“Hmm. That is a mystery.” Mrs. Johnson grabbed a feather duster from behind the counter. “If it’s all right with you, I’m going to dust the shelves. I might even find the key. You go ahead and work out in the shed, but promise you’ll let me know if you find anything interesting, okay?”
Darcy went to the door. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the knob. “Mrs. Johnson—did Ramsey tell you he and I have been seeing each other? As more than friends, I mean. Are you all right with that?”
The feather duster fell to the floor, and Mrs. Johnson stooped to pick it up. She turned it over thoughtfully in her hands, as though it was a priceless vase. “I have to say the idea was a bit troubling to me when you first came. Just because of all the pain he’s been through. It’s hard to see your child hurt, no matter how old they are. But now that I’ve been working with you, I see the same sweet spirit of the girl who used to come down for the summer and sit on my back porch, helping me shell peas. If you make each other happy, then I’m happy for you. Besides, y’all are adults. I’ll try not to meddle, if I can help it.”
“Well, we haven’t even had an official date,” said Darcy. “We’re taking it slow.”
Mrs. Johnson reached up to dust, but then looked back, her lips trembling. “Don’t break his heart, Darcy Nolan.”
Darcy stared down at the doorknob. “I’ll try my best. I don’t want mine broken either.”
17 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
T he locks to the shed were rusted, so Darcy had to coat them with WD-40 until they clicked apart. When she stepped inside, a cloud of dust floated up. Thin strips of light from the opened door danced across the piles and piles of stuff, stacked to the ceiling.
I hope it’s not all ruined. The two sheds were sturdy and well built. No sign of pests or leaks, but still. I wonder how long it’s been since Gran looked through here?”
Darcy pulled on her gloves. The morning air was cool and pleasant, so she decided to carry boxes to the garden to sort through them.
She lugged the first carton out. Full of books, like she suspected. No mold or water damage. A few were leather-bound classics in great condition. Customers loved to purchase those for impressive-looking shelf decor. Many were Reader’s Digest condensed books and she hauled them out to the free box on the front porch.
Putting her hands on her hips, she surveyed the endless stacks. I wonder if Gran hid the key out here? Why she would do such a thing was beyond Darcy, but perhaps if the closet held something she didn’t want to be reminded of, she would put the key somewhere far away. Or maybe a bank box? No, if she had something that important it would have been mentioned in the will. Plus, Darcy had known the bank manager since she was twelve years old. He would have informed her of a bank box when she went in for deposits.
Hours and dozens of boxes later, she’d barely made a dent in the shed. But Darcy surveyed her treasures with a contended sigh. At least five hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise, and most of it in good shape.
The strangest thing she’d found was a box of wooden ventriloquist dummies. I’ll have to put these on a shelf far away from the cash register. Don’t want them staring at me all day. She shuddered.
Several stacks in, she came across a tattered blue tarp. Pulling it back, she revealed the old ten-speed Gran had bought for her one summer. She ran her hand along the rusted red frame. I thought she’d have gotten rid of this. The tires were flat and the chain was loose. Glad I know a good mechanic. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift in to Ramsey-land. I hope he comes by today. Her skin tingled at the memory of his touch. And his kisses . . .
The bike fell over, slamming against her leg. “Ow. Stupid thing!” She wheeled it out into the yard, limping a little, and then went back into the shop.
Mrs. Johnson looked up from her novel as Darcy came in. “Hey, did you find anything good?”
“Yep. Enough stuff to fill most of the shelves again. A few nice china and silver pieces. I’m just going to grab some rags to polish them up.”
Mrs. Johnson smiled. “I can’t wait to see it all. Might even have to spend some of my wages.”
“There’s a pretty Depression glass set that you might want for your collection.” Darcy gathered the supplies from under the counter. “How long do I have before you need to leave?”
Mrs. Johnson looked back at the clock. “I can stick around for another forty-five minutes, but then I have a spin class.”
