“I’m Lemmi,” I said, “and you are?”
“I’m Frances,” she said, fluffing her hair. “I don’t usually reside anywhere near here, but I came looking for my trunks and I haven’t found them. I stayed in these woods so I could keep looking.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Paws.
“How long have you been looking for your trunks?” I asked.
“One hundred and thirty-nine years,” she said. “It’s the eighth time I’ve tried, still without any luck.”
That was a very long time indeed. I assured Frances I’d do what I could to find her trunks, but realistically I knew there wasn’t much I could do. If she hadn’t found them after all this time, what good could I possibly do? Still, she was clearly cheered by our talk, and she had petted Paws, so I was grateful to her for that.
“This dog is a handful! He kept trying to run off,” said Charlie, reappearing breathlessly with Greer at her side. “He was tugging on the leash all this time. Where do you think he wants to go?”
“I have no idea,” I said.
After I fed Vertigo and settled him down inside, we headed for a very pretty Mintwood Main Street. The trees were dressed in fairy lights and the white benches had red ribbons wrapped around them. Each window looked warm and cozy, there were fires lit in small grates along the street, and a man with a cart was selling cookies, donuts, and hot cider.
The three of us were happily making our way down Main Street when we caught a glimpse of two familiar individuals walking toward us.
“Oh, no,” I said, just as Greer said, “No way.”
Deacon and Jasper were walking our way, but they weren’t alone. There was a very pretty woman with them, one I had never seen before. Out of the corner of my mouth I asked Greer if she knew who the pretty woman was, and she tried to answer before we reached the group of three, but Charlie had quickened her pace in her excitement at seeing friends, and Greer didn’t have a chance.
“Hey,” said Charlie.
“Fancy seeing you two here,” said Greer, shoving her hands into her pockets. Even in her Don’t Care sweater, messy hair, and baggy jeans, Greer was stunning. Deacon couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not that she appeared to notice.
“How’s it going?” said Jasper. “This is Lindsay.”
Instantly my always overactive mind went into overdrive. He hadn’t said who Lindsay was. His date? His friend? An employee? You can’t just say someone’s name as if that tells you who they are! I needed an occupation to define her as a person, because if I had to go on just her face I was very much going to say I didn’t like her.
Charlie, Greer, and I exchanged looks. The article in the Gazette early in the week had mentioned an artist named Lindsay who had been very confident that her gallery was going to win the window display competition. Could this be the woman? Even in the newspaper I hadn’t liked her; now that I saw her in the flesh, I liked her even less.
And furthermore: what was her relationship to the man she stood next to? In point of fact, she better not have one.
In the real world outside my racing brain, I knew I had to stop thinking the crazy thoughts.
I took a deep breath and smiled.
Lindsay was short and pretty, with delicate features, smooth brown hair that glistened in the firelight, and almond-colored brown eyes. She wore a warm gray pea coat and boyfriend jeans.
“You okay, Carrot?” Deacon asked. He said it as if he was my friend, but I could clearly see him trying not to laugh at me. At least that helped me get my composure back.
Once we introduced ourselves to Lindsay, the six of us fell into step together. “How’s Liam’s window display coming?” Jasper asked. “I see a lot of people on Main Street are in competition for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, front-page-above-the-fold picture on Saturday.” He too had an undertone of suppressed laughter in the overly formal way in which he described the rivalry.
“They are, but Liam’s going to win,” said Charlie.
“The Artist’s Art Gallery is looking pretty good too,” said Lindsay. Her voice was soft and melodic. I liked her even less.
“Are you a member there?” asked Charlie, acting like she had no idea.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” she said. “Every time there’s a window display competition, we assemble a team of artists. We’ve won the last seven. You’re Charlie Silver, right? We were just saying how we should have another article in the Gazette about our methods for success.”
Charlie stuck her tongue in her cheek, appearing to think. “I’m not sure anyone would care to read such an article,” she said, using her diplomatic voice to slap down the idea.
