by R A Muth
Chapter 37
Before I could ask my neighbor what she meant, my best friend fell in line beside me and linked arms, leading the way to the booth where Christine Livingston's niece was waiting for us with Rune bringing up the rear. He and I slid into the booth opposite Marci while Hazel sat next to the young woman.
Ivy appeared with three empty coffee mugs which she filled for us before topping off the one in front of Marci. She sat a plate of assorted donut holes in front of Rune. "Sorry, I can't stay and chat. Things are getting wicked busy, and Joe needs my help behind the counter."
Waiting until Ivy had left to tend the line of customers, Marci began, "Thank you all for agreeing to meet me. Um, by the way, are you all right?" Her eyes fell on Rune's sling.
"Aye, lass." He took a donut from the plate and bit into it.
Unaccustomed to hearing Rune call anyone else lass until today, I pushed the jealousy tugging at my heartstrings away for now and urged, "So, what's up, Marci? Is everything okay?"
"The forensics team finished up and, thanks to your cleverness, Aunt Christine's murderer is behind bars. Royce, Pierce, and I have decided to sell her home to the town." She smiled like the cat who ate the canary. "My aunt's legacy will live on when her mansion becomes the new Cooper's Cove Visitor's Center and Livingston Historical Society. The town council has agreed to hire me to manage the enterprise. It's my way of keeping a part of her alive."
"That's awesome, Marci," I said, sincerely meaning it. Right now, the visitor's center was a corner of the library filled with business cards and brochures from small businesses.
Marci reached into her purse on the seat between herself and Hazel and pulled out a folded slip of paper. "That reminds me, I have a check for you."
"Oh, for the séance?" Hazel asked.
"What? Oh, that. No, this is the reward money."
She had my full attention. "What reward money?"
"Yeah, what reward money?" Hazel echoed.
"Royce, Pierce, and I arranged it from our trusts. I thought that's why you went snooping at the brewery," Marci explained.
"Our goal was to finish the job we started for your aunt," I offered.
Marci handed the check to Hazel, who unfolded it. A moment later, she squeaked, "What?!"
"Hazel? What's wrong?" I leaned forward, and she turned the check so I could see the amount. Fifty thousand dollars. I rubbed my eyes and counted the zeros again. "Whoa. Marci, is this for real?"
"Absolutely. The crime scene cleaning people have finished, and you can't tell anything happened in the attic, but I'd love to have you back to finish the job if possible. Would Monday work for you?"
"Sure!" Hazel and I enthused. We didn't need time to discuss the fine details with a client of this caliber. We'd make it work.
Marci lifted the strap of her purse over her shoulder and smiled. "Then it's settled. I have a meeting with a couple of the town council people about Blueberry Bay Days and after that I have a date with a certain handsome police officer."
Hazel hurried out of the seat and stood by the table long enough to let Marci out, then slid to the middle of the bench.
“Can I just say how happy I am that Gavin and Marci are a couple? She’s going to make a great sister-in-law for you.” Instead of replying, Hazel simply grinned at me. I asked, "Okay, girly-girl. What's going through that head of yours?"
She twirled a lock of hair around her index finger and asked, "You can't guess?"
"I keep telling you, Hazel. I have no actual psychic powers." Beside me, Rune started in on a second donut. I selected one for myself and took a bite, savoring the flavor of the beach plum jam filling.
Hazel leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "This gives us enough money to put a down payment on the Treasure Trove. Can't you imagine how awesome it will be not to have anyone take a cut of our commission?"
I swallowed the bite of the donut and squealed, "Oh, my goodness, yes! And do you know what else this means?"
"What's that?" Hazel asked.
It was all I could do not to weep tears of joy. "We'll never have to go back to scrubbing toilets again!"
"A toast to yer success, lassies." Rune lifted his coffee cup, and Hazel and I tapped our cups against his. His fingers brushed mine, and I felt a spark, much like the first time I touched the bottle in the attic.
Right then, I felt like a Disney princess on the path to my very own happily ever after and it only took one murder, a drug operation, and removing the curse from an Irishman to get there.
