Carlton was the kind of man who liked to look at his possessions.
“You think you know what happened.” He ran his finger along the silver frame. “I should think that you, of all people, would realize there are two sides to every story.”
“I know enough.” It was a lie, but Tucker was damned if he’d ask his grandfather to fill in the blanks. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have to see how my new plaster is setting up.”
“The Boundary Street property can’t be sold. Or used for commercial purposes.”
Was that what had the old man worried? That Tucker was planning to fix it up and unload it? That he’d be out from under his thumb once and for all? “I’ve read the trust agreement, Grandpa.”
Carlton sat the frame back on the mantel, his eyes like ice.
“You are in my backyard now, Tucker. It would serve you well not to forget it.”
CHAPTER SIX
ALLIE bumped into the table. She lowered the stack of cardboard boxes she carried just in time to see Sarah’s neatly arranged display of local interest books topple.
“Here, let me get those.”
The boxes were lifted from her arms, and Allie blinked up into the lovely face of their new salesgirl/barista. Rainey Stratton wasn’t quite as tall as Sarah, but she still had a good several inches on Allie. Allie was starting to feel like a hobbit who’d wandered into Amazonia by mistake. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
They’d been going gangbusters the past few days, getting everything ready for the grand opening, and even though they hadn’t intended to hire any additional help until they saw how things were going, Rainey had been a godsend. She was funny, personable, intelligent and not afraid to jump in with both feet.
Rainey sat the boxes in front of the bookcase Allie’d been headed toward, and then bent to help her pick up the mess on the floor.
“You don’t have to do that,” Allie said.
“Oh yes, I do,” Rainey countered with feeling. “I’m afraid to go back in the kitchen. Josie might take another strip off me for breaking the handle off that teacup. I’m sorry.” She looked contrite. “She told me the china was your grandmama’s.”
“Oh. It’s not a big deal. Really.” Sarah had wanted china for special occasions, like book signings or the tea party package she’d come up with for young girls’ birthday parties and so on, so Allie volunteered Grandmother Hawbaker’s Spode. After all, it had been sitting in boxes in the attic.
“Boo Hags and Broomsticks: Tales of Hoodoo in the South Carolina Lowcountry,” Rainey read the title of a glossy paperback, bringing Allie’s attention back to the task at hand. “What the heck is a boo hag?”
Allie blinked. “You’ve never heard of a boo hag?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Um…” Allie tried to hide her surprise. “I just assumed, since you grew up here…”
Rainey’s smile turned wry. “I guess hoodoo wasn’t a real hot topic of conversation among the cheerleaders and the football crowd. So tell me,” she said, as she put the book back on the display stand. “What is a boo hag?”
Allie sat back on her heels. “Well. A boo hag is an old, ugly woman with the power to shed her skin after nightfall. Certain hags are available for hire in the business of revenge. The hag is capable of smothering unsuspecting victims by sitting on their chests and swallowing their screams.”
Rainey looked appalled. And fascinated. “I think I’d scream, too, if I woke up to a hunk of raw old lady meat sitting on my chest.”
Allie chuckled. “A broom,” she gestured toward the title of the book “placed near the door will prevent the hag from entering because she’ll be compelled to count each straw of the broom. Or newspaper pasted on the wall. Same thing. She’ll be unable to resist reading each word.”
“So the hags are literate and OCD.” Rainey looked toward the window and scrunched her brow. “You know, I think I do remember something about the blue paint on the casings and the porch ceiling – that’s supposed to keep the, what do you call them…”
“Haints.”
“That’s it.” Rainey snapped her fingers. “That’s supposed to keep the evil haints away.”
“Haints are generally considered to be the spirit of someone improperly buried, which is why you see things like jars of rice and lanterns and even bed frames on Gullah graves. The living want to make sure to placate the dead by giving them everything they need to be comfortable in the afterlife.”
“You know, I once saw a half-full bottle of whiskey on this grave in the cemetery when a bunch of us were…” she trailed off, wincing, and Allie figured she’d just remembered that she was talking to the sister of the current Chief of Police.
“Distributing floral tributes?” Allie suggested. Of course, she had no doubt that they’d probably been daring each other to break into the old mausoleum. Attempts were made with some regularity.
“Um, right. Anyway, one of the boys with us wanted to take it, but my friend Nell convinced him not to. Said it was some kind of ritual thing.”
“Supposedly, if you collect dirt from a grave, and leave a penny or a bottle of whiskey, you can… hire the spirit, I guess.”
“Do you actually believe this stuff?”
Allie sat back on her heels, considered. And shrugged. “I don’t necessarily believe it, but I don’t necessarily not believe it either. And regardless, most of the folklore is just so cool. Like the blue bottle trees and the… I’m sorry.” Allie rolled her eyes when she noticed Rainey grinning. “I’m going on and on. Just read that, if you’re really interested.”
“But it’s so much more interesting listening to you.” Rainey piled some more books on the table. “How do you know this stuff?”
“Oh. Well.” Embarrassed, Allie fussed with aligning the edges of the stack. “You know that Josie is Gullah. I used to bug her to tell me stories as a kid.” When she’d been so starved for adult interaction. “Local lore and legends, ghost stories. I guess I got to be something of a history buff.”
