if she knew Maggie wasn’t telling her everything.
“Every home is the keeper of the story of the family who has lived there,” she said. “When you and Sam move in, you’ll be giving it a new story. Don’t fret too much about the past, it’s over and done and can’t be changed.”
Maggie nodded. “You’re a very wise woman, Mrs. Shoemaker—I mean, Mildred.”
“Oh no,” Mildred waved a dismissive hand at her. “I’ve just been around awhile is all. You can’t help but pick up a few life lessons along the way.”
“I suppose,” Maggie agreed.
Mildred glanced at her watch. “Oh dear, I have to go,” she said. She put down her cup and rolled out of her seat. “I have an appointment at the Clip and Snip with Eva Martinez. I don’t want to be late. She gets insulted if you’re not on time, and I don’t want her taking it out on my hair.”
“Of course. Thanks for visiting with me,” Maggie said.
“Oh no, thank you for a lovely time,” Mildred said. She paused before pushing open the front door. “A little word of advice, if I may?”
“Absolutely,” Maggie said.
“Don’t let the ghost scare you off.” With that, Mrs. Shoemaker pushed out the door, leaving Maggie slack jawed in her wake.
Ghost! She had said ghost! Did Mildred Shoemaker know there was a ghost in the Dixon house? In her and Sam’s house?
Maggie was about to call after her, but the door was pulled open again and a handful of customers entered. Darn it!
Chapter 11
Maggie was half tempted to run after her, but then she paused. Wouldn’t Mildred have flat-out told her the house was haunted if it was? Maybe she was speaking in the metaphorical sense.
She wanted to call Sam but she hesitated. He was already thumbs-down on her ghost theory and he now had a full plate trying to figure out the identity of their uninvited basement-dwelling houseguest.
Maggie cleaned up after her coffee with Mildred while Marlene Riordan and her daughters Chrissy and Heather shopped for a dining set for Heather’s new apartment. Maggie didn’t have one at the moment that would fit in Heather’s place, but she did have some vintage stemware that Chrissy purchased for her apartment.
When the Riordans left, Patti Simpson and her son Alec popped in, looking for some luggage for his post-college trip to Europe. Maggie just happened to have a set of Lucas bags that had never been used by the previous owner, John Solomon, who had bought the luggage to combat his fear of flying by building excitement for a trip to Fiji. It hadn’t worked. Patti and Alec were happy to give the luggage a new home.
Still thinking about what Mildred had told her, Maggie was sorting a box of sweaters donated by Hannah Chisholm. They had the faint smell of moth balls about them, but they were designer sweaters, hand knit of good quality wool. Maggie couldn’t do much with them in June but come October they would be a hot ticket.
She was picturing a window display featuring a few of the sweaters when her cell phone rang. The number displayed was Doc Franklin’s.
“Hi, Doc,” she answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Not exactly,” Doc said. “There’s been an incident over here at Spring Gardens and Blue Dixon says you can clear it up.”
“Incident?” Maggie asked.
“Well, a fight, actually,” Doc said.
“Fight? Between who?”
“Blue Dixon and Dennis Applebaum,” Doc said. “It got a bit ugly. I’ve just stitched up Blue’s forehead.”
“Stitches?” Maggie squeaked. “I’ll be right there.”
She glanced at her watch. She really could not close in the middle of the day. She wondered if Mrs. Kellerman at the dry cleaner next door would be willing to come over and watch the shop. If she had her assistant in, it should be no problem.
Maggie hurried next door and found Mrs. Kellerman doing some hand tailoring on a blouse. She was more than happy to come and watch Maggie’s shop while she ducked out. Maggie promised to return the favor whenever it was needed.
The drive to Spring Gardens was short as it was just across town. Maggie had a horrible image of Blue Dixon with a squashed melon for a head but that was ridiculous as Doc Franklin would have admitted him to the hospital if that were the case. But what could have happened between the two geriatrics that would have caused the poor man to require stitches? And how could Maggie possibly help?
