by Maria Geraci
“Nah. I would know if it were her.”
Allie felt a moment’s disappointment. She shook it off and handed him back her empty cup. “Thanks for the coffee. And for being so honest. I guess I’ll never find out who wrote that email.”
“So that’s it. You’re giving up?”
“You said yourself, the whole town voted for the new rec center. If someone secretly doesn’t want the old senior center to come down it could be anyone. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”
“What about a more personal reason? Maybe Concerned Citizen doesn’t care if the building comes down or not. Maybe they just wanted you to be involved in it somehow.”
“Involved is putting it mildly. I’ve practically staked my career on this story.” Allie told him about the job opening at Florida! magazine and about Chris Dougal and his immigration piece and the competition the two of them had been forced into.
“Illegal immigration, huh?”
Allie didn’t have to ask what he thought her chances of landing a job against that were. Not with a ghost story that was proving to be as flimsy as air. “I thought maybe I’d write an article about my experience at a séance.”
Roger looked even more skeptical.
“Or maybe not.” She thought about what he’d said, about Concerned Citizen having a personal reason to want her in town. But the only person she could think that would want her in town would be…
“You know, maybe there is someone who would want me here badly enough to write that letter,” Allie said. “My sister-in-law’s always going on about how much she wants me to move back home. But if Mimi wanted me back in town all she’d have to do is ask me. Not write a letter under the guise of some ghost haunting.”
“You sure about that?”
“If I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that I’m not sure about anything.”
“All those years in the business taught me that when my gut tells me something, it’s usually right. I’ve been watching you. You got those instincts, too.” He winked at her and Allie caught a glimpse of the man he’d been at fifty. No wonder Janice had married him after just three dates. Roger Van Cleave was not only smart, he was charming.
“Thank you.” She reached out and hugged him.
Correction: You hugged friends, puppy dogs, and kindred spirits.
Who would have thought Roger Van Cleave would turn out to be all three?
*~*~*
“So, no ghost story?” Allie hated hearing the disappointment in Emma’s voice but it was way past time she filled her editor in on what was going on.
“No ghost story. No séance,” Allie said. “Sorry, but it just didn’t pan out.”
“What are you going to do? Ben is expecting your portfolio by the end of next week.”
“I’m not giving up on the job, if that’s what you mean. I’ll figure something out.”
“You’re so good at connecting with your readers. Write from the heart, Allie. It’s what you do best. You’ll find your story. You know I’m rooting for you.”
“Thanks, Emma. That means a lot.”
*~*~*
At noon, Allie met up with Zeke as planned and they headed off to the courthouse in nearby Panama City. Thankfully, the process of getting her license reinstated was relatively simple. Expensive, but not complicated.
“I hope this teaches you to read the fine print from now on,” Zeke said, dropping her back off at the house.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Don’t be a smart ass.” He glanced at his watch. “Tell Mimi I’ll meet her at the football game.”
Yikes. Allie had almost forgotten about tonight’s game. And more importantly, what would be happening after the game. As in, Claire’s big confession. “You’re taking separate cars?”
“Mimi has to get Claire there an hour early. Plus, she’s manning the refreshment booth so she’s got to set up.”
“Wow. Mimi really has her hands full, huh?”
“Tell me about it. And now she’s come up with this cockamamie scheme to run for mayor.”
Allie felt her hackles bristle. “I think Mimi would make an awesome mayor.”
“Sure she would. When they invent a forty-hour day.”
“When did you become such a Cro-Magnon?” She’d actually wanted to call him a prick, but considering all he’d done for her it wouldn’t have been very gracious. Still. Her brother was turning into someone she hardly recognized.
“Just being realistic,” Zeke said. He waved goodbye and took off in his cop car.
“Men,” she muttered. She made her way up the driveway back to the house, stopping briefly to pat her little VW bug on the hood. “I’ll never take you for granted again,” she said. Four days without a car had taught her a valuable lesson. She went in through the garage and into the kitchen to find Mimi up to her elbows in cupcakes.
“God, it smells awesome in here.”
