by Mary Behre
“Good idea.” April nodded. “Once you’ve finished with him, there are nine dozen white carnations in the back room that need to be dyed before the store opens. Can you take care of them?”
“Sure.” Jules nodded, then headed toward the large white van.
She dealt with the deliveryman quickly, leaving him to put the fresh flowers in the case and the boxes of floral supplies in the back room. She’d need to shelve them but April had wanted the flowers dyed first. Jules closed the loading dock door behind the driver as he left the building, then strode toward the back room.
Gathering her supplies—a bucket of flowers, floral paint, and her apron—she carried them to the table. She dropped the bucket to the floor and set the cans of paint next to the nine large green plastic vases on the worktable before tying the apron around her body.
Jules grabbed up a flower, an uncapped can and started spraying. Finishing the first flower, she set it in a vase then plucked another carnation from the bucket and dyed it. The problem with the mundane task was that her mind tended to wander. The last thing she wanted to do as she stood alone working was think about her vision.
Each time her thoughts drifted to the hum and bump of the wheels of the car from last night’s vision, she moved around the table, as if shifting her position could push away the unwanted memory. Before the last flower was colored, she’d circled the worktable four times and whipped her mind through topics such as how she’d find her sisters, ideas for boosting sales during the holiday season, and even April’s fears of losing the twins as she had the previous two pregnancies.
Between dropping one dyed flower in the bucket and beginning the next, the hum of the tires sounded in her ears again. At some point she drifted, carried away by the monotonous tonal memory until her nose burned with the stench of sweat, copper, and fear. She found herself sifting through the entire vision.
With her visions limited to the victim’s perspective, there wasn’t much to go on. Last night’s vision consisted mostly of shadows, blood, and pain, nothing about the victim, the car itself, or the killer. Information wise, the vision bordered on useless but it did bring on a fresh wave of nausea.
Visions always did that to her. She lived or died each moment exactly as the victim had. Her body acted as a vessel into which a ghost poured her pain, physical and mental. And when the vision ended, the rush of reality crashed into Jules with enough force to leave her feeling ill. Sometimes for days.
It was all the legacy of the Scott family crift of psychic abilities. A curse and a gift. While no two members had the same gift, each was rumored to be cursed with some form of it. Lucky Jules got to see ghosts. Ha, lucky!
Her crift had cost her everything: her father, her sisters, even her marriage. Only Big Jim and April had ever stayed beside her, unafraid of her talents.
Her thoughts drifted to the hum of tires again. She realized that unless the murderer put his hands around her throat—something she seriously didn’t want—Jules doubted she would ever be able to identify him.
What am I doing? Three years ago, when she had tried to help another ghost, she’d ended up arrested as an accessory to kidnapping. She needed to remember that.
Jules shook her head to clear it and stepped to her right, sidling around the table once more. No more ghosts. She’d never help another specter.
Resolute, she reached for another flower and blinked in surprise. With the can in her right hand, she searched the table for a fresh carnation but none were left. She’d dyed them all.
How long had she been lost in her thoughts?
“Juliana, I spoke to Ernie,” April called out from around the corner.
“April, I’m sorry about the keys,” Jules called back, sweeping stray leaves and broken stems off the worktable and into a trash receptacle.
“It’s fine. I told you Ernie would take care of it.” Her voice grew louder and the floor squeaked as she waddled down the hall. “He’s called a locksmith to come to the shop but he needs to wait for the super to . . . Oh my!” Her blue eyes nearly as round as her belly, she seemed frozen in the doorway between the storefront and the back room. “Hmmm . . . well, at least the flowers are dyed too.”
Too?
Jules glanced down. Bright orange paint was splattered all over her apron, jeans, and shirtsleeve. Not to mention the swipe on the workbench where her hand had smeared the paint when she cleaned off the table. Heat warmed her cheeks but she tried to joke away her embarrassment. “Well, pat my head and call me coordinated.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” April pressed her hand to her mouth but laughed anyway. Leaning out the doorway she said, “Diana, you’ve got to see this.”
April’s teenaged Goth assistant appeared at her side moments later and snorted.
“Want the black paint now?” she asked in a thick southern Tidewater drawl. “We can paint a jack-o-lantern’s face on your apron and put you in the front window.”
Black lipstick, jet-black hair, ivory foundation, and black eyeliner combined with Diana’s thick southern twang often made the girl’s jokes seem funnier than they probably were.
“Thanks. I’ll pass.” Jules laughed and set the can on the table. “I know I was put on this earth to entertain the masses with my clumsy antics but I’d rather not risk April’s storefront.”
Jules lifted a hand to brush a stray hair from her face.
Diana and April yelled in unison, “Stop!”
Pumpkin-colored spray coated her right hand. Had she touched her face, she’d have walked around for the rest of the day painted orange. Even her bangs couldn’t have spared her the complete mortification of being the color of a fall vegetable.
“You . . . you . . .” Diana giggled, appearing to enjoy Jules’s mishap a little too much. “You’ve got a spot on your cheek. Whadja do, stand downwind?”
“What wind? We’re inside.” Her question sent April and Diana into fresh gales of laughter. With nothing else to do, she gave in and chuckled at herself, adding, “I’ll be back.”