THE END
What’s Next?
THE DEADLY DUST BUNNIES
Are you ready for more adventures with Tori, Hazel, and Rune? Read ahead for a sneak peek at the first two chapters of THE DEADLY DUST BUNNIES, the next book in the Haunted Housekeeping Series!
SNEAK PEEK: The Deadly Dust Bunnies
The toilet sparkled as a result of the vigorous scrubbing had just finished giving it. I scowled back in response and dropped the brush into its holder. Earlier this year, my best friend Hazel and I gave up our housecleaning gig to put a down-payment on the Treasure Trove, a longstanding secondhand store in our hometown of Cooper's Cove, Maine. We rejoiced about never having to scrub another toilet outside of the ones in our homes. Our joy was short-lived as the shop had a public restroom. More often than not, the chore of cleaning it fell to yours truly.
I returned to the front room where Hazel stared out the enormous display window where a group of tiny dancers rat-a-tat-tatted on a makeshift stage. "Hey, when I joked about the pitter-patter of little feet, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Have you seen them? They're wicked cute!"
"Yes, I've seen them and heard them, and, to make things worse, Rune has complained nonstop since they first started." The steps on the wooden structure echoed so that it sounded like an entire flash mob was tap dancing in the street instead of six little girls. I wandered over to finish a display Hazel started putting together before I went on bathroom cleaning duty.
"Don't tell me Rune doesn't like the kids."
"It's not that. Rune is offended by their style of dancing. Something about it not being 'proper Irish.'" I draped a piece of blue plaid fabric over the arm of a tan leather sofa and piled a couple of pillows in the corner.
Hazel turned from the window and nodded at the ensemble. "I like that. Placing items as customers might use them in their homes was such a great idea. I hope it works and we sell out."
"Thanks. You know, I'm not sure why they had to close Main Street for all three days of Blueberry Bay Days. The parade would have been enough."
"It was Marci's idea. She wanted to be sure as many people as possible attended the ribbon cutting at the Cooper's Cove Visitor's Center and Livingston Historical Society."
"Of course, it was Marci Livingston's idea." I picked the pillows up, fluffed them, and repositioned them again.
Six months ago, we were working as estate cleaners for Marci's aunt, Christine Livingston. Midway through the job, we discovered her corpse stuffed into a trunk in the attic of her home. Solving the murder led to the surprise of receiving reward money from Marci and her cousins. Hazel and I used the windfall to put a down payment on the Treasure Trove, the town's most popular consignment shop. The former owners were elderly and had had enough of New England winters. They were all too happy to sell the business to us and had since retired somewhere with year-round, sunny beaches.
"If you don't stop fluffing those pillows, they'll go flat," Hazel warned.
I stopped fiddling with them and stood back to survey the arrangement. "I guess that'll work. Did you see how much dust came out of these things?"
"Did you see the dust bunnies under the couch? One of us should run the vacuum before they come to life and hurt someone."
"Don't even joke about that," I said with a gasp. "If I never see another dead body, or even badly injured body again, it will be too soon!"
Hazel sobered. "Sorry, Tori. I wasn't thinking. What if I vacuum and you clean
the bathroom?"
"You're looking for an excuse to avoid scrubbing the toilet." I couldn't blame her. Hazel and I started our housekeeping business to earn extra cash after my late husband died a couple of years ago. After spending time cleaning other people's messes, we tried to transition into estate cleaning, because we agreed that we never wanted to scrub another toilet for as long as we live.
"Rune will do it if you ask him." Hazel made kissing noises.
I felt a blush creep into my cheeks. "Yes, Rune probably would. He's wicked helpful that way."
You remember the murdered client I mentioned? On the day we discovered her, a black cat made an appearance. I couldn't bear to see it go to a shelter, so I took it home. Nobody was more surprised than me when my new furry friend turned out to be a cursed Irishman in disguise. That's right--it was Rune.
Only Hazel and I knew his secret and, although we were reasonably sure he had broken the curse, we had no idea why he was still here. Until we figured it out, it wasn't right having him live in my guest room, so he occupied the apartment over the Treasure Trove. In exchange, he helped us in the shop.
