by Tegan Maher
She drained her beer and stood to go, and I did the same.
"Why don't we get together for girls' night tomorrow night? You get some rest tonight, hang out with Em, then we'll go to Fancy's and forget about things for a while."
We had what we called Ms. Mondays: Me, Raeann, and Anna Mae—the awesome widow of the meanest man ever to drop dead in the county—were the core group, but there were often a few extras, too. Oh, and Addy and Cheri Lynn, a sweet ghost who was an exotic dancer in life, usually went, too. I always asked Camille, and she always said no, but if ever somebody looked like they could use a couple of drinks and some chill time, it was her.
She pinched her lips together for a second then gave a decisive nod. "You know what? I'd love to. What time?" Well color me shocked.
"Eight."
"See you then!"
The guys were night fishin’, so I went home and fed the horses, then curled up for a quiet me-time night of Netflix and a face mask.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I took the next morning off to run errands. We were about out of food and I needed to grab some sandpaper so I could start working on the door and table.
I also had to pick up Justin, an awesome kid that I was fostering, at my friend Bobbie Sue's restaurant that afternoon. The Clip N Curl was on my way, and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I looked at the sparkling windows of the storefront beside it. Coralee had convinced the previous owner to give her a key before he left so she could keep them clean. In her words, "there wasn't goin' to be no abandoned, trashy-lookin' dump draggin' down the appearance of her establishment."
Biting my lip, I made a last-minute decision and whipped into a parking place in front of it, then climbed out and put my hands on the glass and peered in.
It had sat empty for over a year, since Hank and his team of goons had run the poor man who owned it out of town because he was gay. The girls at the shop had been devastated because he was a good neighbor. The fact that he'd made the best fried baloney sandwiches on the planet helped some, too.
They'd gone so far as to try to find him when Hank finally got what was coming to him, but the number in the window always went to voicemail, the private number he'd given them had been disconnected, and the Christmas card they'd sent him had been returned unopened. Not that any of us could blame him for cutting ties, but the girls still mooned over those sandwiches and were a little hurt that he ignored them.
The inside was simple—the only thing in it was an L-shaped glass display case with an old-school cash register sitting on it, and a stand-up drink cooler. The turquoise indoor/outdoor carpet on the floor was stained, but that was an easy fix. I wouldn't have that color even if it were brand-new. There were a couple of doors leading off the parts unknown, too.
I took a deep breath and called the number on the sign in the window, but it went to a generic voice mail. I left my info but didn't expect a call back that day since it was Sunday. The devil on my shoulder pushed my chin toward Coralee's. Now that I was there, I really wanted to check it out. I pursed my lips together while the angel on my other shoulder argued the wrongness of quasi-breaking and entering with the little devil.
It was a short-lived debate, and in a matter of five minutes, Coralee was unlocking the door for me, Alyse peering over her boss’s shoulder. It wasn't that she didn't trust me with the key; I think her goal was to sell me on the place, because a month or so before, a guy from Atlanta had been in town asking about suitable places for an exotic pet store.
She'd taken the sign out of the window once she'd gotten wind of it and had conveniently forgotten to put it back in until recently, when I'd told her I was thinking about opening up a shop.
She pushed the door open and it snagged on the carpet. I wrinkled my nose at the musty smell and fanned the door after I smoothed the rug. "Wow. It smells like mold and old baloney in here."
Coralee scowled at me, but it lost some of its weight because she was trying not to breathe through her nose, either. "Well what do you expect it to smell like? It was a sandwich shop and it's been locked up for months. Ain't nothin' some vinegar and elbow grease won't take care of." Vinegar was her go-to solution for every household chore, but she wasn't wrong.
I motioned toward the doors. "Where do those go to?"
She shrugged. "How would I know? I've only got permission to clean the windows, not snoop through the building."
Yeah, because she'd never snoop. I snorted. "Yeah, all right. So where do they go?"