“My Bunco group is manning the refreshment stand tonight. Half the proceeds go to the non-profit organization of our choice.” Mimi’s eyes glittered. “Which, coincidentally, happens to be me. I’ve decided to run for mayor and campaigns don’t come cheap. Not even in little ol’ Whispering Bay.”
Before Mimi could stop her, Allie grabbed a cupcake off the cooling rack. “That’s the best news I’ve had all week.”
“Zeke doesn’t think so, but yeah, I’m pretty excited.”
Allie picked up a spoon and dipped it into a vat of vanilla icing and smeared it on top of her cupcake, then licked off what was left on the spoon. “What does Zeke know?”
“He hasn’t said so directly, but I think he thinks the city will fall apart if I’m at the helm. Plus, if I do get the job, I’d sort of be his boss.”
Allie nearly choked on the icing. “Ha! No wonder he’s going ballistic.”
Mimi picked up a cooled cupcake and began icing it. “What did he say? And tell me the truth.”
Uh-oh. Allie hadn’t meant to rain on Mimi’s parade. Especially not when her sister-in-law needed her support. “Who cares what my dumbass brother thinks? I think it’s great. The kids will, too. And Zeke will come around. You’ll see.”
“You think so?”
“Of course!” Allie decided to change the subject. “Roger Van Cleave is a pretty cool old guy.”
“You saw his photographs?” Mimi smiled like she’d known a secret that Allie was just now discovering.
“Why didn’t you tell me he worked for Life magazine?”
“I didn’t think about it. I mean, all those Gray Flamingoes are pretty interesting if you ask me.”
Allie laid down her spoon. “Mimi, after Buela died, what happened to all her stuff?” Just two weeks after Buela’s death, Allie had gone off to college, dazed and heartbroken. Mimi had taken on the sorrowful task of closing up the little house Allie shared with Buela. Allie had returned home to Whispering Bay for Thanksgiving break to find that Mimi and Zeke had made a place for her in their own home.
“You mean photos, things like that?” Mimi frowned. “You’ve seen them. They’re all over the walls. Plus, I have a few dozen albums in the den closet. You’re welcome to any of them, you know.”
“Thanks. But I mean…the other stuff? Her furniture, things like that?”
“I think most of her furniture went to Good Will and to the church bazaar. I kept a few things, though, like her china and her wedding dress. It’s very cool, you know. Very retro. It would fit you perfectly.”
Buela’s wedding dress would fit her? Allie had never even entertained the idea. Of course, in order to wear a wedding dress you had to have a groom first.
“Why do you suddenly want to know about Buela’s things?”
“I don’t know. Seeing Roger’s house, all his knickknacks, stuff from his trips, it made me a little nostalgic, I guess.” She studied her sister-in-law carefully and said, “He gave me some insight into who might be Concerned Citizen.”
Was it a figment of Allie’s imagination or did Mimi’s cheeks go pi
nk? “He did?”
“Roger thinks Concerned Citizen had a sneakier reason to write me that email. He thinks maybe someone wanted to delay the demolition. Or maybe…someone just wanted me here in town.”
“Leave it to those Gray Flamingoes to turn this whole thing into some conspiracy theory.” Mimi raised an iced cupcake in the air to inspect it. “Do you think I’m putting too much icing on these?”
“There’s no such thing as too much icing.”
“Agreed.” She placed the cupcake back on the tray and looked up to find Allie staring at her. “What? You don’t think I wrote that email, do you?”
“You didn’t? I mean, you seem pretty happy to have me back home.”
“Why on earth would I write your editor an anonymous email when I could just speed dial you and tell you I needed you?”
Mimi was right. All she had to do was ask and Allie would have come running. There would have been no need for subterfuge. Still, Mimi couldn’t seem to make eye contact. She was hiding something. Allie was sure of it.
“So maybe you didn’t write the letter yourself, but…you know who did.”
Mimi’s eyes widened.
“Busted!” Allie said.