“Wimber has a spin class? I never would have guessed.”
Mrs. Johnson shrugged. “That’s what we call it. The class actually consists of ten ancient exercise bikes people donated and set up at the community center. Some of us ladies get together every week to ‘ride’ at the same time.”
Darcy laughed. “I might have to come with you sometime. And thanks for staying a bit longer. Should be enough time for me to get the worst of the muck washed off and then I can bring everything in to polish.”
Darcy hauled out a wash tub, cloths and cleaner, and set to work on the dishes she’d found. This was one of her favorite parts of the business, making dingy old things sparkle.
She held a turquoise candy dish up to the light, trying to see a maker’s mark. A piece of glassware didn’t need a name to be valuable. Other distinguishing factors could be used to identify certain artists, but a mark and—even better—a date, made things so much easier.
A throat cleared behind her at the gate.
Darcy whirled around, almost dropping the dish.
A woman with sleek blond hair, sunglasses and an expensive dress and jacket stood at the garden gate. “Are you Darcy Norman?” she asked.
Darcy placed the candy dish in her washtub. “Yes. Can I help you?”
The woman whipped off her glasses, revealing eye makeup just a bit too intense for everyday Wimber. “I’m Marsha Lange, Vera Greer’s attorney.”
“Uh huh.” Darcy stood, wishing she didn’t have dust speckled over her cheeks and dirt caked on the front of her apron. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Vera Greer sent me because she heard of your troubles . . . the safety problems that have been discovered. She’s very concerned about your welfare.”
Darcy gave a short laugh. “You mean to tell me she hired you to come out here for who knows how much per hour because she was worried about me? I may be young, but I’m not that gullible. If she really cared, she’d stop by herself. Why did she really send you?” And how many of the folks in town does she keep in her Marc Jacobs handbag?
Marsha frowned. “My client is prepared to buy your store. As is. She wouldn’t require the very expensive repairs most buyers would insist upon.” Marsha Lange held out a long brown envelope. “Her offer is generous for a shop here in Wimber. In my opinion, she’s prepared to give you far more than it’s worth.”
Folding her arms, Darcy shook her head. “I don’t want money. This is my Gran’s shop, and I’m staying here.”
Marsha Lange smirked. “Really? Word gets around. With all the issues you’ve been dealing with, I’d think you’d be happy to have such an easy out. You’re a pretty girl with her whole life ahead of her. I can see how this would seem romantic and appealing at first, but surely you already feel the drag of small town life. Soon you’ll be bored and lonely like the rest of the ladies on this street.”
Darcy’s mouth fell open. “For your information, the women here have been wonderful to me. And none of them are bored. They have beautiful, full lives and they love their shops. Please leave.”
The attorney balanced her sunglasses back on her nose. “Fine. But you have no idea how much it’s going to cost to make this place safe for the public. I have it on good authority the health department will have non-compliance documents going into effect within two weeks.”
Darcy took a deep breath. “I’m quite aware of the claims made against my shop, and what’s more, I’m positive your client is behind them. I’ve half a mind to file my own complaint against her . . . for harassment.”
; Marsha Lange pursed her lips. “You can’t prove anything.”
Three steps to the gate. Darcy swung the heavy white frame open and swept her arm towards the street. “I believe you’re forgetting something: Wimber is a small town.”
The attorney pushed past her. “Hope you can last through the storm, Miss Norman. Good day.”
Darcy slammed the gate shut and went into the shop through the back door.
Mrs. Johnson poked her head over a shelf which she’d been restocking with some of Darcy’s newly cleaned items. “Everything all right?”
“No.” Darcy tried to still her shaking hands. “Vera wants my shop. I can’t imagine why.” She gave Mrs. Johnson a short retelling of her meeting with Marsha Lange.
“The nerve,” Mrs. Johnson breathed. “Why would Vera want this location? Her store gets double the foot traffic on high tourist days.”
“That’s what doesn’t make sense.” Darcy sighed.