She parked her car and hurried into the office on the side of the building where she had formerly worked as Doc Franklin’s bookkeeper. The first person she saw was Cheryl, Doc’s number one nurse, and she looked at Maggie with wide eyes as if to say she had never seen anything like this.
“What happened?” Maggie asked.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Cheryl said.
“Sorry, hi,” Maggie said. She gave the solidly built nurse a quick hug and then stepped back. “But seriously, what happened?”
“Blue took a cane to the forehead,” Cheryl said. “While Dennis had his walker knocked out from under him and twisted his ankle.”
“Good grief,” Maggie said. “Will they be okay?”
“Yeah, just bumps and bruises,” Cheryl said. “Doc wanted you to come and talk to them and see if you could clear up the misunderstanding.”
“I don’t see how I can,” Maggie said. “But I’ll try.”
Cheryl nodded. “They’re in examination room three.”
“Thanks,” Maggie said. She began to stride down the short hallway but Cheryl called her back. “Hey! Tim and I are really looking forward to the wedding! He said Sam said you were serving barbecue. Can I just say, ‘Yay!’?”
Maggie gave her a small smile which she hoped covered the dismay that was coursing through her body. Barbecue? When had they decided on barbecue? What could Sam be thinking? Her mother would have a fit and she was pretty sure his mother wasn’t going to be doing cartwheels about the menu either.
She rapped lightly on the door to exam room three, waiting just a moment to hear Doc give her the okay before she entered. She pushed the door open cautiously, peering around the edge before she came in. Even peeking first, she was unprepared for the sight that met her eyes.
Doc Franklin was standing between the two gray-haired men, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking as disgusted as Maggie had ever seen him.
“I think you two need to do a nice afternoon of community service after the ruckus you kicked up,” Doc Franklin said. “You smashed Mavis Toole’s prize orchids in your dustup and you broke Clyde Bushell’s favorite chair.”
“What? I pay to live here,” Dennis Applebaum protested. “I am not doing any manual labor.”
Doc Franklin pursed his lips and considered him a moment. “I suppose you could always move out.”
“I’m not moving,” Dennis blustered.
“Then I suggest you do what I advise and do some community service
before the other residents vote you out. There’s a waiting list one hundred deep, so it’s not like they’ll have any trouble replacing you.”
“Why do I have to do it?” Dennis whined. “He started it.”
Maggie felt her temples contract. She was having a hard time deciding if this guy was seven or seventy. At least now she understood why he wasn’t married. Probably, his mother had coddled him all his life and he’d never had to grow up and accept responsibility for his actions.
Judging by the way Doc Franklin’s hair was standing on end, his exasperation had peaked. His hair always started the day neatly combed but with each difficult patient it rose to stand straight up until he had his mad scientist look going.
She glanced at Blue Dixon, who had yet to say a word. Instead he was holding an ice pack to his head and looking resigned.
“I’ll make the orchid situation right,” he said.
“And just what does that leave me with?” Dennis demanded. “The chair? How is that fair?”
Maggie was beginning to understand why Blue had popped him.
“I know about orchids,” Blue said. “I can help with those.”
“Excellent,” Doc said. “And you can split the cost of replacing Clyde’s chair.”
Blue nodded as if that seemed fair to him.
Dennis looked smug as if he’d gotten away with something until Doc looked at him and added, “And since you don’t know anything about orchids, I think you can weed Mavis’s ten-by-ten patch in the community garden.”
“Aw.” Dennis started to complain but Doc cut him off by holding up his hand.
“Enough,” Doc said. “Maggie is here to tell you both about the house and put this nonsense to an end.”
Maggie glanced at their expectant expressions and she turned to look at Doc in confusion. “What is it exactly that you wanted to know?”
“Is there a ghost in the house?” Blue asked.
She frowned at him. They’d already discussed this.
“Yes, is there?” Dennis asked. “Does it seem malevolent?”
“Huh?” Maggie looked at Doc in confusion.