Both Jasper and Deacon took long sips of hot cider. Lindsay, unfazed by Charlie’s refusal, continued, “All the other storefronts put in a lot of work, but they’re not artists. When we’re set this kind of challenge, we rise to it. We’re very creative. It’s in our blood.”
“Isn’t everyone an artist in some sense?” said Greer.
“Of course, I’m in no way trying to be critical. I’m just saying that this is what we do professionally, and professionally we’re very excited about our prospects, especially given our history of winning,” said Lindsay. “I know other store proprietors are working hard, but I just don’t think their efforts will be enough.”
“So you’re saying they shouldn’t even bother competing?” said Charlie.
“Oh, no,” said Lindsay, “they certainly should, it’s so much more fun to beat people who tried hard.”
“That’s exactly what Liam is going to say about you,” Greer muttered.
“What was that you said?” asked Lindsay, leaning forward.
“Nothing at all,” said Greer.
At Lindsay’s ringing laugh, I just barely managed to keep from sticking my fingers in my ears. She laughed like a hyena.
“Can’t we all just get along?” said Deacon.
Lindsay’s laughter rang out again, drowning out what anyone else might have said. Greer’s eyes widened in surprise, but she managed to keep quiet. I was pretty sure she was thinking about throttling Lindsay.
For my part, I figured we had to get out of there before a fight broke out. Even Charlie, usually tolerant, was eyeing Lindsay as if she had a second head.
The six of us continued to walk together until Greer just happened to remember that she’d left her meatloaf in the oven, and we simply had to go home right now so she could take it out.
“My goodness, she’s annoying,” said Greer when we were out of earshot. “When she sounded annoying in her article I wasn’t sure, but to see her in the flesh, now I’m sure.”
“Its official, the Artist’s Art Gallery cannot beat Liam at this window display competition. We’ve simply got to do something to help him,” said Charlie.
“We’re doing a lot already,” I said.
“Well maybe it’s not enough,” said Charlie.
“What did you think of the window displays we saw?” I asked.
Greer and Charlie exchanged glances.
“Liam’s in trouble,” said Greer.
Chapter Seventeen
When I woke up the next morning, I would have liked to stay cozily curled up by the warm fire, or in bed. Sadly, my ambitions were thwarted. I had a lot to do.
Before I left the house I piled logs onto the fire so that when Greer woke up she wouldn’t be too cold. Then I said goodbye to Charlie, who was sitting by the fire with a cup of coffee and the paper, very relieved to be heading back to work today. She kept nervously looking at the phone as if she half expected Lena to call and tell her not to come in again. Hansen Gregory would have to leave town if that happened.
The first item on my agenda was Vertigo, who needed breakfast and a walk. After my last ghost encounter in the woods, I dreaded a repeat encounter with Frances. But I couldn’t very well walk Vertigo in circles around the driveway. He needed the woods so he could careen through long stretches of fallen leaves and race around the ancient tr
ee trunks.
After Vertigo, I needed to make some progress on the Kayla case. No line of inquiry I had followed so far had gotten me anywhere, and though Kayla’s remains had now been identified and her possessions released to her sister, they weren’t telling us much.
According to Kayla herself, a car had forced her off the road that night, and I was no closer to finding out who had driven that car than I had been the night I met her.
Then, Liam had asked me to come over with coffee in the morning, and I had agreed. But before that I was going to talk to Mrs. Barnett at The Daily Brew. She knew everyone, and she was about the right age to know Mrs. Luke. I wanted to ask her some questions.
As I stepped outside for the first time I realized that the wind had started to pick up. It also looked like it was about to rain. I missed the sunshine of a few days ago. Ghost mysteries were so much easier to investigate when it was warm outside.
My walk with Vertigo was uneventful, and I wondered if Frances had given up on finding her trunks. I had a feeling not, but I wasn’t going to worry about it right now. I would wait until that night when I had to walk Vertigo alone in the woods in the dark.
