“Ms. Turner, if you could give us a moment. . .” “Sophie, did you kill Patrice Bledsoe?” “How do you explain a third murder in your shop?” “Who’s representing you?” “Is it true you dealt her the Death card before she was murdered?” “Do you believe your store is cursed, and that’s why you’re selling it? How does the new owner feel about the shop’s past?”
The last one, she bet, was courtesy of Theo, who had been studiously avoiding her for days. Probably because he knew she wanted to rip him a new one.
A blast of some spicy scent suddenly encompassed her, and she heard a voice say, “Quick, in here.”
On reflex, Sophie dove in, the door closing behind her.
Chapter Five
The woman who had pulled her in from the street pushed the door firmly shut and flip the sign to Closed. She was about Sophie’s height with shiny, long brown hair held back in a fat barrette, and Sophie raised her eyebrows in appreciation as she muttered something nasty to the reporters who crowded outside. At first glance, her rescuer looked too lady-like to have a mouth like that.
Pulling down the quaint green shade on her window, blocking the cameras, the shopkeeper turned to her with a wide, conspiratorial smile, and stuck her hand out.
“Claire Woods.”
Claire was likely in her late twenties, maybe a little younger than Sophie, with an open expression and easy smile. She had the kind of youthful, flawless face that made Sophie think of the models on make-up advertisements. Big blue eyes, clear lip gloss and perfect teeth. She dressed simply in jeans, sandals and a white tee-shirt with a grey-striped apron that sported the shop’s title: Good Scents Herbs and Aromatherapy.
Sophie grabbed her hand. “Sophie Turner.”
“Yeah, I figured. Sorry they’re harassing you so much.”
“Appreciate the rescue.”
The place was decorated like an old time apocathary shop with small, clear bottles and thin vials filling wooden shelves. Above those, larger jars with small scoops attached were lined up, handwritten labels described the contents of the jars. Bunches of colorful, dried flowers and herbs hung everywhere, and a stack of wicker baskets were placed on the table by the door. The store was a Martha Stewart dream on acid.
“They’ve been hovering outside of your shop all day. Vultures,” she said, squeezing Sophie’s hand firmly. “Some have even been going shop to shop to find people who will say anything.”
Sophie smirked, thinking of Theo. “I bet they found some.”
“Well, they didn’t get anything from me.”
“I appreciate that,” Sophie said, though she couldn’t imagine what Claire could have told them anyway, seeing as they’d never met. She wasn’t going to argue with her, though.
Sophie picked up the lid of one jar and inhaling deeply, then coughing mightily as she tried to replace the glass lid without breaking it. Claire took it from her fingers and put the lid back.
“God, what is that? It smells like old gym socks. Really old ones,” Sophie observed.
Claire grinned. “Dried Valerian, the Japanese variety. It’s used for sleep problems and some people use it for migraine and pain relief.”
“People actually consume that? How do they get by the smell?”
“They make teas, sometimes adding other things to make it more palatable, or make it into poultices. Astrologically it’s related to Venus, so you can use it in love spells, too, if that’s your thing.”
“Huh. Somehow I can’t imagine anything that smells that bad being helpful to romance.”
Claire laughed, and Sophie couldn’t help but smile. Claire seemed nice, or maybe it was all the scents in the shop. If so, Sophie thought maybe she should hang out here more often.
“So do you have anything for repelling obnoxious members of the media?”
Claire looked at her slyly. “As a matter of fact, I do know something that might help.”
Sophie blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“Follow me.”
Why not? Sophie thought as she followed Claire into the back of the store, which was set up very similarly to Talisman’s. That wasn’t much of a surprise. The buildings had been more or less all built at the same time and most of them survived since the 1800s. The floor plans, construction materials, etc, were all relatively similar. She’d noticed that Claire had put an upstairs level to her shop, where Sophie had kept her apartment.
“You’ve really done a fantastic job with the place,” she said.
“Thanks. Business has been good so far. There’s only one other similar shop down in Chinatown, and some others around the suburbs, but none close by, so I’m hoping it works out. Otherwise, I’m back to being a dental hygienist,” Claire said, leading her down another set of steps into a very cool, narrow hallway where she flipped on a dim overhead light and used her key to open a thick metal door.
“This old passage goes down under the shops on the other side of the street. The inspectors pointed it out when I was buying the place. Some kind of access tunnel, I guess, but if you follow it, you’ll come to another door that will open up behind a dumpster on Gainsborough. You can get into your place from the back, then, and they won’t know. They’ll think you’re still in here.”
“Wow,” Sophie said, truly impressed. “There were always stories of tunnels and secret passageways around here, and the ones under MIT were famous, of course, but I had no idea any still ran under Tarot Alley.”
“There are a few. This one branches off, but I haven’t had time or nerve to explore.”
“Would love to join you if you do.”
“That would be fun. There’s a flashlight there on the table, and you’ll need this key to open the outside door. Drop it back to me sometime. I have a copy. You’re welcome any time you need to avoid the press or take a shortcut or whatever.”
