The Lucky Cat Shop

by Debi Matlack

  “No, but she got hurt real bad last year. It makes her sick sometimes.” Good girl Deanna. I was ninety-nine percent sure she’d heard Cora screaming and saw what happened, thank you for not making us all look like maniacs.

  The man nodded and smiled down at me. “You’ll be okay, we’ll get you home.” He looked up and called out.

  “Scott! She’s not injured. Help me get her in the car.” I was loaded into the back, a little surprised my head stayed attached to my shoulders, the kids piling in with me. The mysterious man accompanying Detective Jenkins asked for my keys, then I heard my noisy truck roar to life. The trip home was short, thank God.

  Chris directed them to the side of the building and the rear entrance to my apartment. I heard my truck rumble to a halt as the kids tumbled out of the cop car, asking Scott a million questions about how fast it could go, the lights, the sirens. I was never going to hear the end of it from Mike. I tried to sit up and retched.

  “I’ve got her,” I heard one of them say and I was eased out and lifted in someone’s arms. Good thing there isn’t much to me; there are a lot of stairs up to my apartment. Our steps rang on the metal risers.

  “Anna.” My bearer paused.

  “What?”

  “Anna, store. Don’ scare her.” Anna’s years as an elementary school teacher made her one of the most unflappable people I’d ever met, but seeing your boss carried in like so much dirty laundry might be alarming.

  Scott’s voice sounded ahead of us. “I’ll go on through, tell her you’re sick but okay.” Keys rattled against the door, we went inside and Scott’s steps faded ahead.

  “This way.” Chris took charge, leading us into the back hall and opening the door to the bedroom. I was laid carefully on the bed. Too bad, this was the first time a man besides the contractors had been in my bedroom and all I wanted to do was vomit. Vomit and then hopefully expire. Nothing personal, mysterious stranger.

  “Can I call someone for you?” Mysterious Stranger was concerned for my continued well-being. That was nice. Or he was ready to dump me on someone else. That was understandable.

  “Mike.” I groped for my bag and phone unsuccessfully and fell back with a moan.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got it.” I heard my phone being dialed and Mike’s voicemail pick up. At the beep, my benefactor said “Hi, this is Barrett Eberhardt, I’m a friend of Scott Jenkins. We’re with Maeve, she’s got a migraine but she’s okay. We’ve taken her and the kids home to the apartment. Everyone’s fine. We’ll stay with them.” He clicked off and set the phone by my bed. “Can I get you anything?”

  Mysterious Stranger had a name. That was nice too. Incapable of much rational thought thanks to the raging migraine, I responded by whimpering, gagging and rolling on my side, fumbling for any kind of receptacle to jam my head in while I puked up my shoes and socks. A steady hand pressed the bedside wastebasket into mine and I heaved for all I was worth. When it was over, I fell onto my back, exhausted, but somewhat clearer. A warm hand soothed my clammy face. I hadn’t even gotten a clear look at this guy but I wanted to marry him.

  Footsteps approached and paused. “Damn Maeve, what did you eat?”

  “IHOP.” The idea of the chicken fajita omelet I had enjoyed earlier made my gut roll again. The sound this thought wrung from me must have alarmed Mysterious Str—, no wait, his name was Barrett— to some degree.

  “Jesus Christ, Scott, are you trying to start it all over again?” Some rustling followed, presumably the sanitary disposal of my projectile lunch or maybe preparation for a new one.

  “Sorry,” was followed by a brief adult male chuckle, then a whine from Deanna.

  “I’m hungry.”

  I sure as hell wasn’t, but I couldn’t let anybody starve. I shoved myself semi-upright, dragging my bag closer to scrabble inside for my wallet. “Next door, sandwiches—” The thought of any kind of food was profoundly disturbing and I subsided to the bed, curled into a hedgehog ball, and waited for the nausea to pass. Or my demise. Either one was fine by me.

  “It’s okay, Maeve, I’ve got this. What do you guys want?” Scott and the kids headed back down the hall so I was spared the blow-by-blow of who got what. Thank God. An in-depth discussion on the merits of a tuna salad versus meatball sub would have been the death of me.

  I carefully cracked an eye open. The room cooperated by remaining stationary so I opened the other eye. So far, so good. I became aware that …Barrett, yeah, that was his name, now sat on the edge of the bed. The light was dim but I could sort of make out his features now that my head wasn’t exploding. He was nice to look at too, from what I could tell, with narrow blue eyes and thick, dark blond, windblown hair. He smiled when I met his gaze. Dimples formed in the stubble framing his mouth and I sighed. I was now positive I wanted to marry him. With my luck, if I thought he was attractive, then it was an absolute certainty that he was married. Or gay. Or both.

  “How are you feeling?” He kept his voice low. I started to nod, then thought better of it.

  “Okay. Better.” I licked cracked lips with a dry tongue and grimaced. Yeah, this guy was so not ever going to want to see me ever, ever, ever again. Ever.

  “Think you can keep some water down?”

  I gave his question considerable thought before finally answering, “Yeah.” Way to be articulate, Maeve.

