by Loni Lynne
“So nice to meet you, Camden. I hope you are enjoying Kings Mill.”
“It’s…um…interesting.” He smiled.
“That it is, but we will get into that more during or after tea.” She set the silver tray of hot tea on the buffet. “Oh dear! I know Tonya and I prefer hot tea even in the middle of summer, but I didn’t stop to think of your preference. Hot or iced?”
“I’m from the south, ma’am…”
“Sweet iced tea it is then. Give me a moment, I have some already brewed in the refrigerator.”
Vickie scampered off, leaving them alone in the open living room/dining room area. The tall floor to ceiling windows flooded the room with light as if they were on Vickie’s rooftop patio garden. But the special UV tinting kept the sun’s powerful rays from making the room too warm and from fading the colors of the furniture and drapes. The central air kept the penthouse a comfortable seventy degrees pretty much year round.
“Here we go. Please, sit down.” She placed the goblet of sweet tea at Camden’s place setting and carried the pitcher to the buffet for refills.
Tonya did the honors of pouring the hot tea, usually a loose leaf English black tea, and added two sugar cubes and a dash of cream.
“What we have are savories and sweets. The first tier are cucumber and cream, egg salad, and ham salad finger sandwiches. An assortment of chicken salad tarts, hummus on pita wedges, and custard tartlets are on the second tier. On the bottom, spice cake with cream cheese frosting, chocolate covered strawberries and lemon tarts. And on your bread plate is homemade scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves.”
“Have you talked to Kenneth about opening up your tea shop downtown?” Tonya asked as she broke apart her warm, fresh scone to lather it with clotted cream.
“I have, but he still wants me to have a partnership. He doesn’t want me to run the store all by myself. He thinks having a successful tea shop would be too taxing on a lady of my maturity.” Vickie scoffed. “I’m seventy-eight years old. The way he talks, you would think I was pushing a hundred.”
“He’s just concerned. You know that.”
“I know. He’s a good man. But he’s still a man.” Vickie looked to Camden. “No offense, Camden, but I’ve been married. Men are men and always will be. God love’em.” She laughed. “But I am looking at a few possibilities. There’s a young woman I’ve met recently. Her name is Jennifer and she’s been wanting to start a tea shop of her own for a while but doesn’t have the collateral. I would love to work with her. She’s a doll, has lots of spirit, makes wonderful, unique cakes and tea breads. I’m very seriously considering her. Kenneth wishes to interview her next week.”
“So maybe by the fall then?”
“I’m thinking. If not, then next spring at the latest.”
Camden sat quietly, listening as he ate. Tonya couldn’t help but notice he didn’t seem as comfortable with the small portions and dainty, fragile tea setting as he had with the tavern burgers and mugs. He tried to use the petite fork, only to lose it in his fingers. Finally giving the fork up for his fingers. The goblet didn’t hold enough for him to keep filled. He was a guy, after all. But then Kenneth James was a man and handled tea like he was born to the social event; coincidentally, the former British lord had been born for teas and pleasant conversation.
“So what seems to be the emergency? I can only assume paranormal in nature?” Vickie asked, moving their empty plates, once they had finished, to the buffet to collect later.
Tonya looked to Camden. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Body language told her he wasn’t going to speak.
“Camden had an encounter earlier today at Monocacy Battlefield.”
“No I didn’t. It was a fluke. The heat got to me because someone made me walk a mile during the hottest part of the day,” he groused.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of, Camden.” Vickie smiled, pouring another glass of iced tea for him. “It’s actually quite a special occurrence to have a paranormal encounter. Many in our society consider the experience as a person who has an open mindedness of accepting the unbelievable.”
He didn’t appear to be someone who had any desire to believe in fantasy, dreams, fate, or anything remotely implausible, much less paranormal existence. Maybe he was trying to hide his true self behind the macho bravado like Tonya had witnessed too many times from some of the guys in her high school class.
