by Etta Faire
“The dead do,” I said, then after realizing that sounded crazy, added. “I mean their families do, and I care too.”
Dr. Vernon Gleason, the town’s only veterinarian and the youngest one in the investment group at age 60, leaned in my direction. Rosalie called him Dr. Dog, mostly because he hit on every woman at his vet clinic. “She’s just trying to drum up some business over there at the Purple Pony. Charge good people millions of dollars to watch another silly seance. I heard they’re not doing very well over there.” He ran a thick freckled hand through his greasy dyed bangs and winked at me. “You should come on over and work for me, Carly Mae. I’ll keep you busy.”
I was happy my stomach didn’t have anything to possibly throw up.
I grabbed my coffee and took a larger sip than I’d intended, burning my tongue. I hadn’t heard the Purple Pony wasn’t doing well. I mean, I should have guessed. My hours had been cut again, but Rosalie just said that was because it was winter and we didn’t have rich tourists here for the summer yet.
The diner seemed silent, except for the occasional sounds of forks scraping along plates, and a mumble about me and the Purple Pony. I shook myself out of my stupor.
“Stop trying to change the subject. Gloria Thomas did not die by accident. And I’m going to prove it,” I said, loudly, so the whole restaurant could hear me. That got the murmurs really going.
The mayor pointed a shaky finger at me. “We know how you operate, and we’re all tired of it. Aren’t we?” he asked the members of his table. They all nodded like the old man was making sense.
He went on. “You sure like to stir up trouble where there isn’t any. Well, that might have flown with the country club ladies who like to take on ridiculous causes like helping mediums change death certificates on old suffragettes. But this is different. You could hurt people’s reputations. And I, for one, will fight for mine.”
We were both talking for the benefit of the entire restaurant now. Mrs. Carmichael and Shelby were the only ones shuffling about, grabbing empty plates and filling coffee cups, but even they were really looking over, listening.
And the ball was back in my court. “I thought just a couple months ago, you said every life mattered in this city and so did every death. Gloria Thomas was a life. So was her cousin Annette and your friend Frederick. Apparently, life and death only matter when precious reputations aren’t also on the line.”
“The good people of this town have suffered enough with this case,” he said. “You’re right. Freddie was my friend. And he was lost in a tragic accident. I think everyone here will agree with me when I say we’re done reliving it. Certain things should stay in the past.”
He was good, better than I thought. Just like the politician he was trained to be, he knew exactly when to bring the crowd to his side, and how to do it. I could tell he’d just won this round. Everyone went back to their chicken fried steaks and their conversations about what a bad winter this was going to be.
I took another couple sips of coffee, threw down five dollars onto the counter, and hopped off my bar stool. Someone who probably wasn’t on the verge of losing her job should have my spot. Someone who could afford chicken fried steak and not just coffee.
Chapter 5
Tread Cautiously
“Jackson is seriously getting on my nerves,” I told my boss the next day when we were standing by the main storefront window, pulling the stiff arms of a headless mannequin into a cable knit, vintage, 70s sweater for the Purple Pony’s window display. “I have no privacy.”
“And that’s surprising to you how? I’m pretty sure Jackson didn’t have boundaries when he was living either.”
“And the other day, when Justin and I were on the couch…” I stopped myself. It was strange talking about my love life in front of someone I thought of as a mom.
“I get it. You don’t want Jackson popping in. Maybe I can find a recipe to help.”
I nodded like I knew what that meant. One of my curls caught on a random Christmas bulb hanging from the side of the window and I yanked it free, leaving a chunk of blondish brown strands dangling off of it like tinsel.
Even though we were well into January, the Purple Pony still had Christmas lights hanging everywhere because Rosalie “loved that time of year.” What she probably loved best was that it was the last time we had any customers. I didn’t mention the part where Dr. Dog said the Purple Pony was in trouble.
Instead, I told her all about my new client and the run-in I had with the mayor.