She darted past April’s office door and down the short hallway to the single restroom in the shop. After flipping the light switch, the overhead light buzzed to life. She strode to the sink.
It took several seconds for the energy-saving bulb to illuminate the bathroom enough for Jules to clearly see her reflection in the mirror. When she did, it taunted her.
“I look like a deranged Oompa Loompa with red hair,” Jules whispered to herself.
She half-chuckled and half-groaned as she washed her hands. Floral paint wasn’t permanent, but with her fair skin she might need to take a couple of showers to get it all off. And somehow she’d splattered paint onto her cheek.
She scrubbed the spot with soap, then closed her eyes to splash water onto her face. As the bubbles gurgled down the drain, she sensed she was no longer alone. Nothing changed in the room at first. No movement, no wind, just the impression of another soul crowding into the tiny bathroom.
Oh great, the new ghost-girl has returned.
“Thanks a lot for last night. You nearly had me arrested for breaking and entering.”
She glanced up, but the mirror’s reflection showed only her.
“What am I doing?”
Don’t engage the specter. It would only work harder to stick around. Ignore her. No, not her . . . it. Jules couldn’t humanize the ghost or she’d fall prey to past mistakes and want to do something really stupid. Like try to help.
Can’t see it. Not there. Simple.
Nodding to her reflection in the mirror, she attempted to ignore her own niggling doubt. Jules patted her cheeks with a paper towel and tossed it into the garbage.
The temperature dropped fifteen degrees in the space of a few seconds. A frigid wind blew across her neck, giving rise to the tiny hairs there. The screeching voice echoed in her ears. “Please.”
Jules rubbed her offended ears in a fruitless effort to deafen the noise. It seemed the ghost wasn’t any closer to mastering the a
bility to speak to the living today than she had been the night before.
“Awww, dang it!” Jules said through clenched teeth and shut off the water. “I moved back to Tidewater to get away from things like you.”
The ghost continued, not taking the hint. “Help. Me. Please.”
Jules went for brutal honesty. “I’m out of the ghost-helping business. Go find a medium or check out the Psychic Life Foundation down on Eighty-first Street.”
To Jules’s surprise, the apparition departed as noiselessly as it had arrived. Only the absence of a chill against her flesh signified the change at first. Then the rapid elevation in room temperature sent sweat trickling between her breasts.
Air. She needed fresh air. Jules hurried out of the restroom and made a beeline for the back door. But April stopped her just as she reached it.
“Juliana, are you sure you’re all right?” Jules turned around at the sound of April’s voice, in time to see Diana disappearing into the back room muttering something about opening boxes.
April watched the door close behind Diana, then turned back to Jules and continued. “You’ve been really quiet this morning. I have a feeling it wasn’t just because you lost the keys. You’re not having second thoughts about running the business, are you?”
“No, not at all.” Jules blinked in surprise. “I mean, yes, I’m annoyed with myself for losing my keys, but only because I love this place almost as much as you do. I would have been the manager years ago if I hadn’t married Billy. Teaching preschool was fun, but horticulture is my life. So, no, I’m not having any second thoughts.”
“Good! I was a little worried after your vision last night.”
“I told you it was a nightmare not a vision,” Jules replied in a strained voice.
“Right. And I’ve known you a long time.” April waddled closer then rubbed the small of her back with her right hand. “You screamed, stared at me with that wild I’m-not-really-aware-of–who-I-am stare, then you ran to the bathroom. It’s what you did every time you had a vision when you were a kid. I didn’t know you still had them after what happened back in Kemmerton.”
Jules held up her free hand to silence April. She didn’t want to discuss what had happened back there. What had started out as the beginning of life in a picturesque little town ended in blood and death. Even now, thinking of it made her stomach pitch. And really, it was pitching enough already.
If she wasn’t going to discuss something that happened three years ago, she certainly wasn’t going to talk about last night’s vision. Not now, not with anyone. “I haven’t had any visions since then. I just had a nightmare, that’s all.”
April arched an eyebrow. “Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t go trying to lie to me. I know you too well.”
Jules nearly winced at April’s too-true words, but didn’t respond.
“Okay, well.” April stuck her hands in the front pockets of her apron then pulled out a piece of paper. “Oh! I almost forgot. Abigail Harris from Social Services left a message for you late yesterday. She said she can meet with you tomorrow morning at nine.”
“She’s working on a Sunday?” Jules couldn’t quite hide her surprise.
“For me she is.” April grinned. “I don’t know if you re- member, but I told you we were able to adopt you because a friend vouched for Ernie and me.”
Jules nodded despite her confusion.
“Well, Abigail was that friend. She told me a long time ago that if you ever needed anything, to call. I think she expected you to want to find your sisters. Anyway, she’s going to meet you at The Jewish Mother restaurant tomorrow morning at nine.”
Jules threw her arms around April and pulled her in for a quick hug. “This is great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” April pulled back and pushed the note into Jules’s hand.
She accepted it and tried to squelch the hope bubbling in her chest, having been let down too many times before. But it was hard. “Did she sound like she could help?”