“I’m not ashamed that I don’t believe. It’s a bunch of witchy, hocus-pocus,” Camden scoffed.
Tonya was about to defend Vickie’s religious beliefs by attacking Camden for his rude behavior when the soft, wrinkled hand patted hers gently to stay her pre-meditated outburst. Vickie had the patience of a saint. Her smile never faltered. He wasn’t her first go-round with non-believers. And she was never one to judge another’s beliefs: religious, political or moral. The older woman accepted all in her world.
“You have every right to your opinions and beliefs. Everyone does. It’s one of the greatest gifts this country has afforded many of us.” Vickie took a sip of her tea. “So you are from South Carolina?”
“Yeah. Myrtle Beach.”
“Really? Near Murills Inlet or North Myrtle?”
“Murills Inlet.”
“Do you know the Davidsons? Tillie and Roger?” Vickie sat forward, excited.
“Yeah, I went to school with their youngest son, Dan.”
“Danny? Curly blond, freckles…”
“Yep. That’s Dan.” Camden smiled in awe. “He was my wide receiver my senior year.”
“I remember him when he was just a tyke. Always into mischief.”
“How do you know the Davidsons?”
“My dear husband and I had a winter home down at the Inlet. We were neighbors.”
“I’ll be dam…er…darned. What a small world.”
“A small world, indeed.” The grin and twinkle in Vickie’s eyes could be construed in a million different ways. To most, a friendly expression. To those who knew her, a bit sly and almost sarcastic.
Tonya didn’t miss the fact Vickie had completely changed the subject, turning on to Camden and his life, getting away from the supernatural. Amazing how she could divert someone in conversation without letting them actually feel slighted.
“So now you live up here in the summer?” Camden asked.
“I live here year round,” Vickie said as she refilled his tea glass again. “I have family and friends here now. I loved the Davidsons dearly but after my husband’s passing…South Carolina wasn’t the same. Feeling like an old third-wheel is never a good thing.”
“So you never remarried?”
Vickie laughed. “Oh good Lord no! After being married to one man for over fifty years? Why try to train another?” She winked at Tonya. “Besides, I enjoy my time. I have plenty of time to read, work on puzzles, play the organ at church, host three book clubs, and head the old S.O.W’s group.”
“You deal with pigs?”
“No. It’s an acronym for Society of Witches.”
Tonya tried not to smirk over her tea cup at the way Camden had casually spit his ice back into his glass at Vickie’s neutral statement. Oh, things were about to get good.
“Witches? You’re a witch?” Camden’s shocked demeanor rattled his whole frame.
“Of course.”
“And you attend church?”
“One does not need to lose the faith in God just because of their natural beliefs in creation. God is the creator. I am here to tend to everything great and small he created, the visible and His energy He still gives us.”
“What about others in your group?”
“We share our belief in the creation and energies around us. Each of us has our own God to believe in…or ideas of who God is. We don’t disregard any version of the Almighty. We gather to learn how to use the abilities and the energies we were blessed with for a greater good.”
“I don’t believe this…” Camden rose from his
chair and crossed the room to the elevator door. “I’m sorry, Miss Snyder, I don’t believe in witches or ghosts… That is all fiction. Neither you or Tonya will change my mind about my beliefs.”
He turned back around. “Thank you for the wonderful tea, ma’am. Tonya, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Wait! I’ll drive you home.”
“That’s okay. I’m really not in the mood. I’ll call a cab.”
Tonya looked from him to Vickie. The old woman didn’t seem offended, she continued to smile at him while sipping her tea.
“It was nice to meet you, young man. Say hello to the Davidsons for me when you see them again.”
Camden left leaving a heavy burden of energy surrounding Tonya. Vickie shook her head as she touched Tonya’s hand.
“Cleanse the negative energy around you, Tonya darling. Your negativity will do him no good.”
Him? Tonya didn’t give a rat’s ass about him. He’d just embarrassed her by refuting Vickie’s guidance and beliefs.
