Anything But Extraordinary (Extraordinary Series Book 1)

by Mary Frame

  “The house isn’t far.” I gesture up the street. “Just a few blocks.”

  The older boy carries the box with Gravy and we walk up the road together in silence for a minute.

  “What’s your names?” I ask finally.

  “I’m Greg Sullivan and this is my brother, Gary,” the older one tells me.

  “I’m Paige and this is my sister, Ruby.” Paige flashes me a quick grin after the lie slips out of her mouth.

  “I heard someone talking about you,” Gary says. His eyes are wide and curious, staring up at me. “Are you a witch?”

  “No, I’m not a witch.” But I’m a little concerned people are talking. I didn’t realize I had been noticed, but I suppose with the cops coming over and everything, word was bound to get around.

  “I heard someone saying you tell the future, and that’s not natural.”

  I shrug. “They might be right.”

  “Can you tell my future?” he asks, eyes wide.

  We pause as we reach the road. I take Gary’s hand and motion for them to wait for a passing car before we cross.

  “Yeah, tell them the future, Ruby.” Paige is enjoying this entirely too much.

  “You’re too young. Your future can’t be determined because you haven’t made enough important decisions to know who you are and how you’ll react to things.”

  I have no idea what I’m talking about, but it makes him nod—if a bit uncertainly—and I don’t have to make up anything to tell them.

  Once we reach the house, Paige takes the boys and the cat into the living room, and I grab a twenty out of the cookie jar, where I stashed the money from Cassie the other day.

  “Here you go.” I hand the money over to Greg.

  He shoves it into his pocket without meeting my eyes. “Thanks. We have to go. Our dad is waiting for us at home.”

  “All right.” I walk them out to the front door.

  Paige can’t be bothered, too busy with the cat.

  Before they leave, Gary hugs me, his arms gripping me around the waist for a few short seconds before he pulls away. “Thanks for taking care of Gravy.”

  He sounds a bit sad, but I don’t have a chance to see his face because he turns and they’re racing down my front lawn and back down the street toward the boardwalk.

  I frown after them. Something is going on with those boys. I don’t have time to linger on it though because a howl from the living room catches my attention.

  A few hours, a lot of soap and water, and about twelve scratches later, Gravy is sort of clean. And I think he hates me. He didn’t scratch Paige once, reserving all his slashing for when I was in the general vicinity.

  After his forced bathing, he darted under the couch and we haven’t seen him since.

  It’s while Paige is helping me put salve on my cuts that I realize we don’t have any cat food.

  “I’ll go get the food,” Paige says.

  “You’re not leaving me alone with that demon cat.”

  “What if someone comes for a reading?”

  “They can wait.”

  In the end, we both walk to the store for the food.

  “Thank you for getting the cat.” Paige hugs me then, stopping our forward progress in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Mr. Bingel’s house.

  “You’re welcome.” I take a second to enjoy the hug, since the older Paige has gotten, the more infrequent her displays of affection have become.

  When she finally releases me, I realize that someone is standing on our porch.

  It’s a woman with long, dark hair, wearing jeans and a colorful top. That’s all I can tell from our vantage point.

  “Can I help you?” I call out as we’re walking up.

  “Hey,” she says when she spins around. “Are you Ruby?”

  That’s a loaded question.

  She has dainty features and is a few inches shorter than my own five foot five. She’s holding a casserole dish and she has a warm smile on her face. She’s probably my age, maybe a year or two older.

  She’s also familiar. I recognize her as the woman behind the counter in the hardware store where Paige planted a bug today. The woman who was flirting with the shaggy-haired guy.

  “I’m Paige,” my sister says into my silence. “And this is my sister, Ruby. Are you here for a reading?”

  “I’m Tabby Reynolds,” she says. “Not here for business, just a friendly visit. I would have been by sooner, but I didn’t realize they’d finally sold this house. It’s been on the market for years.”

  I recognize the last name and put the pieces together. It helps that she and Troy look so much alike. “Are you Officer Reynolds’s sister?”

  “I am.” She beams, her smile bright and infectious. “He told me you were new in town, so I made you a casserole. Well, Mrs. Olsen made you a casserole.” She lifts the dish slightly. “I just saved you from her company.” She snorts, the inelegant sound a bit startling, coming from her delicate frame. “Come on, I’ll help you bring the stuff inside.”

  “Right.” I notice she didn’t really give us a choice. I hand the bag of cat food to Paige and unlock the door.

  Tabby follows us into the kitchen. “Have you had much business from the locals?”

  “We’re not open yet,” I say carefully.

  “Troy said you had a customer though, the one who got mugged, and you totally predicted it and everything.”

  Paige pulls a bowl out of the cupboard and fills it with cat food.

  “You know about that?” I ask.

  “This is a small town. It’s hard to sneeze without everyone seeing the color of your mucus.”

  Paige laughs.

  Lovely. No wonder even the kids had heard of me. It’s also concerning. The real Ruby was only here for a few hours, but what if someone saw her? Or talked to her? How can I explain it if I’m asked?

  “How does that whole psychic thing work anyway?” Tabby asks.