"Not that I know, but I'd guess that one," she waved to the door in the rear, "leads to a kitchen and might have some cooking equipment left in it. And that one"—she pointed to the one on the left wall—"probably leads to an office and some storage rooms that might still have some shelves. Oh, and you may get lucky and find a really nice desk and office chair, too."
I looked at her out the corner of my eye. "Uh-huh. Well let's go see how accurate your guesses are."
Miracle of miracles, they were dead-on. The back room was spacious and had obviously been the kitchen. A stainless-steel counter with shelving underneath ran almost the length of one wall, with a sink cut out in the middle. A gas stove and oven complete with a hood vent stood at the far end and a stand mixer, a microwave, and a commercial sandwich press sat on the counter.
Coralee was smiling as Alyse and I checked inside the cabinets installed above the table. There wasn't much in them aside from some Solo cups and Styrofoam to-go boxes, a few odd utensils, and several jars of pickles and mustard. Everything was dusty, but appeared in near-new condition.
We wandered back into the front then through the side doors, and sure as God made little green apples, she was right about what was there, too. Amazing what a good guesser she was—insert eye roll. There was a ton of shelving in two of the rooms. I could move most of those into the public room to hold smaller items, and the two storage rooms would be great for working in.
Finally, the office was just as she'd described. The desk was an antique, with fancy scroll around the edges and the chair was one of those nice, ergonomic ones. That didn't matter much to me because I wasn't planning on doing much sitting, but it was nice that the room was already set up for when I did need to use it.
"Wow," Alyse said. "It's like this place was designed just for you, Noe. Kitchen and workspace. You could work on your projects in here and do your baking back there. That way, you wouldn't have to rush between the house and work in order to accomplish both."
I was starting to get a little excited, and Coralee was smiling like the cat that caught the mouse. She knew I was on the line; now all she had to do was set the hook. "I bet you could get it for a song, seein' as how it's been empty for so long. He apparently ain't interested in comin' back, so this is just a tax liability for him."
I held up a hand. "All right, already. I'll call about it." When she allowed the grin to spread over her face, I said, "Don't get all excited yet. We don't even know if he's interested in renting the place, or if I can afford it if he is. I'm not tying myself to a place that costs more than I'll make."
"Sure, sure," she said, but the smile didn't leave her face. "But you'll call about it? Look how good Ana Mae's doin' already."
Ana Mae had opened up her shop right down the street with some of the money she'd gotten when Hank died and the little odds-n-ends shop had taken off almost from the moment she'd opened the doors.
"You'll be all the rage with the tourists, and if your creations are half as good as your baking, you'll hit the jackpot with the locals, too. Ain't nowhere to get what you're offerin' in all of Keyhole," Alyse said, her eyes sparkling.
My mind was whirling as we entered the last room—another small storage area. I was already imaging the sign I wanted in the front window and wondering if the storage rooms, which ran parallel to the main room and kitchen, could be opened up into one big area. I tamped down my enthusiasm, reminding myself that it was probably out of my price range.
"I'll call and check. That's a
ll I'm promising."
Belle, the former owner and current resident ghost of Clip N Curl, floated through the wall, scowling. "Coralee, you got folks wanderin' into the shop and there's nobody tendin' the place. In my day—"
Coralee cut her off, scowling. "In your day, folks just came in pretty as you please and waited 'til you got back from lunch. Same thing goes for now. They can hold their horses for a minute. ’Sides, we were just leavin'."
"Well while I'm here," Belle said, turning to me, "what do you think of the place? Not bad, huh?"
"Nope," I said. "I think it'll do just fine. I'm not sure I'm ready for a shop yet, or if I can afford the place. I won't be makin' much in the beginning and if he wants much for rent, I'm not gonna paint myself into a corner."
She nodded. "That's smart of ya, girl. But I think you're gonna do just fine." Belle could be cantankerous and was definitely set in her ways, but there was no denying she cared for us all.
We'd made our way back into the front room before I thought of something. "Coralee, you have a basement, don't you?"
"I do," she answered.
