by Eryn Scott
I observed her, waiting for signs of sarcasm. Was she genuinely happy to see me? I didn’t recognize her one bit.
She approached me, hand outstretched. Her silvery hair had been braided and fashioned into a bun at her nape. She wore a cotton T-shirt and a fleece vest on top of worn khakis. She looked like the quintessential Pacific Northwestern woman. Between the rosiness in her cheeks to the warmth in her voice, I relaxed.
“You’re Rosemary, right? I’m Althea Pine. I was a friend of your grandmother’s.”
Daphne had mentioned Althea being the one who had planned Grandma’s funeral.
“Nice to meet you.” I shook the hand of the woman who knew my grandma better than I ever would. All the eyes on me made me want to pull my shoulders up to my ears and hide.
“What a treat,” she repeated, taking me in. “I’m so sorry about your grandmother. I miss her so much.”
“Is that Rosemary? Why, I haven’t seen you since you were a little sprite,” Wallace called over from his register. His handlebar mustache, though still waxed and curled at the ends, was specked with white instead of the rich brown it had been back when I was younger.
“I always said she would come back,” an old man with wild, white hair called from the corner, clutching a jar of pickles.
“Psh. You’ve never said anything of the sort.” Althea turned to him with an indignant snort.
“Did too!” The man’s hair seemed to stand on end the more agitated he became. “This is just like when I tried to tell everyone about my run-in with the mob, that body, and the croquet mallets. No one believed me then either.”
Althea tsked and said, “For the last time, it wasn’t the mob. There was only one croquet mallet and zero dead bodies.”
The old man pointed the jar of pickles at Althea as if it were a weapon. “Baloney!”
“That’s the Rickster,” Asher whispered into my ear. “He’s infamous for making stuff up around here.”
And even though Asher was trying to help, his whispering in my ear only added to the intensity of the moment, amping up my anxiety. I’d been doing pretty well until now on this visit, but the old feelings of being the center of attention transported me back to when I had been sick, when whole rooms of kids, doctors, adults—whoever—would turn to stare at me. They would whisper, making my skin crawl with the noise. Everyone knew about me, the sick girl.
One of the great things about living in a big city like Portland was that no one remembered anyone. This small town where all the same people lived here, remembered me from when I was little, it all became … too much. Discomfort climbed my throat in hot spiking waves.
I couldn’t even look Asher in the eyes as I turned around and walked out the door.
8
“Whoa, whoa.” Asher’s voice softened as he followed me out onto the sidewalk in front of the country store.
I closed my eyes and leaned into the large oak standing guard between the store and the street. When I opened my eyes, a few locals walked by, peering at me, leaning close and whispering. I couldn't tell what was more upsetting: the fact that they were talking about me or that I could see them through Asher.
To make matters worse, I caught movement down by my feet and noticed the late Mayor Meow twisting his way around my legs.
My life was so weird.
I put up a hand, wishing I could shoo away all the ghosts gathering around me.
They’re just concerned, I reminded myself as I stared into Asher’s blue eyes. Well, at least he is. I’m not sure about the cat, I thought, glancing down at the large feline. My mom had never been an animal person, and my current apartment didn’t allow pets, so I wasn’t sure what this maneuver meant.
“I’m okay,” I said, keeping my hand in front of me like a stop sign.
Asher chewed on the inside of his cheek as if he didn’t quite believe me. Even Meow took a seat and watched me as if I were about to explode.
“You know,” Asher confided, leaning in close, “when the army commissioned me as a second lieutenant, it was only because I’d graduated from university. At twenty-four I was going to be in charge of other young men’s lives. It terrified me.”
My heartbeat slowed as I listened to his story. Asher had said he died about a hundred years earlier, which meant he must’ve been talking about World War I.
“I grew up in a fishing village,” he said, gesturing to the marina behind us. “I didn’t grow up around guns. Heck, my degree was in English.” He paced. “Needless to say, I understand the flight response.”
I smiled in thanks. “My problems are nothing like war, but they still feel big.” I waved at the building next to us. “This town knows everything about my grandma whereas I know next to nothing. And then it turns out that they want to learn everything about me too. It feels too close to when the teachers told my whole class about my leukemia while I was gone at a doctors appointment, and they all stared at me when I returned.”
Asher nodded but stayed silent.
“Or maybe I’ve gotten so used to my quiet life, checking in books at the library behind the scenes, so I don’t have to interact with people.” I cringed as the truth hit me. “I haven’t been living the life I fought so hard to keep when I was younger.
Asher’s lips twitched like he’d gotten an idea. “What if they weren’t the only ones who knew everything …?” He cocked an eyebrow. “I could tell you all about them. Like how Wallace hasn’t spoken to his son in ten years because of a political fight they had at Thanksgiving. Althea used to be a doctor but left her practice when she misdiagnosed a young girl. And don’t even get me started on the Rickster.”
The weight lifted from my chest, making it easier to breathe. “What about the Rickster?” I tried to remember him from my summers here when I was younger.
“No one knows what to believe with that guy.” Asher shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he spoke.