  “It’s hard to explain,” I hedge. I take the casserole dish from her.

  “Well, how did you know what would happen to that girl?”

  Keeping my story consistent, I tell her what I told her brother. “I knew something bad would happen, but I didn’t know what it was exactly. I don’t always get details, just a general sense about things.”

  “Oh.” She appears a bit let down at that.

  “Sometimes I get more specifics. It depends on the reading.” I turn away to put the casserole in the fridge.

  “What happened to your cat?”

  When I pull my head out of the fridge, Tabby’s standing in the space between the kitchen and the living room, where she’s been snooping around, apparently.

  Paige answers. “He’s a rescue cat. We just got him today.” She makes tsking sounds with her mouth, trying to draw the feral beast to his food.

  “He looks demented,” Tabby says.

  Now it’s my turn to laugh.

  She’s not wrong. Even clean, Gravy’s bum leg and frayed ear make him look like a cat possessed. I’m just surprised she’s so straightforward with people she barely knows. In my limited experience, people are always extra polite when they first meet. They don’t show their real personality until later.

  “So I’ll be blunt.” Tabby pulls up a chair at the small wood dining table and sits.

  “You weren’t already being blunt?” I ask.

  She just grins and keeps talking. “You guys are new in town, so if you don’t want to face the inquisition, you’ll tell me all about yourselves and I’ll spread the word. Trust me, it’s easier this way,” she says, nodding solemnly.

  Paige and I exchange a look.

  “I’m not sure—” I start.

  “It’s fine,” Tabby assures me, waving off my concerns with a flick of her hand. “We’ll do this quick. I’ll be gentle.” She opens her purse and pulls out a pen and a small notebook, on which is some sort of list.

  I laugh in surprise. “You aren’t kidding.”

  “I wish I was. Wh
ere are you guys from?” she barks, all business.

  We give her some of the canned answers I already gave Deputy Reeves and the story we concocted to explain why I’m raising Paige. We’re from New York, our parents are dead, etc.

  After I’ve given her the basics, Paige gets bored with us and rejects our company in favor of the TV and combing Gravy, who seems to love it, purring and rubbing his head against her.

  The questions get weirder as soon as Paige is out of earshot.

  “Are you single?” Her pen taps against the notebook.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any kids? I mean, your own, other than your sister?”

  “Just a three-legged cat named Gravy.”

  This doesn’t faze her at all. “Awesome. Are you gay?”

  I cough. “What?”

  “You know, do you prefer men or women?”

  “How is this relevant?”

  “It’s not. But, don’t worry. This isn’t, like, a judgmental thing. It’s so the old biddies know who to hook you up with.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not planning on hooking up with anyone.”

  “That’s what they all say,” she mutters.

  Dear lord. “I need a drink.”

  She nods. “Good idea.”

  I pull a pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge.

  “Is there vodka in that?” she asks, eyeballing the glass suspiciously.

  “No.”

  “Tequila?”

  “No.”

  “Well then what’s the point?”

  “There’s about three cups of sugar.” I pull a couple of glasses out of the cabinet.

  She eyes me speculatively, pursing her lips. “You’re weird, aren’t you?”

  I shrug, flushing a little bit. I probably am weird, my childhood wasn’t exactly normal, but I thought I put on a good front.

  “It’s cool. I thought you might be. We can smell our own.”

  I’m not really sure how to react to that other than laughing.

  A few hours later we’ve nearly polished off the lemonade and eaten half the casserole, with Paige’s assistance. I’ve learned that Tabby is the most brutally honest person I’ve ever met—not that I’ve met many people. It’s strange, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. What does she want from me, really? I’m not used to someone hanging around me without having some kind of agenda. Except Paige.

  “Tell me about the people here,” I say. It’s only fair since I’ve been evading her questions for the entire afternoon. Plus, the more I know, the better.

  “Who do you want to know about?”

  “Anyone. Everyone. Tell me about the town.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” she says. “I grew up here. It’s small and boring and full of old people. The old biddies run the entire town and have the ultimate say in everything. There’s some elderly men who think they have some power, but we all know the truth.”

  “Okay . . . what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Family?”

  “You’ve met my brother, Troy.”

  I nod and refill her glass, eyeing her face while I pour. “Are you guys twins?” Their bone structure is nearly identical.

  “Yep. Well, he’s older by three minutes. He just started working for the sheriff’s office last fall. We both grew up here. Our parents retired a couple years ago and decided to travel around the country in their RV. I took over the hardware store. It was my dad’s business and Troy didn’t want to run it.”

  “You like running the store?”

  “I do. And I like fixing things.”

  “Can you fix roofs?”

  Her brows lift. “Did you have leakage from the storm the other night?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  She grimaces. “That stinks. Water damage is no joke.”

  “Do you know what’s up with my neighbor?”

  “Who, Mr. Bingel?”

  I nod.

  “He just kind of keeps to himself since his wife died. That was . . . man, like ten years ago now. She was a lot more social than he is. I see him at the store sometimes though.”

  “Does he talk to you?”

  “Not really. He just grunts and pays and leaves. But that’s how he’s been since I was a kid. Even before Martha died.”