“She didn’t say, but you have to believe she can.” She smiled then ruffled Jules’s hair like Jules was eight years old. “Make sure you invite Hannah and Shelley to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“April, that’s six weeks away.” Jules laughed out the words.
“Never too early to start planning for the holidays.” April grinned.
Glancing at the note in her left hand, her mind raced. Would she really find them? Would they look like her? Were they raised in a loving home like the one she found with Big Jim and April? Would they welcome her into their lives again or blame her for not finding them sooner? Her heart skipped and jumped, whether from excitement or the fear of facing another disappointment, she wasn’t sure. She shoved the note into the back pocket of her khakis then blurted, “Do you think Hannah and Shelley will want me to find them?”
“Of course they will. They’re your sisters.” April waddled closer and lovingly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We never forget the family members lost to us. I bet they’re looking for you as hard as you are for them.”
“You’re right. I’m being silly. It’s just . . . Hannah was barely three years old when we were separated.” Jules chewed her lip. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to talk about them until this moment, but it felt wrong somehow to discuss her other family with the woman who adopted her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”
“Why? It’s on your mind. We’ll always be family, Juliana.” She patted her distended belly. “God willing, the babies will be here soon and you’ll have a brother and sister. And I have a feeling before you know it, you’ll find Hannah and Shelley. I’m so certain of it. I’ve already planned for two more settings at the Thanksgiving table.”
“You got a crift you forgot to tell me about?” Jules teased.
“No, unlike you, I’m not gifted. I just have faith.” April smiled wide. Then gave her another one-armed squeeze. “And when they come for dinner you can show them your room in the new house.”
The new house. The place Big Jim and April would move to when they returned from the vacation they were scheduled to start on Monday. More than once April had hinted that Jules could move in with them.
That sounded about as tempting as getting involved with another ghost’s problems.
“April, I thought we’d agreed I’d take over the lease on the apartment so you and Big Jim could move into your dream house. You know I love you both, but I’m too old to live with my parents.” She gave an exaggerated shudder and smiled. “How appealing would I sound? A twenty-seven-year-old woman who works in her mother’s store and lives with her parents?”
April laughed. “Juliana, you run my business. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to afford to move into the house so soon. Besides, I thought you weren’t interested in appealing to anyone.”
“I’m not!”
“If you’re sure?” April’s eyes sparkled with mischief. A look Jules knew too well. It reeked of matchmaking schemes.
Jules threw her hands up in the air. “Stop that! I swear you act more like the corrupting older sister. I can see you scheming now. Whoever you think you want to introduce me to, you can forget it. Between running the shop and searching for my sisters, the last thing I need is a complication like dating.”
• • •
WITH THE STORE set to open in twenty minutes, Jules and Diana emptied boxes and stocked inventory in the back, while April worked in the front, watering plants and setting up the register.
“Do you want to finish stocking or recycle the boxes?” Jules asked.
Diana looked over from where she stood, arranging every can on the shelf so the labels all faced the same direction. “I’ll finish this.”
“No problem,” Jules said. Leaving Diana to finish stocking, she carried empty, broken-down boxes out the back door to the loading dock.
A cool breeze ruffled her bangs. Above the sun shined in a brilliant sapphire sky. She licked her lips, rel
ishing the salty taste carried on the wind. When it came to beauty, no place compared to autumn in Tidewater. Nestled in the southeastern corner of Virginia, next to the ocean, the smell of salt lingered all year round.
The oak and maple trees lining the road boasted of fall with leaves of red, gold, and brown. The late morning air had lost the crisp chill and was now pleasant. The making of another perfect day in the tourist town.
Well, it would have been perfect if not for the bevy of police cars, parked across the parking lot behind McGivern’s Jewelers.
As she broke down the empty boxes, Jules watched a uniformed patrolman cordon off an area behind the jeweler’s.
Yellow tape formed a giant rectangle bisecting the alley. A short distance from there, two police cruisers parked in a vee, blocking three Dumpsters, two for trash and one for recycling. The recycling, of course, sat farthest away. And it appeared the recycling bin wasn’t part of whatever was going on.
With boxes stacked in her arms, she hurried across the parking lot.
A uniformed patrolman stepped in front of her with his hands up and an icy glare on his face.
“This is a crime scene.”
Adjusting the boxes in her arms, she nodded to the recycling bin. “I don’t see any tape up over there. I’m just going to recycling. Is that blocked off too?”
The last thing Jules wanted to do was contaminate a scene. With her luck, she’d get a vision from it and end up in jail for spouting some foolish comment.
“Huh?” The patrolman appeared confused as he glanced over his shoulder. Looking back at her, he shrugged. “Uh, no. It’s not part of the crime scene. You can go there, Miss . . . ?”
“I’m Jules.” She grinned.
“Chaz Gareth.” He extended his hand as if to shake hers in greeting.
“Nice to meet you.” She eyed him from around the boxes in her arms, then nodded at them to indicate her hands were full. “Sorry. Boxes.”
“Oh, right.” The young man’s eyebrows arched so high, a wrinkle creased his forehead. Then he rushed forward to lift the tape so she could walk under it toward the recycling bin.