“That’s really nice of you, but I’ll get you the key back as soon as I can. I wish we had an exit like this in Talismans.”
“It’s pretty common in old cities, especially on waterfronts where previous infrastructure sank or was built over.”
“Are you a historian?” She sure didn’t sound like a dental hygienist.
“No,” Claire laughed. “I heard it on the Ghost Whisperer, you know, because the town Melinda lives in was built over the old Grandview. So I did a little research, now that I had my own shop with tunnels underneath.”
Sophie grinned. “Ah. I don’t watch much TV, but I get your drift. I’m sorry to rush, but I have an appointment that,” she sighed, looking at her watch. “. . .that I’ll probably already be late for. But thanks a million. Maybe we could grab lunch sometime? I owe you for the rescue.”
“You don’t owe me anything, but it would be fun to get together. I don’t have too many, scratch that—any—friends around here.” Claire smiled self-consciously and poked hair behind her ear.
“You’ve got one now. Lunch is on me. Maybe when I bring the key back?”
“Great. Well, I guess I’ll see you then,” Claire said cheerfully. “The tunnel breaks off to the right. Follow it and you’ll see the door.”
Claire put her hand out again, and Sophie took it, really grateful. Turning away, she closed the door and made her way down the tunnel, ignoring a faint sense of claustrophobia. The flashlight lit the way well enough.
She heard Claire’s footsteps diminishing in the distance on the other side of the door and took a deep breath, pushing forward, spotting the door ahead. In minutes, she was up top, standing by a dumpster. Damned if her back entrance wasn’t fifty feet away, around the corner. How could she not have known about this? She must have walked by this door a million times, and never thought about it.
Looking at her watch, she made a choice. She couldn’t make it by Talismans and still make her appointment with Mason now, and she really needed to talk to Mason. Turning and heading toward campus, she called the store, but the line was busy. Sophie sighed. Trying a few minutes later, she found the same thing, and left a messag
e on Margaret’s answering service, even though that was futile as Margaret never checked her voice mail on time.
She hated to hold things up for Mags, but she had made her appointment with Dr. Mason first, so the banking paperwork would have to wait until tomorrow.
Sophie made it to Dr. Mason’s office at the strike of four, only to find his door shut with a note on it: Ms. Turner. Apologies. Forgot a previous engagement. Call to reschedule.”
“Dammit!” Sophie cursed, actually stomping her foot. “Dammit and fuck it and dammit again.”
“Uh, can I help you?”
She turned to find a young man, in his twenties, a good eight inches taller than she was and probably twenty pounds thinner, which put him over six foot, staring at her. He had spiked orange hair, an earring, and wore loose-legged jeans with a black tee-shirt that read: Love the Dead.
She didn’t know if he was talking about the rock group or something else altogether and didn’t want to ask.
“Are you Dr. Mason?” she asked, assuming he clearly was not.
“Nope.”
“Then you probably can’t help me. I had an appointment, but he canceled. You’d think he could have called before I hauled my ass all the way over here,” she said, still a little peeved.
The tall guy stuck his hand out. “I’m Josh. I’m Dr. Mason’s assistant. Grad assistant, I mean, but his assistant otherwise, too, you know, for his other work,” he said with a smile that was more charming and made him more handsome than Sophie would have expected.
And she’d cursed a blue streak and bitched about Mason in front of his grad assistant. Great.
“I’m sorry for the cussing. I was just disappointed not to be able to see him.”
“No problem. I was coming by the office to pick up some stuff to go meet him – you wanna come along?”
“I don’t think I should intrude. I’ll call him to reschedule.”
“It’s fine, really. Dr. Mason is cool. He’s been working on this one site, and if you’re meeting him for ghost business, this is a good chance to see what he does. He doesn’t care if people come along, as long as they stay out of the way.”
Sophie chewed her lip, pausing, and went for it. Seeing him “on the job” could be helpful. “Sure, why not? Thanks.”
“Can you help me carry a few things to my car?”
“Sure.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sophie,” she said, since he hadn’t offered his last name either.
He stuck out his hand, and said “Josh.”
She smiled. “Yeah, you said,” she reminded him, taking his hand and finding it incredibly warm, hot even. It was a little weird, and he pulled his hand back rather quickly, not meeting her eyes. “Uh, um. . . wow.”
“What?”
“I’m a thermopath,” he said, shoving a key in the door and pushing it open, inviting her to enter the office first.
“A what?”
“I was born with this strange sensitivity heat, well, not so much heat as energy – my system reflects it in units of heat.”
Sophie picked up a box he nodded toward, testing it in her arms before lifting it completely. “I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand.”
“Yeah. I get that a lot. When I was a kid, my parents had no idea what to do. I had to go through all these tests, because my body temperature could spike to as much as one-oh-seven or eight sometimes, which means I should be kinda dead, you know? Then the next minute I’d be shivering my ass off. But they never could find anything. I was fine. Healthy as a horse.” He paused, hoisting the box up so he could grab the door for both of them before continuing.