“Okay, so I had no idea she was going to actually write it. We’d talked about different strategies, and if I’d known you were going to pin your hopes for a new job on that ghost story I swear I would never have gone along with any of it.”
“She? Who exactly are we talking about here, Mimi?”
She sighed and wiped the icing off her hands with a kitchen towel. “Lauren Donalan, who else?”
Lauren Donalan was Concerned Citizen? It made no sense. “Start from the beginning, please.”
“You know that Henry and Cameron have become fast friends,” Mimi said, “and Lauren and I have become friends, too.” She made a pleading face. “Please don’t be mad, but we kind of thought it would be neat if we could get you and Tom back together.”
“Did you ever think of maybe just setting us up on a date?”
Mimi rolled her eyes. “As if you’d ever agree to that.”
“Of course not, but—”
“I know what we did was wrong. Sort of. But to tell you the truth, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. If you’d seen your face when Tom came to pick you up the other night, well, you can tell yourself whatever you want but I’ve known you since you were thirteen-years-old. Whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing, he’s the one you want. So while I feel bad that this might have interfered with your job, I’m glad Lauren had the balls to do it.”
*~*~*
Allie pulled her car into the last parking space and killed the engine. The Bistro by the Beach was hopping, as usual. She studied the entrance to Lauren’s shop, Can Buy Me Love. Gone was the Partridge family window display. In its place were two mannequins dressed in retro Halloween costumes. She peered in through the glass window.
There was no sign of Lauren. Which didn’t mean anything. There was no sign of anyone, actually. Compared to the buzz of people coming and going through the Bistro door the little retro shop practically looked like a graveyard. How did Lauren make a living with this place?
Allie placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated a moment. Mimi had made her promise she wouldn’t make a scene and she intended to keep that promise. She wasn’t mad at Lauren. More like confused. She understood Mimi’s rationale for wanting her and Tom to get together, but Lauren’s? That, she didn’t understand. Not one bit. But she wanted to.
She’d told Lauren she’d visit the shop before she left town so she had a legitimate reason for being here. But she suddenly felt…shy. And nervous. Talking to Tom’s ex about the weather was one thing. But talking to her about Tom himself was something else entirely.
Allie stepped inside the shop, setting off a chime. Although she didn’t usually frequent boutiques of any kind (Target was more in line with her current budget), she had to admit the place had a certain appeal. Racks of clothing were strategically placed along the weathered hard wood floors and each wall was painted a different color. It didn’t take but a few seconds to realize that each “section” held clothing from a different decade. Allie had thought the place was a sixties retro shop, but she recognized clothing from the fifties and seventies as well as the eighties, too. The Shirelles’ Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow played in the background.
Goosebumps erupted along her arms. Allie shook off an eerie feeling of…what? An odd sort of familiarity?
Lauren emerged from a back room carrying a hanger with a pleated skirt. By the expression on her face she seemed genuinely surprised to see Allie. Good to know Mimi hadn’t forewarned her partner in crime. “It’s you! I’m so glad you’re here!” She hung the skirt on a side rack and pulled Allie into a hug.
Allie awkwardly hugged her back. “Yes, well, I did promise I’d stop by before I left town,” she said, feeling squirrelier by the minute.
Lauren’s face momentarily fell, but she rapidly composed herself. “You’re leaving town? Right now?”
“Tomorrow. I’m going to the big football game tonight.”
“Along with half the town. It should be fun. Kind of like old times, huh?”
Allie nodded absentmindedly. Old times meant Tom playing first string quarterback, Lauren leading the cheerleading squad, and Allie sitting in the bleachers, watching.
“So, what can I show you? There’s an adorable navy blue pencil skirt that I think would look awesome with those legs of yours. What size are you? A six?”
“Lauren, I know you’re Concerned Citizen. Mimi told me all about the plot the two of you hatched up.”
Lauren frowned. “She did?”
“I kind of guessed. At least, I guessed Mimi’s involvement. But yours? Sorry, but I don’t get it.”
