As soon as he said the words “it must have been undercooked,” I realized I did not want to hear the end of this story.
“… but I knew I was gonna puke, and the only thing around was that urn.”
Talk about gross.
“No one saw, so I just put the lid back on and didn’t say anything.”
I shook my head, feeling slightly queasy myself. “That’s not right. That’s so not right, Ben.”
Then we came to my shop, and I pointed at the bay window, glad to have something else to talk about. “Look there. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
I pressed my face against the glass and cupped my hands around my eyes to block out the sun’s glare. It looked… different. “Does this place look clean to you? Do you think they’re cleaning it up?” I asked him.
He walked over to my side and peered in. “Umm, it kind of just looks old and crappy to me.”
Taking a step back, I tried to see it how he was seeing it. Yeah, the glass was cracked. And there were cobwebs in one corner of the room. Plus, several lightbulbs needed replacing.
But the window itself was actually clean, not grimy like it had been the last time I was here, during Christmas. The floorboards looked freshly scrubbed and polished too.
Some spray bottles and rags were sitting near the back door. I jabbed a finger in their direction. “Look, over there!” I said. “Someone’s definitely been cleaning.”
Suddenly, something moved inside the store.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
Ben nodded, and we both looked closer, trying to make out what it was. A figure moved in and out of the light, then disappeared into a back room.
“Come on.” I motioned for Ben to follow me.
“What? What’s up, Abbey? Why does it matter who that is?”
“Because this is my store! I mean, the store I’m going to open one day for my perfume business. And I want to make sure that someone else isn’t renting it.”
He followed me reluctantly to the alley around back. The door was propped open with a plastic milk crate, and I stepped up to look inside the store. “Hello—”
I was cut off as a large person came barreling out of the store and nearly collided with me. He was holding a stack of boxes.
“Sorry,” I said, jumping out of the way. He jumped too, but managed to keep hold of his boxes.
“Oh, my. I didn’t even see you there. Just let me set these down over yonder.”
The man sat the boxes near the wall and then came back to me. “Now, what can I do for you, little missy?”
He swept off the tall black hat he wore, and bowed low. A short red jacket stretched tightly across his shoulders, and I noticed that his black pants were oddly shiny. He looked sort of like a ringmaster from a circus.
“I noticed that someone was cleaning up the store here, and I wondered if it was going to be occupied. I just love the shops downtown.” I widened my smile and gazed up at him.
The man chuckled. “She’s still vacant for now. I was just prettying her up a bit.”
“Do you need any help with that?” I put on my I-am-a-very-polite-teenager voice.
“Ain’t you the nicest thing,” he said. “Thank you for your offer, but I do believe I can manage.”
“Do you own this store?”
“Oh, it’s mine.” He gave me a calculating smile, revealing a large set of white teeth.
“Lovely,” I said. “So since it’s been available for a while, would you be willing to offer a discount to the next person who rented it?” I thought I heard Ben snort, but I ignored him.
“Well, I can’t promise anything, since certain terms would have to be discussed. But I’m a generous landlord.”
“I’ll be graduating soon, so you might be hearing from me. If the terms are acceptable.”
“You are a clever little thing,” he said. “I think I like you.” Digging into his back pocket, he pulled out a business card and handed it to me with a wink. “Here’s my card.”
I accepted it and looked down. “Thank you, Mr.—”
“Melchom,” he supplied.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Melchom. I’m Abbey Browning.” I stuck out a hand, and we shook. “Good luck with your store.”
I turned to Ben, who had remained amazingly quiet the whole time. “Ready to go?”
He nodded.
Once we were clear of the back entrance, Ben leaned in to me and drawled, “Why, you southern belle, you.”
“Oh, please. I was just being nice.”
Ben scoffed. “You were totally sweet-talking him! I was waiting for you to bat your eyelashes and break out the sweet tea.”
“It’s called using my God-given charm, Ben. Haven’t you ever seen Gone with the Wind ?”
He just shook his head at me. “Chick flick.” Then he froze mid-step. “Wait a minute.”
“What?”
He leaned in close and inspected my hair. “A bit of straw from the barn jest stuck right in there,” he said, plucking out an imaginary.
I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of me. “You? Are a dork.”
Chapter Seven
AN EMBARRASSMENT
However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air…
—“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
I sat up groggily as Mom knocked on the door, and then glanced over at the clock. 9:34 a.m.
“Do you know that at this time, seventeen years ago on June twenty-first, you arrived after fourteen hours of labor?” she said.
Groaning, I pulled the covers over my head. I had totally forgotten what day it was. “Not the fourteen-hours-of-labor story, Mom.”
She sat down on the bed, and I poked my head out. In her hands was a tray that held plates of French toast, chocolate chip pancakes, a Belgian waffle, and a little bowl of strawberries. She put it on the comforter beside me. “Happy birthday, sweetie.” She kissed my cheek before looking sappily into my eyes. “My little baby. So grown up.”
“Mom, please.” I sat up and dug into the waffle, taking a moment to scatter some of the strawberries on top of it first.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. What do you want to do today?”