This must be another habit left over from when he was alive, I ascertained since he weighed nothing. I chewed on my bottom lip as I contemplated this, snapping back to attention when I realized Asher was still talking about the Rickster.
“He claims to have been struck by lightning seven times, climbed Mount Everest without an oxygen tank, spied on the Russians during the Cold War, and says he married not just one, but two, famous Hollywood actresses. He also has a guy for any situation.”
A laugh spilled out of me. The lightness it brought felt good. Well, until another group of locals walked by, and I saw the expressions of concern marring their features as I talked to myself and laughed at nothing. I needed to figure out a plan that wouldn’t make me seem crazy. Okay … less crazy. At least not the concerning kind of crazy.
Asher continued, “They weren’t inside, but I know a lot about the other townspeople too. Vicki is afraid the world is going to end any day and has a bunker in her basement full of canned goods. Jolene hasn’t talked to her sister in three years; Henry cries whenever he hears children singing, and Christian swears he saw a UFO when he was out on his boat alone.” Asher laughed.
His laughter lightened the heaviness sitting on my chest even more. “Wait … if you know so much about the town, why did we need to go talk to Daphne to get the dirt on who was mad at my grandma?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Why hadn’t you heard about her feud with the new mayor?”
It might have been a trick of the light, but Asher appeared to be blushing. Or maybe it was just the guilty look he adopted.
He pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. All of that information is stuff I’ve learned in the last couple weeks. Your grandmother’s death shook me, if I’m being honest. I rarely enjoy being around the living—I don’t even talk to other spirits.” He shook his head. “I sit on the beach for weeks, float around in a fugue. I made sure I stayed current on the major things happening in the world, like technological advances, wars, scientific discoveries, but I didn’t want to get involved with the drama of the townspeople or the local spirits.�
� He paused. “Your grandma was different though. I liked her. And over the last few years I started sticking around more, started reading again—over the shoulders of her tea shop customers, of course—and I was coming back to life, so to speak. I still didn’t care to learn any local gossip, but I didn’t hate being around people as much. When she was killed, I felt awful that I wasn’t paying more attention. Maybe I could’ve seen who it was or have more of a clue who did this and why. After her death, I vowed to pay more attention, to get involved. So I’ve spent the last couple weeks trying to catch up.”
The tightness in my chest released its hold a little more. Pushing off the oak, I was finally ready to rejoin society. About a block down, I spotted Sam Hoff walking the opposite direction. He stopped in front of a building and pulled open the door.
“Hey, speaking of that sleazy mayor,” I said, pointing and starting down the street.
“Rosemary, what are you doing?” Asher asked, keeping up with me.
“Last time I talked to him, I didn’t know he had a motive to kill my grandma,” I whispered even though there was no one near us. “Let’s go question him.”
“What are you going to ask him?” Asher frowned at the building Sam had entered.
I hadn’t thought that far. “Questions. I don’t know. I haven’t planned it out. If he can show up at my house to interrogate me, why can’t I do the same to him?” I walked forward, stopping in front of the building. I tapped the toes of my sneakers against the sidewalk, realizing I didn’t really want to talk to Sam Hoff again. “Why don’t you go in there and listen in, see what he says?” I suggested.
“Wait for him to confess to a murder we’re not even sure he committed?” Asher said, shaking his head. “No can do.”
“Why not? Is there a ghost code of ethics or something? Thou shall not spy on people in their offices?”
“I can’t go in there.” Asher pointed at the door.
The words Town Hall were etched on the glass doors.
“Are town halls sacred, like churches?” I asked. My curiosity got the better of my determined, simmering anger, and I waited for Asher’s reply.
Chuckling, Asher said, “It’s a new building. I can only take this form in places I visited when I was alive.” To demonstrate, he held up his hand then reached out and stuck it through the door.
It disappeared.
He met my gaze. “If I try to walk in there, I’ll go all fuzzy for a while and won’t know which way’s up for a while before I eventually reappear back at my house—your house. It’s why I couldn’t ride in your car.”
Turning back toward Wallace’s Cove Grocer, I said, “Which means that store has been around since you were alive?”
“Yes. They’ve remodeled it, of course. It was Hansen’s Mercantile for most of my life, but the building was the same.”
“What about the abandoned cannery you talked about spending time at lately? You spent time there when you were alive?”
He stared at the store, lost in thought. Finally, he said, “Back when I was alive, it wasn’t abandoned. Actually, it only went out of business about twenty years ago. It was my first job.”
I pulled in a deep breath. “All right. Speaking of the store, I think I’m ready to go back inside.”
Asher followed me across the street but stayed behind once we got to the glass doors marking the entrance. “I’ll wait for you out here. That way you won’t be tempted to talk to me.”
“Good idea.”
When I reentered the store, all the same people were still inside. Questions were written on their faces as they watched me, like I was a fish who had grown legs and walked inside.
“Sorry, didn’t feel well for a second. Thought I might be sick.” I held a hand to my stomach and puffed out my cheeks. “I’m good now, I think.” I smiled.
They turned away, confirming that the skills I’d learned to get people who were worried about me to not fret were still intact.
