The first two days, she’d been alone, working each day straight through and only stopping when her eyes began closing of their own accord. Though the nostalgic part of her soul longed to keep the place exactly the way Gran had left it, the saleswoman side knew it needed some updates if she was going to keep it profitable.
Otis, a middle-aged man with tired blue eyes, came on the third day to install shelves. The shop was filled with the racket of sawing, drilling and hammering.
Darcy swallowed another two tablets from the aspirin bottle by the register. Her gaze landed on a box of faded file folders and receipts. I must hire an accountant. Though she’d sorted through all the papers she could find, she hadn’t seen reference to a tax company or firm of any sort. Wouldn’t Gran’s lawyer know who she’d used? What if she hadn’t filed with anyone and the records are full of mistakes? What if I’m required to pay some major fine? Darcy bit her lip. This was the very reason she’d turned her personal taxes over to father’s accountant every year. Tomorrow. I’ll call the lawyer tomorrow.
Otis lumbered over and leaned against the counter. “That’s all for the shelves.” He smoothed his drooping seventies-style mustache. “I’ll come prep ‘em and paint in the morning, if it’s all right with you.”
Darcy worked her way through the maze of displays to the far end of the shop where the new shelves stood. They were eight feet high and flush with the ceiling. The shelves had been built at different levels.
She ran her hand along a fresh pine shelf. “This is perfect,” she said to Otis. “Exactly what I wanted.”
Otis nodded. “Always was good at shelves.”
“Thank you so much. Um--” Darcy had to force the next words from her mouth. “Do you have a minute to look at one other thing for me? It’s upstairs.”
He tapped a pencil against a grubby notebook. “If you’re talking about the kitchen sink, I already fixed it. Might take a few hours for the pressure to come back.”
Darcy shook her head. “No, not the sink. This is something I haven’t . . . well, I’d have to ask you to not talk about this. Could you keep it confidential?”
His eyelids flipped open. “What the heck you gettin’ at, Miss Darcy?” He leaned in closer, a sunflower seed husk hanging from his moustache. “You don’t think there’s a ghost in this building, do you?”
Darcy stepped back. “Otis, I’m a grown woman. I don’t believe in ghosts.” She turned and marched up the stairs.
Otis clomped up behind her in his work boots. “Sorry. I think my wife’s been havin’ me watch too many of them reality T.V. shows. Them ghost hunter fellows find some pretty weird stuff. Why, t’other night during supper, one of my wife’s collector plates fell plumb off the wall. Shattered into a million pieces. We ‘bout jumped out of our skins.” He chuckled. “My wife says it’s ghosts, but the washing machine is on the other side. I think that nail just vibrated right out of the sheetrock. My wife couldn’t sleep for three days though. Which means me n’ the dogs didn’t sleep either.”
Darcy squared her shoulders. She’d never admit it, but she’d slept with the reading lamp on in her room switched on every night since she come to Gran’s house. Sometimes she left a T.V. show playing on her tablet to fill the quiet void.
As she passed through the living room, Linus opened an eye and stared at her from his spot on the couch. He closed his eyes and settled back into his nap.
“We’re not here to bother you, kitty.” She moved into the hall, Otis following.
After flinging open the door to Gran’s room, she ushered Otis inside. “Through here.”
The bedroom was the largest of the upstairs spaces. Gran’s four-poster bed stood between two windows. Lace curtains stirred in the breeze--Darcy had been airing out the place-- while thin branches scratched against the screens.
A closet, full of the broomstick skirts and denim shirts Gran had worn almost every day of her life, was to the right of the bed. Darcy had peeked inside for a moment the first time she’d come in. The contents looked like they hadn’t been touched, and Darcy wasn’t surprised. Her mother wasn’t one for sentimentality. A few family photos would have been enough for her, and those might have even been retaken, snapped on her cell phone to be stored away in a digital mind.
Someday Darcy would clean out the closet, search for keepsakes, and donate most of the clothes. But not yet. Gran’s essence filled the space, as though her spirit still rested among her things.