The Daily Brew was my next stop. Mrs. Barnett usually had one or two of her book club ladies visiting, sitting at the counter and keeping her company during the quiet moments when customers weren’t ordering and she wasn’t turning around to pull another batch of sweet buns out of the oven. The Daily Brew staff had redecorated their storefront along with everyone else, but not in such a way that it seemed to be in competition with the Artist’s Art Gallery or the Twinkle Costume Shop.
“Bread to make! I don’t have time for display competitions,” she said, spinning around behind her counter. “I’ve had my features in the Gazette, and now a lovely someone else can take his or her turn in a place of prominence. I’d rather be judging than running.” She winked at me.
Mrs. Barnett was a large woman. She often wore a white apron over a tank top, revealing beefy arms. She had big red cheeks and a boisterous laugh that carried. Her talking voice also carried, and no one’s order was ever forgotten.
She was in her seventies now, but no one bothered to tell her that, and she showed no signs of slowing down. She always had some hired help, but she still did most of the work herself. She loved what she did and she didn’t intend on stopping anytime soon.
“Morning, Lemmi,” she called out, smiling at me as I entered. The bell jingled its usual jingle, alerting everyone to my presence. The Daily Brew was quieter than usual, but that was to be expected, since a lot of the usual customers were working on the window displays.
“They come in for coffee, but it’s always to go,” she said, shaking her head with a smile. “They’re working too hard, but I sure do hope someone’s happy come Friday.”
I felt positive that someone was going to be very happy, and I hoped that someone’s name was Liam.
Mrs. Barnett had been born and raised in Mintwood, as were her mother and her mother’s mother before her. Like the Coswells, they had a long history in the town, and like anyone whose family has been in a small town for generations, they knew a lot about the place and the people. Mrs. Barnett also knew a lot about the neighboring towns, so I hoped she’d have some information about Caedmon, and maybe even Mrs. Luke.
“What can I get you?” she asked as I made my way to the counter.
“Lavender tea would be great,” I said.
She nodded and turned around. “Sorry about your grandmother,” she said. “She was a great lady, one of the greatest.” I was surprised to hear her say it, since my grandmother had never been thrilled with the book club ladies. Still, Mrs. Barnett was usually above any sort of local town politics or gossip. As the proprietor of The Daily Brew, she didn’t take sides. If you bought coffee at her establishment, she liked you just fine.
“Thank you. I miss her,” I said.
“I’m sure you do,” she said. “What else did you want?”
I should have known I wouldn’t get anything past Mrs. Barnett, but I was still taken aback by her directness. She looked at me and chuckled. “You’re standing there fidgeting, and usually you go find a seat. It’s not rocket science.”
“I was actually wondering if you knew Mrs. Luke over in Caedmon,” I said.
“Oh, now that is interesting,” she said, giving me a searching look. Mrs. Barnett was no dummy. She knew Kayla Caldwell was from Caedmon, and here I was asking about somebody else in Caedmon who just happened to be the only person who still worked in the same office as the deceased.
Mrs. Barnett liked to be owed favors, so she wasn’t about to turn me down when I wanted information. I also suspected that she knew my grandmother was a little odder than most of the rest of the town realized, and that information might come in handy someday too.
“Mrs. Luke is a very nice lady,” she said. “I’ve seen a lot of comings and goings, and she’s been loyal to the town of Caedmon for going on fifty years now. I know she was devastated after that Kayla Caldwell business all those years ago.”
“I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t seem interested,” I said.
Mrs. Bonnie chuckled. “Who would want to talk to somebody she doesn’t know? We all like to talk to people we know. Helps with town unity.”
I thanked her for her time and went away with a better impression of Mrs. Luke than I’d had before. Mary Caldwell obviously didn’t like her, and Mrs. Luke obviously hadn’t liked me. But Mrs. Barnett had given me a good reminder: people would rather talk to someone they knew than to a stranger.