I thought about it for a minute, then said, “Mani-pedis, lunch at Callenini’s, and then a trip to that supply store up by the cabin, A Thyme and Reason.”
“Sounds good,” she said. “Finish your breakfast, get dressed, and we’ll hit the road.”
I swallowed and then asked, “Are you and Dad going to have a birthday dinner for me tonight?” That was Mom’s usual custom, before everything with Kristen happened.
“Of course we are.”
“Nothing too sappy, Mom,” I begged. “Pleeease?”
“And here I was looking forward to the slide show of all your naked baby pictures.”
“Mom!”
She laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll cancel the slide show and the tribute band.”
I cut off a small piece of pancake and waved it at her. “Thank you, Mother. Now go, so I can eat in peace.”
˜ ˜ ˜
Three hours later Mom and I had freshly painted fingers and toes (her color: Pretty in Pink, mine: Rock Me Red), our stomachs were full of delicious Italian food, and we were on our way to A Thyme and Reason.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been since we’ve stopped in here,” I said. “Too long.”
“It was last year, right?” Mom asked.
“Yup. You wanted me to make you that Christmasy perfume.”
Mom smiled. “Ahhh, I love that one. You captured the scents of winter perfectly. You’re such a great perfumer, Abbey.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s my birthday.”
Keeping one hand on the wheel, she turned and gave me a serious look. “No. I’m not just saying that. Your perfumes are amazing. I know I don’t tell you this very often, but you make me proud.” She switch
ed lanes. “And I’m glad you’ve already decided what you want to do with your life. Although I hope you’ll rethink the whole college thing, I won’t push. I want you to be happy.”
I glanced out the window so she wouldn’t see me getting all choked up. “Thanks, Mom. You make me pretty proud too.”
We pulled into the parking lot, where a glossy green sign proclaimed the store’s name. I got out of the car and just took everything in for a minute. The store was located inside a gorgeous old-fashioned house that was painted in stunning shades of green and magenta. A quaint wrought-iron sign post had been added to the front porch with an ALL WELCOME banner hanging from it.
“Have I mentioned yet how much I love this place?” I sighed happily. “I can’t wait to have my own store.”
Mom followed me inside. “Anything in particular you’re looking to stock up on? Maybe some oils for your violin perfume?”
“Yeah,” I said automatically. “And I need a few more oils to fill my new supply cabinet.”
“How many is a few?” Mom asked suspiciously as she eyed the very large essential-oil aisle.
She knows me so well. “Birthday girl,” I reminded her.
She put both hands up and retreated. “I’ll leave you to your shopping. Call me when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” I grabbed an empty basket from a nearby display and started at the A’s. Amyris, angelica, anise, basil, black pepper, cardamom, cedarwood, cilantro, clary sage, dill seed, Douglas fir, eucalyptus…
My basket started to fill up and quickly became superheavy. I stopped at L with a deep sigh. I was going to have to come back for the rest another time. I probably had too many already.
Browsing for a moment by the bottles and vials, I looked at what they had, but didn’t pick anything up. I had plenty of bottles at home. Then I hauled the basket up to the front register to leave it there while I called for Mom.
But she was already there, talking to the lady behind the counter, and her eyes widened when she saw what I had.
“It’s just a couple… ,” I said defensively. Couple dozen. “It’s a really big cabinet.”
There was a split second when I thought she was going to refuse to pay, but then she nodded and gestured for the clerk to start ringing everything up. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Why can’t birthdays be every day?
“I remember you,” the lady behind the counter said. “You came here before and liked our selection because you only had a smaller store by your house.” She started scanning items and punching in totals.
I grinned. “Yup, that’s me.”
She started wrapping the oils in tissue paper and placed several of the small bundles into a handled brown paper bag. “Well, I hope you’re still happy with our products.”
“Oh, definitely. Although, I did want to ask you about this honey absolute. Is it just a packaging change, or has it been reformulated, too?”
“Ahhh.” She looked pleased. “You’re the first customer to notice that. The packaging has been updated because they reformulated it. Personally, I think it’s a vast improvement over the previous version. It’s spicier. Truer to real honeycomb.”
I nodded eagerly. “I’ve always had trouble with the honey holding its true scent. It degraded too quickly.”
“I bet this one will work better for you,” she said.
Poor Mom stood by looking like we were speaking a foreign language, but at least she was being a good sport about it. The register kept working, the total climbing higher and higher, and I watched it with a growing unease. There was no way Mom was going to let me keep everything. I started to prioritize what I could and couldn’t live without. Any second now she was bound to draw the line.
“What do you think of the new E151 distiller?” the sales clerk asked. “It’s been redesigned to leave less of the plant oils behind.”
“What’s an E151 distiller?”
“It’s for harvesting your own essential oils.” She turned to the counter behind her. When she turned back to face us again, a large, square glass box was in her hands. My eyes widened, and she laughed. “You mean you don’t make any of your own oils?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve considered it once or twice, but always thought it would be too expensive.”