“Ends up I’m sort of a human thermometer for psychic energy. I was apparently picking up on people’s energy, psychic energy in particular, the sort of the electrical charge you have going through your body. Everyone has it, more or less at the same charge or intensity, but people with active psychic energy run a little hotter than everyone else. But then ghosts, because they are empty of energy and have to suck it off of their surroundings, they have the opposite effect. Cold. So I can usually tell if there’s some kind of spirit around because I can sense any drop in temperature faster than normal people, and even faster than the equipment. Makes winter here kind of a bitch, though.”
Sophie was trying to keep up as they locked the office again and walked down the hallway. Was this guy smoking something or was he serious?
“So you’re a psychic?” she asked.
“No, not really, but I’m really good at sensing when other people are.”
Sophie wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “You’re pretty open about it. How did your parents deal with that news?”
“They were cool. They were relieved that I wasn’t dying or whatever, you know? And I don’t see the point in hiding who I am. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s how I ended up with Dr. Mason. I read his book, and I knew he was a guy I could work with.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m studying how families react and adapt to people with psychic abilities. They’re not all as cool as mine are. He’s one of the few psychologists willing to take me on for that kind of work.”
“That’s really great.”
“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re giving off some pretty hot vibes right now,” he said, looking over at her with a boyish smile. “Whatever you have going on in there,” Josh looked meaningfully at her head, “I’m sure Dr. Mason is going to be interested. Maybe we could talk more, too. I’m always gathering research data. I could talk to you about your family, maybe.”
Sophie had no response to that, but she made sure that they didn’t touch again for the rest of the trip.
* * *
Roger walked down the street to Talisman’s, hoping to find Sophie there. Her phone went directly to message, which meant she was probably busy or still pissed at him. When he walked in the door, Margaret turned around to greet with a smile that knocked down a few notches when she saw it was him.
“Oh. Hi Roger.”
“What? Not thrilled to see me?” He affected a teasing tone, though he was still waiting on Ted to get back to him about Margaret—or whatever her name was.
“Sophie around?”
“No. She was going to stop by on her way to the university, but I guess she ran short on time and didn’t make it.”
“When was that?”
“Around three thirty, I guess.”
Roger looked at his watch. It was five thirty-now. How long was this meeting with that guy supposed to go, exactly?
“Did she say anything about how things went today?” he asked vaguely, though he didn’t expect Margaret would share any confidences.
“No, I caught her on the train with a scratchy connection and asked her to come by and sign some papers for the store, but she didn’t make it, like I said.”
Margaret shrugged and went back to stacking something on a shelf that was full of shiny rocks that looked like big pieces of beach glass—he used to find it for free on the shores of Nantucket when he was a kid. Old beer bottles and such, tossed to the ocean and polished opaque. He still had a box full of it at home. Here, you could buy a fist-sized piece for fifty-bucks or so.
“What are these rocks supposed to do, anyway?” he said curiously, picking up a pinkish one.
“That one is Rhodochrosite. It’s used with the fourth chakra, the heart, to heal conflict, attract love, and generally cleanses the aura. It can help with psychological issues, too. Did you want one?”
Roger grinned, tossing the stone from one hand to the other. “You don’t like me much, do you, Mags?”
She let out a breath, her lips flattening into a thin line. “I don’t know you well, Roger. I’d like to like you—obviously Sophie is crazy about you—but you haven’t exactly been friendly to me, either.”
“What are you talking about?”
She grabbed the stone from mid-air and held it up to him.
“A per
fect example. You think of this as a rock, not as a sacred object or a healing stone, or even something that might make some person feel a little better about life as they go through their day. You have to belittle anything different. You’re sarcastic, and you push your judgments around on everything and everyone you don’t personally agree with, including-” she stopped short, and set the stone gently back in the shelf.
“Including what, Margaret?”
“Including Sophie. She’s all turned around with all this stuff going on, and you know, she could legitimately have psychic talent, but-”
He held a hand up. “Listen. You’ve known Sophie for a year. I’ve known her for thirteen. Don’t tell me I don’t know my wife-to-be, okay? And I don’t judge her. I try to protect her and to help her, which is better than filling her head full of all this mystical garbage and confusing her even more.”
“Oh, I see. You don’t think she’s smart enough to decide for herself what she wants to do or believe in? She is a grown woman, you know.”
They were facing off now. She was protecting her friend, and as far as he could tell, she meant what she said. Could she obviously care this much for Sophie and try to set her up for murder? Stranger things had happened, but doubt—and a slight acknowledgement of the truth in what she had to say—crept in, undermining his assumptions.
“Listen,” he put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not going to believe in all this hocus-pocus any time soon, but I know Sophie thinks highly of you, and I’d like us to try to get along for that reason.”
“Then stop being an ass.”
His eyebrows flew up as she stalked away from him, and he followed.
“So tell me more about yourself, while I hang out waiting for her. What did you do before you came here? Where are you from?”
She shoved some boxes underneath the space below the register and stood back up, dusting her hands off on her apron and eyeing him suspiciously.
“You suddenly want to know all about me?”
“I’m making an effort, Margaret, that’s all.”
Past Tense Page 8