“I’m sorry, Vickie. I thought I could bring him here and he’d understand…”
Vickie’s steadfast smile and slight shake of her head silenced her. “His belief of the paranormal is the least of his worries, dear heart. He has a bigger issue at hand.”
“What’s that?” Tonya knew Vickie had the ability to read people’s auras, but she seldom spoke of them.
“Believing in himself.”
#
Camden wasn’t amused. Actually, he was pissed, but not sure if he was pissed at Tonya, Vickie, or himself. He knew Vickie had to be humoring him. One thing he didn’t like was being laughed at, not when he couldn’t join in.
Ghosts. Witches…really?
Tonya had to have set this all up. Maybe some newbie initiation to Kings Mill Historical Society. Hadn’t April been joking earlier with him, too? Something about being crazy helps to see ghosts?
He stared out of the passing scenery as the cab driver drove from the urban shopping area to the rural district of Kings Mill. The strip malls gave way to large modern facilities housing small businesses and warehouses, tapering to grassy fields with grazing dairy cows.
Rounding the bend there stood the red-headed kid he’d seen near the pool and again on his way to work. What was he doing so far from the apartment complex? The cab driver drove on.
“Hey wait!” Camden called out. “Can you back up and pick up that kid we just passed?”
“What kid?” the driver asked.
“The one back there about five hundred feet. He’s from my complex. I thought I could help him get home. Please?”
The driver rolled his eyes and found an old, scrub-covered drive to turn around in. Tracing the way they came, there weren’t any other cars in sight. And no sign of the kid.
“So where’s your friend?”
Camden looked around, noting they hadn’t driven far. The kid couldn’t have gotten away. There was nothing but empty field around them. No ditches, hills, trees or bushes he could be hiding behind on either side of the road.
“You didn’t see him a few minutes ago? I mean, how could you miss that shock of red hair and the dirty clothes?”
“Look, kid, the meter is ticking. Do you want me to drive you home or not?” the driver asked, looking in his rearview mirror. “I’ve got to take someone down to BWI in less than half an hour. I can’t be here all day with you.”
“Fine. Take me home.” Camden surrendered. He could’ve sworn the kid was right here.
Keeping a careful watch on the roadside as the cabbie drove onward, he didn’t see any sight of the red-haired boy past the next bend and through the intersection loomed the development he resided in.
Not having come the back way to Milltown Bluff, he hadn’t realized where they were. On his bike, the whole trip could’ve taken him twenty minutes at the most from the penthouse complex where Miss Vickie lived to here. After paying the cab driver for the five mile drive, he made his way into the community center before heading to his apartment.
“Hello. Can I help you?” A woman, about mid-thirties greeted him. She wore a skirt and suit coat with Addison Colonial Homes stitched onto the pocket.
“Ah, no thank you. I’m a resident over at the apartments.”
“Oh. Not looking to move into one of the Addison Homes being built?”
“No. Not staying long enough to do so.” Camden didn’t want to get into a long talk with her but thought maybe she might know about the kid. “Have you seen a young, red-haired boy, about yea high, wearing dirty clothes?”
She thought momentarily. “No. Is he missing? He’s not your son, is he?”
Did he look old enough to be a father? Technically, he could be, but the idea made him shudder. He wasn’t Daddy material. Not yet, at least. “No. I keep seeing him around here but then he just disappears. I thought he might be a trouble-maker or his parents weren’t keeping a good watch on him.”
“Anything is possible. I’ll let you know if I see him.”
She hadn’t seen him around. Odd. He was always in this area. Maybe she was too busy to notice. Hard not to notice the kid with such wild hair.
“Thanks.”
Camden was too riled up to just go back to his apartment and veg. Pulling a free bottle of water out of the community club’s small refrigerator in the hostess area, he guzzled half of it down as he contemplated what to do. He didn’t want to swim. It was too hot to walk back into town to get his bike at the historical society and he sure as hell didn’t want to call Tonya to have her do anything. He didn’t know anyone else in town, though.