Rosalie pulled her dreadlocks into a bun and steadied herself on the stool by her side, resting her bad hip as she straightened out the neckline of the mannequin’s sweater. “If the mayor had that kind of a reaction when you just brought up the boating accident, he’s hiding something.”
“Yep,” I said.
“You could uncover a whole mess of trouble,” she mumbled with a pin in her mouth. She bunched the mannequin’s skirt a little in the back and pinned it so it would fit its curves better. “Tread cautiously.”
That was the second “tread cautiously” I’d heard in the last couple days.
“Were Woodward and Bernstein told to tread cautiously by the Washington Post?” I asked.
“How should I know? They didn’t have to deal with the good-ole-boys club of Landover County. I do know that. Now, go on outside and tell me how this dummy looks from the window.”
“It’s below freezing outside,” I said. “I can already tell you. It looks fine.”
She gave me a look, so I went in the back and grabbed my coat, gloves, and hat. She waited to roll her eyes until I got back to the front. “I asked you to make a two-second assessment. You’re dressed like you’re going camping in the Arctic.”
I smiled behind my scarf and opened the door, blinking into the sunlight that always seemed brighter when it reflected off snowbanks. A cold wind shot through my body, and the many layers of clothes I was wearing weren’t doing much to help.
The sidewalk under my feet hadn’t been salted properly and I slipped a little as I cautiously trudged out to the window in the front. Just like I thought, the mannequin looked fine, although very Christmasy for nowhere near Christmas with all the red and green lights surrounding it.
“Thanks again for the rush delivery,” a familiar voice said as the door to the Bait ’N Breath opened, and Paula Henkel stepped out, carrying a large box. The hippie store couldn’t even get one customer during the off season but the tackle shop next to us in the strip mall had customers galore.
Last time I saw the spiky-haired, bleach-blonde woman, her face was stuck in a bucket of fish as a polar bear. Apparently, there were many shapeshifters here in Potter Grove. So far, I’d only discovered two bears for sure: her and Bobby Foreman, Shelby’s fiancé. I avoided both.
“Going ice fishing?” I asked, pointing toward her box. “Or buying a few snacks?”
Paula glared at me. “How’s business?” she said in such a way I knew she was dying for me to ask her the same question. The winter business season in Potter Grove was even deadlier than winter itself.
“Oh, it’s always slow in January,” I said. “But we’re making do.” I added that last part to try to quell the rumors already circulating.
She waited a second for me to ask her about the bed and breakfast. I didn’t. “Still going strong at the bed and breakfast,” she replied, trudging out to her large white truck. “But then, I know how to cater to the locals. That’s the secret. I’m running a local lovebird special right now if you and Justin are interested.”
“Thanks, but I live in a beautiful Victorian. Every day’s like waking up in a bed and breakfast.” If cursed haunted houses were charming and had privacy. I looked down at my scuffed-up puffer coat, which was the same coat I’d been wearing for five years. Who was I kidding? She knew the truth.
She smiled a little too enthusiastically. “Well then, have a good day.”
I needed to figure out a way for the Purple Pony to cat
er to the locals, too. I was just about to go back inside when I thought of something. Why not take the investment club’s advice?
I sucked in my pride and yelled to Paula. “I think I have a ghost story the locals will be very interested in if you feel like partnering to do a seance again. I’d do it myself, but you were great with marketing last time.”
She stopped and looked over. “I’m listening.”
“Sixty years ago, four people died on the lake. It was deemed an accident, but I’ve talked to one of the ghosts, and it was no accident.”
“You talked to one of the ghosts?” She chuckled to herself, her cheeks bright red from the cold.
“You’re right. That’s crazy. Enjoy your fish, from your bucket.”
She paused at her opened driver’s side door. “I’m always up for a business proposition,” she said, sliding her box of polar bear food across to the passenger’s seat. “But just so you know, if we work together, I won’t be paying for damages this time around. And windows probably cost double to replace in winter.”