Mrs. Johnson settled the last crystal vase and came around to the front. “Hate to leave you on this note, but I’d better get to my class. Mrs. Hazelwhite, the stopwatch runner, will get in a tizzy if I don’t show. One day I had a dental emergency and couldn’t make it in. She convinced herself I was dead on the road and called the sheriff and the fire marshal. Miss Lorinda, who is also in the class, said she hadn’t seen so many blue and red flashing lights since the old-time coupon days at the Mini-Mart.” Mrs. Johnson removed her work gloves and placed them on the counter. “I hope you get all this sorted out. And say hello to my son. I’m sure he’ll be by sometime today.”
Hope so. Darcy waved and settled behind the counter. For once she prayed the shop would be quiet. The visit from the attorney was really the last straw. Her hand crept to her phone. I could call Dad. He could get his lawyer involved. That Marsha Lange wouldn’t know what hit her. She lifted her chin. Not yet. I’ve got to be able to get through this on my own.
18 FINALLY
A fter Darcy had priced some of the new treasures and arranged them on the shelves, she went back outside and stared at the bike. The seat and frame seemed to be in good condition, but the tires would need to be replaced. She pulled on the pedals. Smooth enough, but the whole thing could use oiling.
She squinted at the sun, perched like a bright round coin on the low line of shops across the street. Even if I get the supplies to fix the tires, I won’t have time to ride tonight. But it could be ready by tomorrow. She ran inside the shop, grabbed her purse from below the counter, locked up, and jumped into Gran’s pickup.
The department store bustled with stressed out moms pushing cartloads of children, twenty-somethings lugging six-packs, and groups of teenagers gathered around displays of gaming systems. Darcy hurried over to the hardware section where dozens of new bikes hung, suspended from the ceiling like a bizarre sculpture at a modern art museum.
After examining a shiny new ten-speed, she shook her head. Her bike was old, but a much better brand. No, I’ll just bite the bullet and fix it. Ramsey taught me how to change a tire when we were kids. I’m sure it’ll come back to me. Like riding a bike. She chuckled to herself and picked out two tire tubes and a hand pump.
As she passed the card aisle on the way to the front of the store, the familiar hum of a scooter reached her ears. She poked her head around the shelf. Sure enough, Burt and Trixie were making their rounds.
“Hey, there, Miss L.A.” Burt waved, his hand full of cards.
“Hi there, Burt, what are you up to? No good, I can see.” Darcy gestured to the cards.
“I have me a friend who got in a motorcycle accident.” Burt held up a get-well card.
“That’s nice of you. I hope he’s better soon.” Darcy reached down to pet Trixie, who was trying to chew on her leather sling-backs.
“He’ll be fine, though I suspect he won’t be swing dancing anytime in the near future.” Burt pulled another card from the rows. “Hope I don’t need this one for you.”
The card had a sad face on the front, and the words, “Miss you.”
Darcy’s shoulders drooped. “Guess you heard about all the trouble I’ve been having. Well, don’t worry, Burt. Everything’s going to work out. I’ll have lots more trinkets for you to spend all your money on.”
Burt cackled, a dry, infectious laugh that had the power to leave an entire store of customers in stitches. “Well, my little lady does need her pretties.” He gestured to Trixie. “Here, girl, hop up and ride with daddy.”
The dog gave an impossible-seeming leap for a dog her size and settled into the basket at the top of the cart. As the scooter moved forward, her tongue lolled out and her brushy tail wagged.
“Have a good day, Burt.” Darcy waved. “Come see me soon.”
“Will do, sweetie,” Burt yelled over his shoulder.
###
Once home, Darcy fixed her bike’s tires and poured on enough oil to chase away the tiniest squeak. She climbed on the sparkly blue banana seat and bounced up and down. Excitement washed over her. I’d love to take it for a ride, but even though it’s Wimber I probably shouldn’t go out this late. It’s too far down the street to a lighted path, and I didn’t buy reflectors. Plus, I’m too tired. I’d probably make it half a block and keel over.