“You should totally do one of those tours.”
“Tours?”
“You know, like the ghost walks they do in Charleston and Savannah. You could talk about the boo hags and haunted houses and stuff. Like that weird light that shows up where the old library burned down? You have to know about that. It’s practically a rite of passage to go out there and park.”
Allie hadn’t exactly done much parking in high school. Being a teetotaler hadn’t exactly made her a lot of friends in what Rainey referred to as the “football crowd.”
“I’ve heard of the light, yes.” About thirty years ago, the library, which sat on a beautiful piece of ground overlooking the river, burned to the ground, taking the life of its custodian with it. Legend had it the old man’s spirit remained, appearing to visitors as a glowing orb.
But what had Allie reeling was Rainey’s casual suggestion. “I can’t imagine anyone would be interested in hearing me talk about that stuff.”
“Are you kidding? My whole family went on one of those tours in Asheville several years ago, and I’m telling you, it was fun. Even my brothers liked it, and they usually don’t get excited about anything unless it has an engine or breasts.”
Allie coughed. “I don’t know…”
“It would help sell these books.” She gestured toward the once again neatly arranged table. “And get people into the store, if you departed the tour from here.”
“That’s…actually a really great idea.”
“What can I say?” She flicked the blunt ends of her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’m good.
“Allie?”
They both looked up to see a man filling the doorway. Deeply tanned, his chestnut hair windblown, he made quite a picture with the grinning blond dog at his side.
“Speaking of good,” Rainey murmured, and Allie shot her a look.
“Hey, I’m nineteen,” the girl said in her defense. “Also, I’m not blind.”
&n
bsp; “Hi, Noah.” She greeted Sarah’s younger brother. “And you too, Bark.”
“You named your dog Bark?” Rainey gaped at Noah.
“No, I asked him what his name was when I found him wandering around by the docks. That’s what he said.”
They were treated to one of Noah’s rare grins, and beside her, Rainey sighed. Noah wasn’t handsome, exactly, but he had a supremely masculine quality that tended to stir women’s hormones.
“I have those tables that Sarah asked me to pick up,” Noah told her. “They’re in my truck.”
“Ooh. Let me see.” She and Rainey followed Noah and Bark outside. Sensing there was work to be done, Bark immediately yawned and laid down in a shady patch on the sidewalk, while Noah hopped into the truck bed.
“Where do you want these?”
“Um…” The trash heap? Allie studied the rusted, Pepto-Bismol pink wrought iron with horror. Not what she’d envisioned when Sarah told her she’d found the perfect tables for the garden.
“Those things are uglier than Carolann Frye’s second husband,” Rainey declared.
“Is that the one she married for his condo in Florida or his motor home?” Allie tried to recall.
“Motor home,” Rainey said. “It was one of those silver ones, looked like a canned ham? All custom. I heard the ex cried when she sold it.”
“Probably tears of relief at getting rid of Carolann,” a new voice chimed in, and Sarah strolled around from the back, where she’d been applying nonskid strips to their porch ramp. Her hair was bundled messily on top of her head, fair skin glistening from the heat, and Allie was envious of her friend’s ability to look so casually… sexy. Whenever she worked outside in this weather, Allie just looked like she’d been run through a carwash.
“I thought I heard you pull up,” Sarah said. “Hey Bark. Hey boy.” She bent down to quickly ruffle the dog’s fur before peering into the truck. “Wow. These are great, Noah. Aren’t they great?”
Allie could only blink.
Rainey said “Were you, maybe, high, when you bought them?”
Sarah shook her head. “They have no imagination,” she told her brother as he hefted one off the truck. “And besides,” she patted the ugly table affectionately. “I didn’t buy them. Totally free, courtesy of the Pink Lady.”
The Pink… “You got these from a strip joint?”
“Gentleman’s Club,” Sarah corrected. “And don’t look so appalled. The guy that owns it is a fishing buddy of Noah’s. These tables were outside, on some little patio. I don’t know why he bothered, though, since the scenery the patrons are interested in is inside the establishment. Right, Noah?”
Noah turned his attention toward the other tables. “I’m sure I have no idea.”
“Uh-huh.” Smirking, Sarah caught the legs of the next table and helped Noah ease it to the ground. Then she turned back to Allie. “Trust me, after I get these babies painted, they’ll be good as new.”
“If you say so.”
“So that’s what that box of black spray paint is for,” Rainey said.
“Yep. After we move these around back, I’ll start… shoot. I forgot to get a wire brush.”
Allie had only a vague idea what a wire brush was, and no idea why Sarah needed one, but apparently it was important. And she felt a stab of guilt for acting like a snob. After all, Sarah was saving them money. “Do you want me to run down to the hardware store for you?”
Sarah considered, then shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I’ve been hunched over that ramp for the past hour. The walk will do me good.”
“You mind taking Bark?” Noah said. “I’ve got to run a couple errands after this, and he could use the exercise.”
They all glanced over, and Allie could swear the dog sighed.
“Suck it up, Bark,” Sarah told him. “You should know by now that if you aren’t the lead dog, the scenery never changes.”