Grabbing a basket before anyone decided they needed to talk to me again, I scooted down a row of shelves. The shelves were tall, almost too tall. In fact, they were old and teetery enough that I worried they might crash down on me at any second. I’d picked the cleaning supplies and food storage aisle to walk down, full of things I didn’t need. So I gripped my basket and headed down toward the back of the store where I could see a dairy refrigerator.
I focused on getting a few essentials. Not having Asher there helped, yet I missed his presence next to me. Wallace grinned at me as I brought my basket up to check out.
“So you’re staying, then?” he asked carefully as if I might throw up at any moment.
I regretted lying about why I’d fled, but the truth was so much worse than everyone thinking I had a stomachache.
Had he heard about the dead body? The fact that I was a suspect in the man’s suspicious death? If he had, he didn’t let on. In fact, he genuinely seemed interested in whether or not I would stay.
“For a little while, at least,” I said as he scanned my purchases.
“I know the locals would appreciate the teahouse staying open,” he said, pausing to read the label on the bread I’d bought, as if he’d never seen it before. “It was a bit of a sell at first, a bunch of weathered fishermen getting dragged out to sip at hot leaf water with their wives, but Tea by the Sea has grown on the town, and a great many people would miss it.”
My eyebrows rose as I reflected on this. I hadn’t considered keeping the teahouse open. For one, I’d had tea for the first time in years earlier today and didn’t know a thing about it.
I forced a smile. “Gretta told me there’s an offer to buy, which includes the business …” I trailed off, still unsure what I would do with the pending offer.
“Oh, that would probably be our Jolene, I’d bet,” he said. When I gave him a questioning frown, he added, “She owns the Pebble Cove Tea Company down the road.”
“There’s another tea shop here?” I asked. “Can a town this small support that?”
Wallace touched the tip of his nose with his pointer finger. “Let’s just say, her place definitely isn’t half as packed as your grandmother’s was.” He placed my last item in the bag he’d been filling.
As he told me the total, and I paid, my mind raced with wonderings. Was this Jolene person another possible suspect? Would a person kill over a tea shop?
Grabbing my bags, I headed back outside to meet Asher. He sat by the same oak tree I’d left him next to. Meow sat by his side, and Asher chatted as if they were having a conversation.
“Can he understand you?” I asked as I approached.
Asher shrugged. “I’m not sure. He seems to.” With that, he stood and waved goodbye to the cat who yawned and slunk off into the road as a car rolled by.
I almost yelled out but caught myself at the last moment as the tires passed right through the ghostly cat. My hand clutched to my chest, protective of my racing heart.
“I’ll see you back at the house, I guess,” I said, hoping Asher hadn’t caught my mistake.
He gave me a salute and then vanished.
As I drove home, I reminded myself to talk to Asher about this other teahouse woman, Jolene. But as I pulled into the long driveway leading to my grandmother’s house, all thoughts of the possible teahouse-owning suspect fled, to be replaced with my most viable suspect.
Cranky neighbor Carl stood to the side of the driveway, clipping at the hedge separating his yard from the easement. When he heard the crunch of the tires on the loose gravel road, he glowered over at me.
And even though I kept my focus straight ahead as I drove past him, I caught sight of him storming over to me in my rearview mirror when I parked. My heart jumped into my throat.
9
Although I exited the car as fast as I could, I still had the grocery bags in the back to grab. I either had to abandon them and run into the house or face the man approaching me. I decided my groceries were more important and stood my ground as I went to open
my trunk. Carl’s boots crunched in the gravel as he stomped over. He looked to be somewhere in his seventies.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound friendly.
“I don’t need your hellos,” he said, his voice menacing for how calm it was. There was a scratchiness to his tone that made me suspect old fisherman’s wool lined his throat. “What I need is to know is whether or not you plan on continuing the circus your grandmother had going in that house of hers.”
I jerked my head back at his gruff reply. “The tea shop?” I asked, unsure if anyone, in the history of the world, had ever before referred to a teahouse as a circus.
He harrumphed by way of an answer.
“I’m not sure if I’ll keep it. But even if I sell, the new owners might keep the shop going,” I said.
“Not if I have my way. You do not understand how much I hate people driving up and down this driveway past my house at all hours of the day,” he grumbled.
I almost rolled my eyes but thought better of it. Seriously, though, all hours? The tea shop had normal business hours posted.
“You selling would give me a chance to write up a new rental contract for this easement, making sure the new owner wouldn’t be able to run a business out of that house.”
I scoffed, “As if anyone would sign a contract like that. Did you try to get my grandma to sign something?” I asked, digging for information about their combative relationship.
“That woman wouldn’t listen to reason if it came up and slapped her in the face. And she had the original contract, so my hands were tied.” He huffed.
“And so the only way you saw out of it was if she died.” My eyes narrowed as I closed in on the real truth of the matter.
Carl leaned forward. “What are you getting at, young woman?”
I swallowed, steeling my resolve. It wouldn’t help me to come right out and accuse him. Asking him for an alibi would also be weird since, at the moment, everyone but Asher and me assumed she’d died of heart complications.