The third door was bare now, but before a white dresser had stood in front of it, almost hiding it completely. Darcy had moved the dresser yesterday. “I’d like you to look at this.” She gestured to the door.
Otis gave a low whistle. “That’s mahogany.” He ran a finger over a panel, which was intricately carved. “I’d betcha this wood is older than anything else in the house.”
Darcy raised her eyebrows. “Even the bannister?”
Otis tilted his head to the side. “Maybe.” He reached for the ornate brass knob. “Can I look at the other side? I’d like to see how thick the paneling is.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you. I always wondered what was in there, but Gran had a big dresser in front of it, and she kept it locked. Every time I came to visit, I’d ask her about the secret room. She always told me she wasn’t ready to share it with me. She passed so suddenly--I never found out where she put the key.”
Otis raised an eyebrow. “So—what would you like me to do for you?”
“Can you open the door?”
Otis ran his fingers along the outside edges, and bumped it a few times with his shoulder. “It’s pretty tight.” He fumbled in his tool belt and pulled out a small flashlight. After snapping on the light, he examined the crack between the door and wall. “The hinges are strong and thick, and the screws are on the other side, like most closets.” Kneeling, he examined the lock. “This is rare old hardware. I’ve never seen the like.”
“Do you know a good locksmith?”
Otis shrugged. “Don’t mean to brag, but I’m the best in town. I might crack it, but it’d take hours and cost you a pretty penny.” He poked at the lock with a slotted screwdriver. “Think I’d have to make a key, and that could be days. Not only that, I would need to cut the lock out to study. Which would then mess up your door.”
Darcy’s shoulders sagged. “Will we have to break it down?”
“Oh, please don’t do that.” Otis stroked the panel. “I’m no expert, but it’s worth plenty. Any little scratch’ll mess with the value.”
Darcy twisted her hands. “I’ve wondered what’s in there since I was a little girl. Gran wouldn’t even give me a hint to the key’s hiding place. She knew I’d be after it in a minute.”
Otis squinted at the lock. “I suppose you only have one choice then.”
Darcy put her hand on her hip. “What’s that?’
He smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. “Find the key.”
###
After Otis packed up his rusty pickup truck and left, Darcy went out on the back porch to drink a cup of tea and enjoy the evening air. Colored streaks reached up from the setting sun, welcoming infant stars in their first light.
“Kayla, you’re crazy! I’m not going anywhere tonight.” The male voice from over the fence was lazy, with a tinge of irritation.
“Greg, I just wanted to get away for a while. I’m stuck working in the café all day, and I live here. And we hardly ever go out any more.” Kayla’s words were measured, her voice low.
Do they know I’m sitting here? Darcy set her teacup down and looked over at the fence. She could barely see the top of a tan cowboy hat, and a little lower, Kayla’s curly head.
“Are you kidding me?” the man’s voice came again. “I worked my tail off all day. I want some food, and the ball game’s on tonight. I’m not going anywhere.”
Kayla’s sigh rumbled through the fence. “I didn’t think a movie was too much to ask for. Supper’s on the table upstairs.”
; The cowboy hat disappeared, and Darcy heard the café door slam. She stood and shoved the metal chair back, so it scraped loudly on the cement patio.
Kayla’ tear-streaked face appeared around the gate. “Darcy? I’m sorry if you heard that.” She pulled a wadded tissue from her pocket and scrubbed at her nose. “Greg can be a jerk sometimes.”
“It’s okay.” Darcy was tempted to give her new friend a hug, but wasn’t sure if they were on that level of friendship yet. She patted Kayla’s hand instead. “We all have our share of relationship issues.”
“Yeah.” Kayla pulled the band out of her ponytail and bent over to gather her hair up again. “He used to be so great.” She flipped back up. “But we’ve been dating for a year. Now he just wants to eat and watch TV. So much for romance.” She gave a short laugh. “I guess that’s all I should expect from a man.”
Darcy shrugged. What about Jared who wants me to go out with him every night and dress to the nines? One time he said her dress wasn’t nice enough and sent her back inside to change. Why did I put up with him? She shook her head. Then another thought pushed through the barrage. Ramsey would never do something like that.
“Sorry again,” Kayla said.