  “Oh.” I guess I can be glad it’s not just me and Paige reserved for his disdain.

  “I think he doesn’t know what to do with himself. They had one kid, a son who was older than me. He died in Afghanistan so now he’s alone.”

  Poor Mr. Bingel. No wonder he’s so grouchy all the time. “What about these old biddies that run the town? Should I know anything about them?”

  “There’s Mrs. Olsen,” she says.

  “The casserole maker.”

  “Yep. We call her Grandma sometimes but it’s more of an honorary title. She takes care of me and Troy and has plied us with food ever since our parents retired and moved away. She’s also the town matchmaker. Or so she thinks. She’s always trying to hook people up, but they usually end up with someone other than whoever she thinks it should be. It’s pretty hilarious.” She makes a face. “Unless it’s you she’s trying to match, then it’s terrifying. You’ll know when you see her because she always wears clothes with cats on them.”

  “Cats?”

  “Oh yeah. Big ones. I don’t know where she finds those things. She has at least a hundred cat shirts; I never see her wearing the same one twice. Then there’s Miss Viola. She’s deaf as a rock, but it’s hilarious to watch her and Mrs. Olsen have conversations. You’ll meet the rest of the ladies eventually.”

  We sit in companionable silence for a few moments before I ask, “What about Deputy Reeves?” I try to sound casual.

  I mean, I am casual. I want to stay out of trouble more than anything else. Totally. It has nothing to do with his piercing eyes and killer butt.

  “Jared grew up here, like the rest of us. He graduated a couple of years ahead of Troy. He moved away after high school and went to college across the country—that’s where he got into law enforcement. He moved back just a few years ago when his parents . . . Well, he had to come back.”

  Interesting. “What happened to his parents?”

  “They died. Car accident.”

  I grimace. “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. He hasn’t really been the same since. He used to be sort of a bad boy. For senior prank day, he stole Farmer Barney’s pigs and set them loose in the school. There were only three pigs, but he painted the numbers one, two, and four on them.” She laughs. “I heard the teachers spent hours searching for pig number three, but there wasn’t one. People are still telling that story.”

  “That’s pretty clever.” I try to reconcile the image of a boy who would pull that prank with the man who looks at me like I’ve let my dog poop in his yard. “That doesn’t really seem like the Jared I’ve met.”

  “No,” she quickly agrees. “Not even close.”

  We both take a drink of our lemonade, and then she says, “I’m glad you moved here.”

  “You are?”

  “There’s not a lot of women in town that aren’t married and under the age of fifty. Most people move away after high school, since there aren’t any colleges nearby and there’s not exactly a ton of jobs for career-minded folks.”

  My parents would love this place. Older people are often the targets of cons because they can be easier to manipulate: bored, trusting, lonely, vulnerable to mental impairments, and living on their pensions. They tend to accumulate more money than their younger counterparts, and they are prime pickings if you offer to grow those savings into something that can make their last days more exciting or that they can give their surviving relatives. I internally shove those thoughts away. That’s not why I’m here.

  I’m about to ask who she hangs out with then, but a crash and loud howl of pure pain fill the air.

  Followed by the unmistakable sound of Paige’s voice. �
�Oops.”

  “What is that?” Tabby asks.

  All I can do is groan and give a one-word answer. “Gravy.”

  I run toward the noise, wincing as the wailing increases the closer I get.

  Tabby is on my heels. I stop abruptly when I get into the front shop and she runs into my back. I almost scream louder than the damn cat when I see the mess, but I manage to restrain myself to a tortured groan.

  “What’s wrong?” Tabby asks from behind me. She’s too short to see the havoc the cat has wreaked.

  He’s knocked over an entire display rack. Of course it’s one of the ones we stocked with some product that came in earlier. Fragile product. Glass product that’s now in shards all over the floor.

  He’s pinned to the ground underneath the shelving unit. The corner of the display has dug into the wood flooring and Paige is frantically trying to rescue him.

  After a moment of wanting to kill the damn beast and Paige, or leave them to their fates, I instead pick my way through the rubble and help Paige free him from the now-broken shelf. He must sense his life is in imminent danger because he races out the door and disappears down the dark hallway.

  Paige isn’t quite as quick to flee.

  “I’m sorry Ch— Ruby.” She winces at the slip.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “Gravy was trying to jump onto the display case, and I was trying to stop him but I didn’t catch him in time.”

  “It’s not your fault. Why don’t you go check on him? I’ll clean this up.”

  She nods and leaves, still a bit mopey.

  I kneel on the ground, picking up shards of glass and wood.

  Why do these things always happen? Now we’ll have to replace this stuff, too. Something else to add to the never-ending list of expenses that seem to pile up around me like an avalanche of crap.

  “Hey.” Tabby is next to me on the ground. “You’re going to hurt yourself. This is all broken. You can’t save it.”

  She’s right, but I don’t want her to be right.

  Her words hit me particularly hard. You can’t save it.

  But I have to. I have to fix this.

  I suddenly feel like if I can’t save this, I can’t save Paige. Or myself.

  And that’s been the point all along, hasn’t it? Even though I seem to have fallen into a disaster of my own making.