She was referring to the last seance we’d done when my suffragist client was so angry with her lying fiancé that she blew out some windows at the bed and breakfast. It made negotiating the terms of our agreement with Paula pretty sticky.
I tried to make my voice as confident as I could. “We’ll have sage on stand-by this time. Burning sage will keep the ghosts in check.”
She looked at me like I just told her I still believed in Santa. “C’mon, Carly. That’s an old wive’s tale, and ghosts aren’t real.”
“They’re real, and it works. But even if it doesn’t, we’ll pay for any damage caused by ghosts. You paid for it last time.”
Her smile grew to an evil length. “We’ll talk,” she said, getting into her truck.
Snow fell heavily as I walked back toward the Purple Pony, a new-found confidence in my step. All I had to do was convince Rosalie to work with Paula again, and get a ghost or two from the boating accident to show up. I pictured the whole county getting behind me on this one. The truth would prevail.
I looked up at the sad headless mannequin celebrating Christmas from 1976, a hairy bulb behind her neck. Truth was, we couldn’t afford for the truth not to prevail.
Rosalie was just as curious as I thought she’d be when I got back inside. “What were you talking to Satan about?”
“Business.”
“My soul’s not for sale.”
“He said he needs ‘em pure, anyway,” I joked. I wanted to say a lot of other things, like how I knew the Purple Pony wasn’t doing well, maybe remind her that we needed to figure out ways to cater to the locals. But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I just nodded like we weren’t about to do business with the dark lord.
At the end of the day, when the window mannequin was sporting her third 70’s Christmas look in January because we were bored, I stood at the mirror by the dressing room, touching up my mascara. Justin and I were hanging out at his place tonight and I was counting down the seconds until I could leave.
The wind chimes on the front door clanged, and Rosalie darted in from the back like she was prepared to pounce on our one-and-only customer. She stopped when she saw it was Justin, and limp-walked back.
“You’re early,” I said to him. “I can officially go in…” I looked at my cellphone clock.
“Just go,” Rosalie said.
Justin didn’t say a word as we walked out to his truck. And, it dawned on me that he hadn’t kissed me hello either. Snow fell all around us, but it wasn’t why I was feeling cold.
“Everything okay?” I finally asked when we reached his truck.
“Fine.”
I nodded and got into his spotless passenger’s seat, turning the vent over toward me and adjusting my temperature to max heat. “I wish everything was fine with me. I think I’m about to get my hours cut again.”
He took a deep breath like he was going to say something then exhaled without saying a word. I hated it when people did that. My mother made that same sound every time she asked how my career was going.
It was the sigh of disappointment. I never thought I’d hear it from my boyfriend, though. I turned the radio up so we wouldn’t have to make conversation then looked out the window because staring at darkness was much more interesting right now.
“Do you know what I did all day?” he finally asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied to the window, never looking over at him.
“I filled out paperwork and filed it. I cleaned trashcans and wiped toilets. That’s what I did.”
“That sucks.”
“Yes. It did suck.” His voice was cold, distant.
I didn’t say anything and he didn’t either, but after his third sigh-of-disappointment, I’d had enough. “Look, okay it sucked. But I have been in enough years of therapy to know that what you’re doing right now is inappropriately displacing your anger. You’re mad at Caleb and taking it out on me.”
He stared at the road.
I went on. “Now, my anger about your anger, on the other hand, is very understandable. I’m pretty sure even a therapist would say, ‘Good job on this anger, Carly. Totally appropriate use of it there.’”
Justin clenched his teeth and furrowed his thick eyebrows. “When I asked Caleb what was going on, why I was cleaning and filing stuff. You know what he told me?”
“I don’t care.”
“He said, ‘Ask your girlfriend.’ So now I’m asking. What does that mean?”