A dark-haired man in a white hard hat and suit came walking in the side door, greeting him with a friendly smile and a rich English accent. “How are you doing, Mr. Phillips?”
Camden looked around, expecting to see his father standing behind him. Who was this man addressing?
The man laughed, showing a perfect smile and held out his hand. “Sorry, lad, I guess I should introduce myself. Kenneth Miles.”
Camden’s nerves jumped into his throat. This was thee Kenneth Miles. A man worth more than Camden could ever dream of making in a lifetime. A Bill Gates in international building and development, the man who controlled the stock market single handedly many weeks during the recession back in 2008.
Wiping his now sweaty palm on his khaki pants, he shook hands with the mega-mogul, wondering if touching the man was like touching Midas. He wouldn’t mind a bit of golden luck.
“Sir? I’m…I’m…”
“Camden Phillips, I know. My wife told me all about you coming here. One of old Doc’s students from William and Mary.” Still holding onto Camden’s hand, he slapped him on the back. “You settling in all right? Anything I can get for you while you’re here?”
Really? Anything he could get for Camden? Stunned, he couldn’t think of a damn thing he needed from the man.
“I’m heading over to have a pint or two at the Old Town Tavern & Inn. Care to join me for a wee drab?”
Camden was speechless.
“That means a mug of ale, son.”
“I know…I mean, yes…yes, sir.” Camden finally bumbled out of his mouth. “I mean, I would be honored.”
Kenneth laughed again. “Her Majesty isn’t going to be in attendance…just you and me having a brew down at the old pub. Come on. I’ll drive.”
A black beast of a Dodge Ram Truck double cab with a HEMI wasn’t what Camden expected from the world’s wealthiest man. The look of pure enjoyment on Kenneth’s face as he drove showed a side to the man few ever saw. He couldn’t believe it. There was even a baby safety seat strapped into the back.
Unsure what to talk about with the man, Camden sat quietly, only replying with one word answers to questions being thrown at him. With his heart racing and palms sweating, he was still a bit in awe of being asked to have a beer with Kenneth Miles.
“Look, I have been known to talk to myself at times, but I prefer someone to counter with decent conversation.”
“I’m a little intimidated…”
“Why?” Kenneth looked away from the road with a worried frown. “I’ve been hoping to become less formidable. My years of living in the shadows of publicity and paparazzi, being the ‘all mysterious-millionaire’ have ruined me for acquainting myself with my fellow man.” Sighing, he nodded. “I keep trying to be just one of the guys and people are uncertain of how to react.”
“You are and always will be Kenneth Miles, World Famous Entrepreneur and Multi-Millionaire. No one will get over the fact,” Camden countered.
“My wife seems to be the only one who isn’t afraid to step on my toes. She has been known to put me in my place at times. Reminds me, how does she put it…that I am just a man who puts on his pants one leg at a time.”
They pulled into the tavern parking lot on the backside of the building, a replica of an old springhouse sat off to the side of the property. Camden had heard about the historic discovery of the old barrels of colonial rum. Kenneth sat silently in the cab.
“Would you care for a look-see at the springhouse? April and the restoration crew have done their damnedest to recreate the original structure.”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
The small, white placard building wasn’t anything spectacular, but inside, artifacts of the colonial time period hung on the walls. Rusty ice tongs used to take chunks of ice from the nearby creek, various axes, hammers, and awls decorated the shanty. A replica rough-hewn ladder descended down into a ten by ten foot pit covered with Plexiglas. The pit displayed fake root vegetables, braids of herbs, wicker baskets of grain, and other food items that would have been stored in the cool conditions.
Off to the side was a stone and old brick doorway leading into another room. Kenneth explained that the addition had been built and hidden behind stacks of supplies to hold illegal rum from being confiscated by the British government at the time. Walking into an added section of the exhibit, Camden noticed the original casks of rum still lay at the bottom of the attached secret room encased in the Plexiglas they had discovered during renovations just last summer.