  He smiled with those damned dimples again and gently patted my knee as he got up, headed for the kitchen. Water ran and he came back with a glass. I made a sincere effort to sit up and failed miserably. He set the glass down, got an arm around my shoulders and drew me into a sitting position. Once we were settled, he offered me the glass, only for me to lose my grip. He caught it, wrapped his hands over mine and helped me drink.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t find a straw.”

  “S’okay.” I was really impressing the nice man with my excellent command of the English language. When I drank my fill, he moved the water to a safe place before scrutinizing my face again.

  “Your color is better. You looked like candle wax a little while ago.”

  I huffed an almost silent chuckle. “I like to make a great first impression.” The water helped me think and speak more clearly. I was still a thousand miles from feeling like anything approaching human, let alone like something Mysterious Handsome Stranger would want further dealings with. Such is my life.

  “Mission accomplished.” But he continued smiling, concern still tempering his expression. And he was still talking to me. Maybe there was a tiny sliver of light at the end of that tunnel, which hopefully wasn’t an oncoming train. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  I wasn’t about to wipe that pretty smile off his face by announcing I was a crazy person who could see ghosts. No way in hell. He already knew I was a pitiful excuse for a glob of protoplasm, I wasn’t going to add certifiably whacko to the mix. “I was attacked last year and got a severe head injury for my trouble.” His eyes narrowed as he searched my face and head. I chuckled. “It’s on the back.” I very carefully turned my head and pushed my almost-shoulder-length hair aside. Just like I’d done with Cora. A shudder ran through me and he gripped my hand.

  “You okay?”

  No, not really, but fake it ‘til you make it, right? “I will be. A night’s sleep usually puts me back in operational order.”

  “Glad to hear it.” There was some noise from the stairs as Scott and the kids came back. He half rose then turned back to me, extending his hand. “I’m Barrett, by the way.”

  I took his hand in my best attempt at a handshake I could manage at the time. Limp, cold linguine had a better grip. “Maeve. Nice to meet you.”

  “Maybe we can meet again sometime, under better circumstances.” He stood, looking down at me, a crumpled smelly heap and smiled. I seriously wanted to commit matrimony with this man.

  “I’d like that.”

  Chapter 15

  After this latest migraine episode, Mike threatened to move me back into their house. We nearly ca
me to blows over that.

  “You were out at the cemetery alone!”

  “No, not alone. I had the kids with me.”

  “Yes, alone! They’re just kids Maeve. No one would’ve ever found you!”

  “But someone did, because you have a very resourceful son. They’re not just kids, they’re my niece and nephew and they’re excellent in a crisis.” I shut the back room door to cut off our arguing from the front of the store. We get loud. I didn’t tell him I’d been teaching Chris to drive my truck on the sly. The Big Ass Truck is an automatic so it didn’t present too much of a challenge. In the event of a real emergency, I would have had a ride home. “Jeez, Mike, you act like there isn’t a highway fifty yards from where I was. If nothing else, they could have flagged down a passing car. But I had my phone and we were lucky enough that Scott happened to be calling right at that moment. Chris asked him for help.”

  “I’ve heard the story Maeve. Yes, Chris did great and I told him so. The kid earned himself a remote control helicopter he’s been coveting for a long time. But, the fact remains that your health is still not right. And until it is, I don’t want you alone.” Mike folded his arms and stood like a gargoyle in my way. I adopted a similar pose and glared up at him. It sucks being short.

  “Dr. Balikrishnan thinks I’m okay. These don’t happen very often and they’re always linked to… you know.”

  “What?”

  Even though the door was closed I felt like I should lower my voice to keep my affliction out of the public eye. “To my seeing spirits. And other stuff.” A frown creased my forehead. “Every time it happens, it seems like it’s because of something new that happens or some ability I didn’t know I had coming to the surface.”

  Mike shot me one of his old skeptical looks. “What was new about this time? You’ve been to the cemetery before, since the attack.”

  “I know, smartass. But this time I saw a spirit that, well, I knew her, from something I saw awhile back.” I hadn’t told Mike and Karen about Adam. Knowing your sister was a medium was one thing, knowing that creatures from horror movies actually existed and roamed the earth wearing jeans and plaid flannel was another matter entirely.

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw her murdered.”

  That made him step back. “When did this happen? Who killed her?”

  “Whoa there, big fella. She died in 1935, so nothing to report to the police, okay?”

  “So, how did something you saw in a vision that happened a long time ago have to do with what happened on Saturday?”

  I sighed. It was still hard to articulate, even though Mike believed me. In our society, the current accepted norm is that ghosts and various other spirits don’t exist, so the vocabulary needed to convey that yes, they do actually exist and I can communicate with them, and this is how we do it, la ra ra ra... is limited. “When I saw her Saturday, I remembered the vision of her death I had when I touched that Bible all those months back.”

  “And why did touching a Bible make you see her die?”

  More sighing. “Not just any Bible, but the one that she carried to church all the time, like Poppy used to have. I explained to you about how I can see things about the people that have owned objects when I handle them?” Psychometry had been mentioned but not elaborated upon during one of our beer-fueled question and answer sessions following my confessions.