Liam was there to greet me when I arrived at the Twinkle Costume Shop. Instead of the black clothes he had promised to wear all week, he was wearing jeans and a red sweater. He had showered, which was new, and he was sitting calmly behind his cash register.
“Hey, how are you?” I said, closing the door behind me.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I called Greer to see if she was working today, and she isn’t, so she should be here soon.”
Greer had been helping him out more than Charlie or I, because I was busy investigating a ghost mystery and Charlie had a job that was more than two days a week and happened to require her attention during the day. Greer’s job, on the other hand, took place mostly after everyone else had gone to sleep.
Greer came in a moment later and smiled as she closed the door behind her. She glanced at Liam and said, “I don’t think anybody saw inside.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think it matters.” With that he got off the stool and walked into the back room, causing us to exchange concerned looks. What I had mistaken for calm, I was now realizing, was defeat.
Liam’s competition was steep, and it was getting to him. In the past he had always risen to a challenge, but this time he seemed to have stopped rising; despair was weighing him down.
Apparently he had caught a glimpse of the window at the fine jewelry store, Sparkles Are For Everyone, and nearly cried. They had found some beautiful early twentieth-century necklaces and set up displays all around them, with color schemes that enhanced the jewels themselves. It was truly a work of art. The only comfort I could take was that Lindsay and the Artist’s Art Galley would have some competition.
In the midst of despair, Greer and I still manager to talk Liam into showing us what he’d been doing with the maps. He took us to the back room, where he’d been working on them all week, and when I walked in and saw what he had done with them I gasped.
“Those are gorgeous!” I said. “I’ve never seen anything that beautiful.”
Liam’s artistic talent had brought the maps to life, so that what had been intricate lines on paper were now rolling hills, deep valleys, swaths of trees, and the Babbling Brook Lake. For a split second a shot of fear went through my heart when I realized that the maps were so old they might show the cemetery on top of which my house had been built. I hurried forward and looked at the drawings closely, but I didn’t see anything except my grandmother’s farmhouse. I guess
the maps were old, but not that old.
“I don’t know what to do with them now that I’m dropping out of the competition,” said Liam, his shoulders drooping. Greer and I made noises of shock and dismay.
“You can’t do that,” said Greer.
“I can and I will. I can’t find the dresses of my dreams. I can’t find anything close. Francesca Holly was really my only shot. All week I’ve been traveling around the countryside in search of dresses. I’ve gone to estates and asked if they have anything. A couple of estates have even said yes, but the dresses are just not . . . breathtaking.”
“You still have time,” I said, trying to be encouraging. “We could still find what you’re looking for.”
“The search is futile,” he said. “I’m going to display the maps in the window because I’ve done a lot of hard work on them, but they aren’t enough. I know the Artist’s Art Gallery and even the sports shop will have beautiful displays, and my maps just can’t compete. I accept it. I tried and I failed. The Twinkle Costume Shop will not be on the front cover of the Mintwood Gazette.”
Liam sat down in front of his easel and his tubes of expensive paint and stared at his work. “I’m concentrating on the maps so I don’t sink into an abyss of pain and despair.” He slumped forward over his work, his face a dark cloud.
“Just promise you won’t officially drop out yet,” said Greer. Liam finally nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.
Chapter Eighteen
After we got that promise out of him, we didn’t stay much longer. Liam said he didn’t want company, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts and what he called his failure.
“Did we help him enough?” Greer wondered as we walked away from the shop.
“We tried, but it’s not as if we know where to look for beautiful dresses,” I said.
“What about your grandmother’s dresses?” Greer asked.
I shook my head. “Her dresses are pretty, but they’re not up to his standards. I don’t think they’re remotely what he’s looking for.” I had gone into my grandmother’s things the other day just to check, because I knew Liam was desperate and I wanted to help. I had never seen her wear anything that I thought Liam would want to display in his window, even if there were some things he would happily have tried to sell.
Witch Some Win Some (Witch of Mintwood Book 2) Page 12