“Don’t worry about it. Come by if you ever need to talk.” Darcy followed Kayla to the gate and closed it behind her.
She took the coffee cup back upstairs and put it in the sink, then went to Gran’s room and sprawled out on the bed. Many nights she’d curled up next to Gran, both of them clad in flannel pajamas. They would stay up late talking about everything. Gran would giggle with her over silly school stories and jokes. Darcy trusted her with all her secrets, including various crushes she’d had.
“Sounds like a nice boy,” Gran would say. “But don’t push too fast for these things. True love will come, in time.”
“How long did you wait to say yes when Grandpa asked you out?” Darcy had asked.
Gran’s cheeks had reddened. “Oh, about three whole seconds. But they were a long three seconds, let me tell you!”
The silly love song she’d picked for Jared’s ring tone interrupted her thoughts, and she stared at the bright screen. “All right,” she snarled, and swiped the green button. “Hello?”
“Hello, beautiful,” came Jared’s too-cheerful voice. “Nice to have you answer.”
“Yes, well, I’ve been busy.” Darcy sank back into the pillows.
Jared chuckled. “Me too. This season’s a killer at the office, dear, you know that.”
She rolled her eyes. How does the conversation always swing back around to him? “Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right. But I know what could make everything better, for both of us. How about I fly you up this weekend? I miss you, baby cakes.”
She stifled a groan. I always hated that nickname. Why can’t I tell him that? Why am I talking to him? “Um, I don’t think I’ll be coming up any time soon. Too much to do before opening day.”
“Come on, surely the locals won’t notice if it takes you a few more days to get ready. There’s a dinner party Saturday night at the Miller Estate. It would be nice to have you by my side.”
“Sorry, I just don’t feel like it this week.” She braced herself for the angry words that normally came when she argued with him.
Silence filled the thirteen hundred miles of air between them. Then he spoke. “Darcy, why do I get the feeling you don’t want to see me?”
Because I don’t want to be with you anymore. She rubbed her forehead. Why can’t I just say it?
“I’m sorry, Jared. I need to go. Cat’s hungry.”
“Can’t you feed the cat while we’re...”
She hung up on his protest. A weariness washed over her, and suddenly she felt old, older than Gran’s house, older than the men who played chess on the little tables in the town square.
“God, I don’t know what to do!” Tears dripped on the crisp, white pillowcase. “I need to break up with him. I sure don’t love him.” She pressed her fingers against her lips. “I’ve wanted to be here so much. But what if it’s a terrible mistake? What if I just run the business into the ground? God, I haven’t always been the best at listening. But I could really use some direction right now.” And—Ramsey?
Gran’s leather-covered Bible lay on the nightstand where it had always been. Darcy picked it up and flipped through the thin, fragile pages. It seemed almost every passage had been underlined and covered with notes.
A bluebonnet bookmark led her to a verse underlined in purple gel pen. “I will instruct you in the way you should go; I will guide you with my eye.” Psalm 32:8. Beside it was written, “For Darcy.”
Darcy gasped, closed the book, and pressed it against her wildly beating heart. How did she know? How could she have possibly known?
Though she’d gone to church most of her life, Darcy hadn’t been one to believe much in heavenly intervention or signs from above. At least, she hadn’t experienced many for herself. But I just saw one, didn’t I?
With shaking hands, she took the Bible and put it on the desk in her room. For a long time she stared at it, as though it might flip open to some other great revelation of its own accord.
I’m being silly. Of course God wouldn’t take the time to speak to me, personally. She grabbed her pajamas and headed to the shower. Could He really care that much for me?
As warm tears streamed over her face, a peace flowed over her spirit. God, guide me with your eye. If the store was meant to work out, He would show her how.
4 MS. TRAVELSHAM
D arcy pressed the button to send the carefully worded break-up text. She’d spent most of the afternoon writing and re-writing, and it just wasn’t going to get any better. No sense sugar-coating things. It’s not fair to let Jared think I’m coming back. She sighed and leaned against the front counter. Break-up texts had always seemed tacky and callous to her, but she simply couldn’t deal with Jared’s patronizing for one more phone call. He’d either go on forever trying to talk her out of it, or worse still, he’d ignore her and keep asking when she’d be coming home. Life isn’t fair. That’s what Gran always said.