I took a deep breath like I was about to say something, but only exhaled. The sound of Justin’s wipers swishing away the fast-falling snow was the only sound.
My mouth fell open. “He said to ask me?”
“Yes.”
I sat listening to the wipers. That comment must’ve been the mayor’s attempt at trying to silence me. I tried to hold in my smile. “I think it means I’m on the right track. I met a new ghost…”
“Ghost,” he said with an almost laugh in his tone. “I have to clean trashcans and file because of a ghost. Listen to yourself.”
“I am listening to myself,” I said. “You’re the one not listening. Just take me back to my car. I’m not in the mood to hang out with your illegitimate anger issues.”
“You always do this,” he said. “You did it twelve years ago, and you’re still doing it.”
“Do what?”
“Make me out to be the villain.”
We didn’t talk the whole way back to the Purple Pony. And I didn’t even give him the chance to kiss me good-bye. I slammed the door shut and stumbled through the piling snow over to my car, never looking back.
I could tell the man of few words was holding in a lot of them at that moment. Good. That made two of us.
Chapter 6
Slippery Slopes
It was just one simple question. For my investigation. It had nothing to do with the argument I’d just had with my boyfriend. I hit the little phone icon and waited on the side of the road for him to pick up. The snow had really piled up while I was at work and it was still coming down. It was going to be slow-going, getting up Gate Hill tonight, and this was my last chance to use my cell phone.
“Hey Carly. I’ve been meaning to call you,” Parker said when he answered.
I lost any semblance of thought. “Whymever for?” I managed. Whymever for? I cursed my ex-husband for making me feel nervous around this man. Maybe Parker hadn’t heard me.
He went on. “Mrs. Nebitt said you were going to take over story time at the library for her. She wants us to coordinate a day to do it so she can put it on the library’s online calendar. She’s hoping more kids’ll show up next time so Lil Mil and Benjamin can maybe make some friends.”
“Oh,” I said, cluing in that this was a business call. I tried not to show my disappointment. “Pretty much any morning works for me. I work at the Purple Pony in the afternoons,” I said. “But I’ll be honest. I have no idea how to run a story time.”
&
nbsp; “It’s simple.” He laughed. “You just read stories.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had two English degrees. I could read.
“And maybe do a puppet show or a sing-a-long.”
I coughed on air. “A puppet show? Where do you even buy puppets? Is there a puppet store somewhere? And do kids really like those creepy things?”
He laughed even harder, probably thinking I was joking. “You’re creeped out by puppets, huh?” His voice had a teasing quality to it that made me want to get teased more. “They’re Lil Mil’s favorite.”
“Well, then,” I said. “I don’t want to piss off Lil Mil. She seems like a tough cookie.”
“Takes after her great grandma.”
“Speaking of her great grandma,” I said. “I’m calling because I lost her phone number and I need it.”
There was a long pause. “Whymever for?” he asked, making me kick myself even harder for saying that before. So much for thinking he hadn’t heard.
“I just want to ask her a few things.”
“You’re not going to…” he hesitated. “Ask her about the night of the dance, are you? Honestly, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Your grandmother’s a grown woman, Parker. And a tough cookie. You just told me that. She can handle my questions.”
“Okay, but you saw how Mrs. Nebitt reacted when you asked her about that night? My grandmother is ten times worse.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tread cautiously,” I said, before he had a chance to say it.
Parker agreed to text me the number and I agreed on a week from Monday for the story time. Then I slowly maneuvered my way up Gate Hill, along the barely-visible path that had supposedly been snowplowed for me that afternoon.
My car skidded on what felt like a block of ice and I turned my steering wheel in the direction of the skid, just like my mother taught me to do, taking my foot off the gas. My heart pounded through my sweater as I mechanically went through the steps of coming out of a skid, but ended up sliding out of control for a full 10 seconds. The only light around was coming from my headlights as they bounced crazily over rocks and trees. I finally stopped in a snowbank and took a deep breath.