"So does Raeann. I didn't see a door to one here."
"Oh," she said, dropping all pretense of innocence, "it's in the kitchen. There's some old furniture and whatnot down there but it's mostly empty."
I thought for a minute, then remembered the door. I'd assumed it was a pantry but when I thought about the layout of the place, it was situated in the same spot as the one in Brew4U.
"Okay, well if you wanna leave me the key, I'll check it out then lock up behind me and drop the key off when I leave. I have to go get Justin in a few minutes anyway."
She handed me the key and hurried back over to her place. Once she was gone, I wandered back through the place without the pressure of her presence. I love her to death, but she throws off some serious energy and it's distracting. I don't know how she manages to even sleep, but I suspect her special brownies and the oregano she grows behind her house help.
As I pulled open the door to the basement, I caught a whisper of movement out of the corner of my eye and the hair on my arms stood up. I whirled around but saw nothing, and the cold chill went away. Probably just a draft.
I reached for the light cord, then realized what I'd just thought. That was the same line every dimwit used when they got an otherworldly warning before going into a dark, damp basement. You know, right before the demon or the ax murderer gets them.
I don't put much stock in demons and ax murderers aren't exactly common around either, but that's probably what every person ever attacked by one of the two said. I summoned a small light orb and paid extra attention as I navigated to rickety stairs.
When I was about halfway down, the dusty bulb crackled and went out, leaving the basement below me pitch black. I beat a hasty retreat back up the stairs. A case of the willies and the light going out? Nope, I can take a hint.
I strode across the room toward the front door, thankful to be back in the light. Three feet from the exit, I sensed something behind me and caught another glimpse of movement in the window.
Bolting through the front door, I pulled it shut and locked it, swearing I'd never darken the doorway again. At least until Rae was with me.
Angus, another of Keyhole Lake's non-corporeal citizens, floated across the town square. As in life, he had a few days' stubble, his too-large suit was worn and rumpled, and his fedora sat at a jaunty angle. Unlike in life, he wasn't carrying a 40-ouncer in a paper bag.
His face lit up and he held up a hand in greeting. "How goes it, Noelle?"
"Goin' great, Angus. How 'bout you?" Angus was one of the sweetest, most generous people you'd ever meet, both before and after his living status changed. He may have been three sheets to the wind half the time, but he was always ready to lend a helping hand or offer a sympathetic ear.
"Good, good," he said, peering over my shoulder into the window of the shop. I narrowed my eyes.
"Say, you don't by chance see anything in there, do you?" I was about half-afraid to turn around and look. Yeah, big, bad witch, blah, blah, blah. Regardless of what most people think, regular magic doesn't do much against things that go bump in the night. That kind of magic takes some prep.
He furrowed his brow and floated through the window, then back to me. "Nope. Nuttin' in there 'ceptin' some dust bunnies, but I don't reckon you need to worry much about them. They seem pretty harmless." He gave me a toothy grin and I rolled my eyes.
"Gee, thanks, Mr. Smarty Pants. I'll be sure to start packin' my feather duster in my purse along with my 9 mil. I'll have you know I was just going to check out the basement and got a serious case of the heebie-jeebies."
Once again, he floated through the glass, back through the back door, and in just a few seconds, came up through the concrete of the sidewalk. "Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Checked all the way through. Didn't see a soul, living or dead."
I shrugged. "Thanks for looking, then."
"No problem, honey. Is Addy at the farm?"
"Far as I know," I told him, still watching for some movement.
"Okay, well, I'm gonna pop out there. I need to ask her about somethin'. You sure you're okay?"
I smiled at him. "I'm fine. Just letting my imagination get the better of me. You go on."
"Alrighty. You have a good day."
"Yeah, you too, Angus," I said as I rubbed my chin and glanced back into the storefront one more time before stepping over to the Clip N Curl to return the key. I didn't usually get weirded out for no reason. My gaze shifted to a reflection in the glass. Standing across the street a couple of blocks behind me, staring right at me, was the same woman I'd seen in Brew that morning.