She stared at her phone for several moments, until the answering text blinked on the screen. ‘OK.’
“What does that even mean? Oh, I should have called him!” She thumped her head against her hands. Linus jumped on the counter and rubbed against her arm, purring.
Dozens of clocks around the shop ticked away the minutes in an off-beat rhythm. Should I text him again? Say I’m sorry? Again? Finally, she shook her head. “It’s too late now, Linus. I can’t take it back. I’m going for a walk.”
A drowsy mood blanketed Main Street on late weekday afternoons, and this Thursday was no exception. Despite her rumpled spirits, Darcy forced herself to stroll down the quiet lane. Her troubles settled to the back of her mind as she savored pieces of her past and searched for new additions to the town.
In the middle of the cluster of buildings was the town square, a park-like area with giant shade trees leaning over round cast-iron tables and chairs. Darcy had eaten her lunch there a few times. She tilted her head back. The special crook in the largest oak where she and Ramsey used to climb still looked inviting, though it seemed a bit higher and she doubted her ability to scale the tree as fast as she could seven years ago.
The cracked stucco wall of the First National Bank had once been used for local advertisements. Now metallic horses chased each other through an endless backdrop of dust and sky. The painting was all manes and tails and flashing hooves, and when Darcy slanted her eyes just right, it almost seemed as though the magnificent steeds moved across the building.
To the right of the bank was the dime store, which had opened in the fifties and still served as a pharmacy for some of the town folks, though the supermarket on the highway had a much better selection of goods.
The tidy brick building a few doors down used to be another antique store. Someone had opened a women’s clothing boutique in its place
. Darcy squinted at the displays. Brands L.A. clients wouldn’t be caught dead in, but still quite upscale for a small town. A step up from Wal-Mart, anyway. But I shouldn’t be snobby. She’d surrounded herself with style, taste and shallow people, and had almost been suffocated by the resulting cocoon.
A woman came out to straighten a sale rack that had been blown down the sidewalk by errant winds.
Darcy waved. “Hi, I’m Darcy Norman. My grandma owned Tangled in Time.”
‘Vera Greer.” The woman held out a thin white hand. She was middle-aged, and her lambskin jacket was a brand Darcy was sure she wouldn’t find in the clothing shop. Her brassy brunette hair stayed firmly in its polished pixie arrangement, as though it dared not move.
Darcy took her hand. “Nice to meet you. I want to get to know everyone on the street, since I’m taking over ownership.”
Vera Greer’s thin eyebrows came together over her sharply upturned nose. “I thought for sure the place would be sold. Told the land management company I wished to be informed.”
“Well, if I jump ship, I’m sure they’ll let you know.” Darcy attempted to sound lighthearted.
The flicker of steel that had entered Vera’s eyes vanished and she laughed. “Of course you will.”
Will what? Jump ship? Darcy shook her head. “Anyway, have a lovely evening.” She hurried down the street, not daring to look back.
The bookstore was next, and Darcy lingered in front of the large street window. Besides the paint job and a large white rabbit, which she suspected was left over from Easter, nothing much had changed. The same faded sign hung above her, announcing she had arrived at “The Treasured Tome.”
Stepping through the door, she breathed in the familiar aroma of pages and knowledge.
A medium-sized boxer mix with smooth fur and a white blaze across its face sidled up to her, tail swishing.
Darcy reached down to pet the sleek, bronze head. “Hey there, Neeci. Long time no see, girl.”
Ms. Travelsham appeared from around a bookshelf, arms full of romance paperbacks. Her ample figure was made even more rotund by a shapeless dress, and her wispy, graying hair was arranged into a half-hearted bun that had, sometime during the day, tumbled down to her neck. She dropped the books down on the counter and looked at Darcy over maroon-rimmed glasses. “Not Neeci. My sweet girl died two years ago. That’s her brother, Allen.”
Tangled in Time, (Miss Main Street Book 1) Page 3