Lauren walked over to the shop door and flipped the OPEN sign backward, then turned the lock. “Just in case anyone should come by.” She glanced nervously to the back of the shop, then at Allie. “First off, I just want to say that I’m sorry for the mystery but I’m not sorry I wrote that letter. I meant it every word of it, you know.”
Allie stilled. “You’re really a fan of my Perky the Duck story?”
“How could anyone not be? I love that story.”
Of course this was something Allie would never get tired of hearing. “Thanks, but what about the other stuff? The stuff about a ghost?”
“Okay, so maybe I let my imagination run away with me a little, but there really has been some strange stuff going on around town. It all started when…” she frowned, “When I bought that record player over there.”
Allie followed the sound of The Shirelles to the back of the store, where a beat up old record player sat on a brightly painted wooden table. She stared at the black vinyl 45 turning round and round. A dozen or so album jackets lay stacked next to the player. Allie picked up the jacket on top. It was The Beatles’ The White Album. In the corner, written in faded blue ink was the name Barbara Alvarez. She quickly flipped through the albums—there it all was, Jim Morrison and The Doors, Franke Valle and the Four Seasons. Even Buela’s favorite salsa singer, Celia Cruz.
“Oh my God. This is Buela’s old record player. But…what are you doing with it?”
“I bought it at a garage sale a couple of months back, along with that stack of records. I figured it would be a great novelty for the shop, but the record player wasn’t working. Not until Tom fixed it.”
“Tom fixed this?”
“Oh yeah. He’s terrific with his hands, you know.” As a matter of fact, Allie did know. Was Lauren making a double entendre? Her smile was vague enough that Allie couldn’t tell. But she could certainly see why Lauren and Mimi had become friends. There was something so dang nice about her. But there was also this quirky side that Allie had never known about.
This woman had been Tom’s wife. She was the mother of his child. Allie couldn’t help but feel jealous, even though she had no right to.
She ey
ed the record player again. She remembered it, of course, it had sat in their little living room for years. Mimi said she’d saved all the photos and the heirlooms and the rest had gone to Goodwill. A scratched up record player would have probably seemed like a piece of junk. But where had it been all these years? Doing the garage sale circuit? How strange was it that it landed in Lauren’s hands? And that Tom was the one who’d made it work again.
“Of course, if you like, you can have it. I didn’t know who Barbara Alvarez was. Not until Mimi saw it and told me.”
Allie shifted from foot to foot. “The thing is…I know it sounds crazy, but—”
“You’ve been hearing some of this music. Like, in your head,” Lauren said with a completely straight face. If Allie was being punked then Lauren should be up for an academy award. “I have, too! Well, just a few snippets of it here and there. Isn’t it awesome?”
Allie felt the blood rush to her ears. “I don’t understand.”
Lauren gently took her by the elbow. “Let’s go to my office where we can sit down.”
*~*~*
Lauren handed her a cup of tea. Allie wasn’t a hot tea drinker but she gratefully took it. “Thanks.” She took a long sip, letting the warm liquid soothe her frazzled nerves. This was definitely turning out to be the strangest week of her life.
Lauren sat on the edge of her desk, facing Allie. “A couple of weeks ago, Tom was working at the senior center site and I decided to surprise him by bringing him lunch. He works way too hard, you know.”
“That was…nice of you.”
“I know what you’re thinking. We’re divorced. What the hell am I doing bringing him lunch? But it’s not like that between us. I love Tom. Not in the I-want-to-spend-the rest-of-my-life-having-hot-sex-with-you kind of way, but in the let’s-be-friends-and-raise-a-son kind of way.”
“O-kay,” Allie muttered.
Lauren tried to hide her smile. “So there I was handing him a Bistro by the Beach tuna melt—that’s his favorite, in case you might need to know for future reference—when all of a sudden I started hearing that old song, Where Did Our Love Go? in my head. You know, by The Supremes? At first I chocked it up as a side effect of listening to all this great old music all day long, but the thing was…I only heard the song whenever I’d run into Tom and I began to wonder if the universe wasn’t trying to tell me something. That maybe we’d made a mistake by getting a divorce.”