TUCKER easily found a parking space in front of the library. He then turned to stare at his passenger, who was leaning directly over the AC vent, eyes closed in ecstasy as the cold air hit his face.
Tucker killed the engine.
“Cruel bastard,” Mason muttered. He turned his head to the side, golden brows dipped low in a scowl. “Please tell me that building is climate controlled.”
“If I said no, would you wait here?”
“Why…. Oh for God’s sake, Pettigrew.” He sat up and rolled his eyes. “It’s a library. Would you stop acting like I’m a naughty schoolboy who needs to be chaperoned at all times lest he poke someone with a stick.”
“Figuratively speaking.”
“Look, I’ve been here for an entire week. I’ve carted your furniture around and scraped God knows how many layers of paint and eaten most of my meals from either the microwave or paper sacks, all while practically melting in this heat. And I haven’t poked anything, have I?”
Tucker should probably feel guilty. Mason had worked his ass off. But Tucker knew Mason probably better than he knew himself.
“I found a dirty plate in the sink.”
“So?”
“So let’s just say it wasn’t my china pattern.”
“You sound like a suspicious wife.”
Tucker just stared.
“Oh, fine.” His friend huffed out a frustrated breath. “I went next door and begged some more biscuits. That’s all. And that’s hardly a crime.”
There was annoyance and just enough hurt in his tone to make the denial totally believable.
Unless, of course, you knew you were dealing with an actor. A superb actor, who could call up annoyance and hurt at his whim. “Is it the leggy brunette I’ve seen hanging around there? Because they have laws in this state.”
Mason looked honestly appalled. “I don’t boff teenagers. Not for the past several years, anyway.”
He watched a muscle jump in Mason’s cheek and determined he was sincere. “Okay.” He pulled the keys from the ignition. Then figured, since he’d brought out the cards, he might as well play his hand. “Allison Hawbaker seems like a sweet woman. And I get the feeling she’s had a rough go of it recently.”
“So now I’m not only a cad, but a brute?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Shaking his head, Mason reached for his door handle. Then stilled. “You didn’t mention the others.”
“What?”
“In all this warning me away from the women next door, you failed to mention Josie and Sarah. The old woman is both a little frightening and… well, old, so that I understand.” He tilted his head. “Does this mean that Sarah is fair game?”
This time the jumping muscle belonged to Tucker. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t,” Mason murmured. “You did, however, seem even more irritable than usual after your little confrontation in the driveway the other morning.”
“I was getting ready to visit my grandfather.”
“And yet, I don’t think that explains the cold shower you took before your visit.”
“I was hot.”
“That much was obvious.”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed, but the twinkle in Mason’s made it clear he wouldn’t win this point. “Just… get out of the truck already.”
Chuckling, Mason did so. “So tell me again why we’re visiting the library? Between your e-reader and those crates of books I lugged in, I’d think you’d be set on reading material until sometime in the next millennium. Not to mention,” he added dryly “that there’s a lovely bookstore about to open next door.”
Tucker ignored that, whatever embarrassment he’d felt a moment ago fading quickly. “I’ve tried to find old accounts of my father’s… accident online, but the Sweetwater paper doesn’t have their back issues uploaded beyond a few years ago. I need to look at their microfiche.”
The sympathy on his friend’s face wasn’t manufactured. “I thought your mother said he lost control of his car.”
“She did.” A
storm. Wet roads. A missed curve, and his father’s car plunging into the river. Though she’d become so distressed whenever he’d asked about it, that he’d stopped bringing it up. “She didn’t like to talk about it.”
“Understandable,” Mason said as they headed toward the building’s marble steps. The library appeared newer than some of the other civic structures in town. And its stark formality seemed out of place, considering most of Sweetwater exuded coziness. “Judging from what I saw, she must have loved him very much.”
Tucker was sure she had. After all, in nearly thirty years, his mother never remarried.
But he could hear his grandfather’s voice, taunting him. You think you know what happened. “I guess I just need to read about it for myself.”
“Then by all means, lead the way.” Mason opened the beveled glass door, ushering him inside.
The smell hit him first. Ink and paper, just the slightest bit musty. And something unidentifiable that Tucker had always thought of as bottled possibility. Pull the cork – open the book – and there, at your fingertips, were whole worlds just waiting to be explored.
He closed his eyes, remembering quite clearly sitting on his mother’s lap, listening to her read story after story. They’d moved around a lot in those early days, his mom taking odd jobs that allowed her to keep him with her, since he was still too young for regular school. When she couldn’t find work, they’d spent untold hours in the public library. It had seemed so huge, and there’d been so many people. But the two of them… they were a unit. And even though he’d grown up, moved out, created a life for himself, he guessed on some fundamental level that had never changed.
Breathless with loss, Tucker opened his eyes to see that Mason had moved over toward a small bronze plaque set into the wall. Allowing him a moment to compose himself, Tucker knew.
Grateful, he filled his lungs and then went to join him.
And felt the air leave his body again.
The Augusta Beaumont Pettigrew Memorial Library.
Mr. Write (Sweetwater) Page 7