There was something between Rune and me, but neither of us defined it. He started to, shortly after we discovered who murdered Christine Livingston, but we hadn't broached the topic since. Rune wasn't my beau, precisely, but neither of us was seeing anyone else. If our relationship were a social media status, I would describe it as, "It's complicated."
"Lassies? I've got yer food!" Rune called from the back room.
Hazel swapped the open sign in the front window out for one that let customers know the shop was closed for lunch and locked the door. "Come on, girlfriend. I don't know what your man got, but it smells delicious."
In the employees' only area in the back of the shop, Rune had cleared space on our table for lunch, setting out a pizza box from Tony's Intergalactic Pizza and a stack of napkins.
"Thank God, you got pizza from Tony's. Oh, do you know if his cousin's new book is out?" Hazel asked while getting three bottles of non-alcoholic blueberry sangria from the mini-fridge.
I gratefully accepted the drink, which bore the Blue Bear Brewery label. The owners of the brewery, Asher and Thom, sent regular gifts to the other small businesses in Cooper's Cove. I twisted the bottle cap off and took a swig of the carbonated beverage before replying, "Yep. Mrs. Woods asked him to speak to her creative writing class at the high school, too."
Our conversation died out as we dug into the pizza. As we ate, Rune jiggled his knee with increasing frequency until his heel bounced a couple of inches off the floor. He used his teeth to tear at the pizza and chewed with the force of a construction vehicle grinding rocks into dust.
"Rune, is everything okay?" Hazel asked as she reached for another slice.
Putting the last bit of crust in his mouth, Rune grunted. He balled his left hand into a fist and cupped it in the right as he chewed and swallowed. "They call themselves Irish dancers. The bloody twit is a disgrace to the Emerald Isle! I've got half a mind to go out there and show him what real Irish dancing is."
"Show who? Warren Nagle?" Hazel took a drink of her sangria.
"Rune, a lot has changed in the world. I'm sure Irish dancing might have transitioned, too," I soothed. After all, he'd yet to see Riverdance.
"I can take no more of it!" Rune stood and stalked toward the front of the building like a panther in pursuit of its prey.
Returning my half-slice of pizza to the box, I followed him through the shop with Hazel right on my heels and pleaded, "Stop, Rune, please. You don't want to confront anyone. It's only some kids dancing. Why does it matter how they're doing it?"
"Lass, if they call it Irish dancing and do something else, then it's a disgrace to the art." Rune opened the front door and stepped onto the sidewalk. "You there! Aye, you! I want to talk to ye about yer dancing."
Ignoring Rune completely, the dance instructor, Warren Nagle, twirled and gyrated around in front of the makeshift performance stage. At the same time, the young girls continued with their nonstop rat-a-tat-tatting. The jaunty blue beret atop the man's head slid back and forth across his greasy hair while the puffy sleeves on his shirt billowed each time he raised or lowered his arms. He frequently turned his left hand to reveal a gaudy emerald ring. It would have been comical if not for Rune's anger.
Hazel and I stopped on the sidewalk while our Irish friend plowed forward.
"Is he okay?" Hazel asked.
Without taking my eyes from Rune, I replied, "I hope so. I've never seen him this angry. On second thought, I've never seen him get upset over anything."
Rune tapped Warren on the shoulder and waited for him to turn around before shouting, "Yer doing it wrong!"
"What?" Warren's feet never stopped moving, his steps out of sync with the rhythm of the Irish music blaring from a speaker at the corner of the stage.
"Yer sign says yer Irish dancers but yer not! Ye are all waving ye arms about, but that's not how ye do it at all!" Rune fumed.
Warren's laugh carried over the music. "And I suppose you're an expert with that fake Irish accent?"
"Fake? There's nothing fake about me! Look, I'll show ye the right way to do this." Rune dropped his arms to his sides and began dancing right there in the middle of the street. The girls on stage, their parents, and anyone else within earshot stopped what they were doing to watch.
And I couldn't blame them. Rune was handsome but watching him perform was as breathtaking as watching the sunrise over Blueberry Bay.