I twisted around, but she diverted her face and scurried up the street. I started to follow her, but a school bus passed between us and she was gone.
CHAPTER NINE
As soon as the bus passed, I rushed across the street, barely stopping to look before I ran. When I made it to the place where I'd seen her, I looked every direction and even checked out the nearby stores, but it was like she'd disappeared into thin air.
I tried to remember the expression on her face, but she was simply too far away. The worst part was that she looked vaguely familiar and I felt like I should know her. I took a deep breath and pushed it to the back of my mind. Maybe my subconscious would chew on it and come up with something. Meanwhile, I needed to get Justin.
Bobbie Sue's was just up the street, so I made my way back to my truck, still keeping an eye out for my stalker chick, though I didn't figure I'd see her. Apparently, she was willing to be seen, but had no interest in being caught. She didn't know me if she thought I'd just give up after I'd busted her watching me twice, but she'd keep for now.
I'd worked at Bobbie Sue's BBQ for over four years and still filled in there on occasion. She only had two full-time waitresses, so filling in there a night or two a week helped us all out. They got nights off and I got a little walking-around money. The income from my pastries was enough to cover my bills, but barely.
Several months before, I'd gotten a windfall when Hank, our crooked sheriff and all-around SOB, was kind enough to keel over dead in his coleslaw—with a little help—right in that very restaurant, but I was hoarding it to get my business going. It wasn't like that was ever going to happen to me again, so I was making the most of every dollar. I wasn't going to nickel-and-dime it on going to the movies or paying the light bill when I was perfectly capable of working.
The first time I met Justin, he stole my wallet. At first, I'd been determined to catch the little miscreant and put a boot in his butt, but when I finally got my hands on him and learned his story, I ended up moving him in with me instead. And doling out a little justice, witch-style, to his Mommy-Dearest foster mom.
As much as he'd grown on me, I wasn't equipped to give a nine-year-old a proper raising, so I was easing him into a life with Bobbie Sue and her hubby Earl. They'd tried desperately for years to have kids but it
just wasn't in the cards. The way I saw it, it was a no-brainer situation. They'd make great parents and Justin was a good kid who needed a stable home. The more time they spent together, the more peas-and-carrots they became.
It was just a matter of making it formal—Bobbie Sue and Earl had applied for adoption, but it was a process. Their final home visit was coming up, and I was sure—with a little nudging from the local sheriff, a.k.a. Hunter—the adoption would go off without a hitch.
'Til then, and probably forever, we'd decided to kid-share. Another win-win-win, especially for Justin. Between the horses, pool, and obnoxious talking donkey at my place, and every redneck toy imaginable at Bobbie Sue and Earl's, he was in hog heaven. He also had his chores at both places and the restaurant to keep him humble.
That night, Bobbie Sue was filling in for Sarah, a girl who'd worked there as long as I had. Earl was, as always, manning the grill, so Justin was chilling with me that afternoon. I pushed into the restaurant and the delectable smell of smoked meat washed over me. Though I'd worked my tail off serving up every cut of beef, pork, and chicken imaginable, I'd gotten a lot of love in return.
The front of the house was empty, so I poured myself a to-go cup of tea and headed to the kitchen. Before I even pushed through the batwings, I could hear Earl hollering out the back door, telling Justin how much wood to add to the smoker.
Unlike many places, he hadn't converted to fancy indoor equipment, declaring nothing could beat the monster he'd designed and built out of fifty-gallon drums. He was right, though his mad grill skills were at the heart of his success.
Justin rushed back inside, slowing to a fast walk once he crossed the threshold. Kitchen rule 2 was no running in the kitchen. Rule 1 was that unless you worked there or held an inspector's badge, you had no business in the kitchen at all. Even the latter had sense enough to ask permission before coming in. Though he was a big marshmallow, Earl looked like a cross between a tattooed linebacker and a grizzly bear; put a meat cleaver in his hand and he was downright terrifying.