She held the contraption closer for my inspection. “Normally, that’s true. The large distilling machines can cost thousands of dollars. But this little baby is for home use, and it’s designed to make the process ten times easier. You just put your flowers or plants inside the humidifier box and add some water to this jar here.” She turned it so that I could see the back. A maze of tubes ran from one end to the other, all connecting to and crisscrossing each other. A tiny bronze knob was at the end of the tubing. “Turn this knob to increase the heat and boil the water; then the plant oils are released and funneled into a collection tube. Making your own oils really adds that extra personal touch. A lot of people swear it’s the only way to go.”
Oh, man. I was sold.
Trying very hard not to look at Mom with puppy-dog eyes, I asked, “How much does it cost?”
“It’s normally one ninety-nine, but this week we’re having a discount of forty percent off on it. So the price would only be one nineteen.”
Only.
I couldn’t help it, I caved. I turned the full force of my OMG I have to have this gaze on Mom.
She sighed. “Go ahead; add it to the bill.”
“Okay, then,” the clerk chirped. “Your total will be two twenty-five eighty-seven.”
I almost choked. Two hundred dollars for some perfume supplies?!
But Mom only shot me the tiniest of glances before she reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card. I gleefully picked up my bags and whispered, “Love you, Mom” as she paid. I’m pretty sure I heard her mutter, “Thank God it’s not your birthday every day,” and I grinned all the way out to the car.
Sometimes she could be a very good mom.
Ten minutes before I was supposed to be downstairs for my birthday dinner, I was still trying to figure out what outfit to wear. I didn’t want to look too dressy, yet Mom had pleaded with me to wear something nice.
Searching my closet for the millionth time, I finally chose a white cotton sundress and slid it on. The hem was decorated with black satin ribbon, and tiny daisies danced across the straps. It was dressy, but not fussy. Then I threaded a white ribbon through my black curls and pulled my hair up into a low ponytail. A couple of strands immediately escaped, but I tucked them safely behind my ears.
Black strappy shoes were next, and then the last thing I needed was some jewelry. Dipping into the holder on my desk, I picked through necklace after necklace. But none of them seemed to fit my mood. I’ll just go without.
Then my pinkie got snagged on a tangled chain, and I tried to free my finger.
A silver star on a delicate chain spilled out, and I stopped for a second. I’d only worn it once before it had gotten lost in the depths of the jewelry pit. It seemed perfect for tonight, though. Kristen had given me the star-shaped necklace for my fifteenth birthday.
“Okay, Kristen,” I whispered, smoothing out the tiny tangles and fastening it around my neck. “I can take a hint.”
Checking myself over one last time, I straightened the necklace, tugged at the bottom of my skirt, and messed with my hair a bit. Time to go.
I felt oddly nervous as I made my way to the stairs. It’s just dinner. No big deal, I told myself. But that didn’t stop the slightly nauseous feeling that was creeping up. I hoped Mom and Dad weren’t going to do anything too embarrassing.
Forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, I froze mid-step when I heard voices. It sounded like they were talking to someone. Who’s here? Mom said it would only be us tonight. She’d thought about inviting Aunt Marjorie and Mr. and Mrs. M. but had decided against it so that we could have some “family time.”
Slowly descending the rest of the way, I peeked into the living
room. It was Ben. Ben was here, sitting across from Mom and Dad on the couch. He had on a long-sleeved button-down shirt and a tie.
I was horrified.
Mom spotted me first and came over to greet me. “Here she is. The birthday girl.”
I put on a fake smile and whispered through gritted teeth, “Mom! What’s Ben doing here?”
“I wanted to surprise you, Abbey.” She lowered her voice. “He’s such a nice boy.”
Ben stood up, and so did Dad. “Hey, Abbey. Happy birthday. I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Ben here was just telling us all about his college plans,” Dad said.
“Isn’t that wonderful, Abbey?” Mom added. “He has his whole life planned out.”
I looked closely at her. Something was… off. “Yes, that’s nice, Mom. I’m sure he has a bright future ahead of him.” Then I changed the subject. “Is dinner ready?”
Mom nodded and teetered over to Ben, putting her arm through his. “Why don’t you escort me into the dining room?” she said to him with a smile. “I hear you have very good mannersh.”
Oh. My. God. Mom was tipsy. I gave Ben an apologetic look, but he played along.
“I’d be honored, Mrs. Browning.” He led her out of the living room, and Dad came over to escort me.
“Is Mom drunk?” I hissed to him.
At least he had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “She’s not… It’s just that… She was so excited after you guys came home from shopping, and she kept talking about what a great bonding experience it was… so I suggested a drink to celebrate. One drink turned into a couple, and, well… she really shouldn’t have had that last one.”
Nice. This was going to be fun.
“Can you watch her, Dad?” I pleaded. “Try not to let her do anything too embarrassing, okay?”
We entered the dining room, and Mom was giggling at something Ben was saying. I sighed, and Dad threw me a helpless look before we sat down.
Mom had outdone herself with the decorations. The whole room looked like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Gleaming silverware, tall candelabras with red tapers, maroon wine goblets, and a black-and-white damask tablecloth were all part of the setting. Confetti was scattered across the table, and fancy deckle-edged place cards sat at each plate. A large crystal bowl filled with strawberries was the centerpiece, and my excitement grew when I saw the telltale long-handled forks sitting nearby.
The Haunted Page 7