She wheeled it back to the shed and bolted the door for the night.
A slight breeze stirred the morning glory by the window, and the rope of vine tapped the glass like skittering fingers looking for a way in. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Stubborn vine. I need to trim it back before it breaks the pane. But the noise reminded her of something. An object that refused to budge--She ran up the stairs to Gran’s apartment and pulled the Labyrinth game off the coffee table.
The game was comprised of wooden pieces glued together, with a hollow compartment underneath where the balls rolled down into when they fell through the holes along the maze, much like a pool table. Darcy rummaged through the kitchen drawer and found a slotted screwdriver. With shaking fingers, she pried off the back of the game, taking care not to break the pieces. “I’d rather pull this game apart than tear down the wall,” she muttered to herself. The slat gave way easily.
Darcy held the opened puzzle box up to the light. There it was, right in the place she’d always had to give that insistent extra push. A tarnished skeleton key.
Hurried steps took her down the hallway to Gran’s room. Light from the streetlamps played through the tree branches and the lacy curtains, sending strange bubble-shadows over the walls. She snapped on the lamp and went to the closet door. A few jiggles with the key and the bolt flipped open.
Her breaths came quick and fast. She began to turn the knob, but stopped. Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out her phone and dialed Ramsey’s number.
“Hello, Darcy.” His cheerful voice boomed through the phone.
“Ramsey, hey, are you almost finished with work? Could you come by?”
The shrill shriek of some garage tool sounded over the phone. “Couple of us stayed late to finish an engine installation, but we’re nearly done. I can head over soon.”
“Okay. I think you’ll want to hurry, though.”
Concern rippled through his tone. “Is everything all right? You haven’t been climbing up any more buckets, have you?”
“More than all right.” She stared down at the key in her hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He paused. “Are you sure you’re good?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
Darcy scooted onto Gran’s bed. Both hands clutched the chenille pink bedspread, bunching the soft fabric in her lap as she stared at the door. Part of her wanted to yank it open, but the other part longed to share this moment with someone she cared about. With the man I love.
The idea hit her like a ten-foot ocean wave and swept her away in a tide of thoughts and dreams. For a moment she was suspended in ecstasy, but a notion crawled its way into her brain like a pesky crab. I’ve felt like this
before. The wave crashed down and she was left, gasping, pulling the bedspread around her shoulders as though it were a life preserver. She buried her face in the soft fabric. That night, when I was seventeen. Months had gone by, then years. The hollow pit in her stomach had grown to a massive size until she’d had to fill it with other ambitions, other men, and other hopes.
“God, I don’t know if I can go through that again,” she spoke into the empty room. “I--”
A loud knock from downstairs interrupted her prayer and a dull pain shot through her hand. She opened her fist to see the key still grasped there. Shaking her head, she laughed. In her tsunami of emotions, she’d completely forgotten about it.
Ramsey stood at the door, still in his mechanic’s coveralls. Smudges of grease covered his face but the hand that reached out to stroke her cheek was clean. He bent down and brushed her lips lightly with his own. “Sorry, I didn’t take the time to wash up. You made it sound pretty urgent.”
“Well, it’s not every day you open the door to a secret room.” Darcy turned and gestured for him to follow her up the stairs.
A grin spread over his five o’clock shadow. “You really found the key? You’re right. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
They tromped up the steps, almost tripping in their excitement, just like when they were kids. Darcy could almost hear Gran’s voice float down from the apartment. “Slow down, you’ll break your necks.”
Through the door, down the narrow hall, and into Gran’s bedroom. Once more, Darcy fumbled the key into the lock and twisted it, and once more she hesitated. “Do you think I’m ready?”
“Don’t worry.” He pushed a strand of loose blond hair behind her ear. “Your Gran’s cheering you on from Heaven, I can promise you.”
Tangled in Time, (Miss Main Street Book 1) Page 13