The longer Rune danced, the redder Warren's face became. With his fists on his hips and his feet slightly apart, Warren looked like a high school cheerleader on the sidelines at the homecoming football game.
"What's he doing?" Hazel asked me.
Unsure which man she referred to, I lifted my shoulders and let them fall. "Your guess is as good as mine."
The song ended, and Rune finished his dance with a flourish before taking a deep bow amidst applause from everyone except Warren, who demanded in a shrill voice, "And who are you to come here and pretend you know more than me? I have classical training!"
"He may have classical training in something, but it sure isn't dance." Hazel didn't hide her snicker.
"I am called Raghnall Lochlain O'Crowley, of the high clan of the Lough Aengus O'Crowleys, and if ye had any true Irish running through yer veins, ye'd not cross me on this."
Although his back was to me, I could imagine the fire in Rune's eyes by his tone of voice alone as he stared Warren down. Literally. Warren had to crane his neck as a result of their difference in height. Their voices lowered, and I strained to hear what was said.
"What else are they saying?" Hazel asked.
"Shh. I'm trying to listen."
A few seconds later, Warren stepped back and threw his arms out to either side and wiggled his fingers. "Ladies and gentlemen! Tomorrow morning, this rapscallion and I will hold a dance-off, and the winner--by public applause--will take the lead in this winter's performance of the Irish Dancing Nutcracker!"
"Uh, what just happened?" I asked, not expecting an answer.
Hazel groaned. "Rune can't dance in the winter performance. Between the harvest and Nor'Easter festivals bringing holiday shoppers into town, the Treasure Trove will be wicked busy! We need him here."
It was true. Rune's presence was a real boon. Women not only drove in from the nearby towns of Glendale and Misty Harbor, but our resident Irishman's reputation lured customers from as far away as Boston and New York City. If word got out that he wasn't in the shop, it could put a severe dent in our revenue.
Rune turned and walked toward us. The smug grin he wore crinkled the corners of his eyes. He ushered us back into the shop and locked the door behind us before returning to the employees only area and grabbing another slice of pizza.
"Uh, Rune? What happened? Why did you agree to a dance-off? And how are we going to run the shop with you taking the lead in the town's winter play?" I fired one question afte
r another until my mouth went dry. Grabbing my bottle of sangria from the table, I took a swig of the fizzy, blueberry-flavored drink and mentally willed my nerves to calm.
Between bites, Rune replied, "Ye worry too much, lass. It will be fine."
Having lost my appetite, I put the remainder of my drink in the mini-fridge and returned to the shop proper to flip the sign to open for the crowd of people on the sidewalk. No doubt they were curious about the handsome Irishman who had put Warren Nagle in his place, but if the handsome Irishman could talk them into buying a trinket or two, that was fine by me.
Acknowledgments
While I appreciate every person who gives this book a chance, there are so many people to thank on an individual level. I've tried to keep a running list of everyone's names while writing the book, but I apologize to anyone whose name I missed.
First of all, thank you to Melissa Storm, who made this book possible by asking me to be a "Blueberry Bay Babe" in her Sweet Promise Press publishing house.
My co-worker and friend, Angi Hegner, deserves a ginormous shoutout for helping me stay on track while writing it. You don't know fear until you've heard Angi ask, "How's the book going?" (Authors will understand, this is not a negative fear at all, but more like a "light a fire under your butt and get back to writing because you have a deadline" kind of fear.)
Next, thank you so much to my fantastic editors, Carrie Chafee and Jamie McCoard. And if you'd read the first draft of this book, you'd be thanking them, too. They helped polish my diamond in the rough until it was worthy of public readership.
I'm eternally grateful to Brendan O'Sullivan for helping with the Irish terms, but more for his enduring friendship. As with the editing, any errors or misrepresentations in this area are mine alone.
Thanks so much to my friend and fellow book club member Margaret Bizzell Damm for dropping everything to share information about Maine in the middle of a weekday afternoon as well as for being the first to read the uncorrected proof. Her descriptions made me feel like I was right there in the heart of New England, and they improved the details in this book.