  “So the Bible used to belong to the ghost? Before she became a ghost?”

  “Yes, it was hers and she had it with her when she was murdered.” I was also not going to mention to my brother that I suspected that Cora’s killer was also Poppy’s and my attacker. I wasn’t sure how that was possible myself, but it felt like the right answer, I just didn’t know why or how. “She was trying to tell me who killed her but she’d been angry for so long that all she could do anymore was scream. Somehow she put her memories in my head, which triggered the migraine.” I met and held his gaze. “Those are the only times I get them.” Well that, and witnessing decades-old murders through visions triggered by touching old stuff, or opening antique trunks owned by the killer, or seeing people’s most intimate moments as if I were some kind of invisible voyeur standing right beside them, no biggie. It almost seemed less complicated to explain things to Mike prior to when I told him about my abilities. Before, I just lied about everything. Now I was forced to be more selective about my lying and keep track of what I had and hadn’t told him. Not that lying to people was new to me, mind you, I had just abandoned the habit when I decided to become a responsible adult, but I was woefully out of practice. How long was I going to be able to keep juggling?

  He sighed this time and his stance relaxed. “I still don’t like you being here all alone.”

  I shrugged. “Call the matchmaker. See if she’s got anyone that is independently wealthy, good-looking and open-minded about the paranormal. Oh, and good in the sack, too.”

  “Maeve!” Mike was now blushing furiously.

  “Hey, brother of mine, I’m sure you understand the mechanics of things, you are a mechanic, after all, as well as married. As long as I’ve been without a good fu— err, boyfriend, you should understand my… needs. Of course, I’m destined to be alone forever because of this lovely set of unmarketable skills I’ve acquired.” He was still blushing so I decided to deliver the coup de grâce. I sidled closer and muttered, “Of course, I do have an excellent set of, ahem, other proficiencies to offer, should the matchmaker come up with anything.” There, not one lie in the bunch. This honesty thing did have its perks.

  “That’s it, you win.” He threw his hands in the air and shook his head. “I’ll leave you alone, but I want you to call me, every night, so I know you’re okay.”

  One final sigh from me. “If that’s what it takes to keep the peace. I’ll call you after I close, unless of course that might butt into the time when you’re practicing your proficiencies with Karen.”

  “Jesus! I’m gone.” He fled for the back door and I watched him go, chuckling. As the door shut behind him, my mind turned to the problem of my sex life, or, more accurately, the profound lack thereof. Herr Mysterious Stranger was a pretty fantasy, but I didn’t hold out much hope of anything further coming from that first encounter. With circumstances as they stood, there was little chance of any potential relationship, or even a simple hook-up galloping up over the horizon astride a black stallion, wielding a claymore and wearing a kilt. Or armor. Or a loincloth. Or anything…or nothing. With that exquisite and completely unrealistic series of fantasies in mind, I went back to work.

  Barrett Eberhardt, the Mysterious Stranger, hadn’t called back. Of course, I didn’t expect him too, it was, after all, a shit-ton of wishful thinking on my part. I didn’t know much about him beyond the fact that he was somehow associated with Detective Scott Jenkins. I could always harass Scott about his identity. But honestly, I felt the ball was in his court. I wouldn’t at all blame him for not wanting to further any contact with a woman he found semi-conscious in a cemetery and had vomited in his general vicinity several times. For all he knew I was a chronic drunk or addict and I spent most of my time addled and spewing toxic waste. Of course, it had only been a few days. Presumably Herr Eberhardt had an occupation of some kind aside from rescuing collapsed psychics from graveyards. In the meantime I had a business to run and supernatural traffic direction to maintain.

  Scott dropped by on his day off with his wife to make sure I was still alive. I showed Lillian my new stock of books. While she browsed, I drew Scott aside.

  “I’m glad you came by, for a couple of reasons. First, what caused me to have that massive skullsplitter the other day was something I learned in the cemetery.”

  Puzzled, he cocked his head at me. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “When I get monster migraines like that, it’s usually because I’ve discovered a new ability to plague me further, or have seen something ‘out there’ that knocks me for a loop.” I sat down in a kitchen chair in a mo
ck room setup, pushing the Scotty dog salt and pepper shakers on their red gingham placemat aside. Scott joined me. “There’s someone buried in the cemetery that was murdered. I saw it when I looked at a Bible for someone awhile back.” ‘Looked at’ had become my code for letting the past invade my brain thanks to my unwanted talent. I was not going on to mention that the owner of the Bible was a vampire, I figured that might just push Scott over the edge of thinking I was crazy. Adam probably wouldn’t think too highly of being outed either.

  “How do you know she was murdered? When was this?” The homicide detective in him took over possession of his body as he sat forward, intent.

  “The murder happened way back in the mid-thirties. One of the articles I gave you had part of the story.”

  He thought a second. “Cora Tanner.”

  “That’s her. All that was known before was that she had been murdered.” My heart suddenly throbbed hard a few beats as the realization of what I was about to say dawned. “I found out who, the other day at the cemetery.”

  Scott’s eyes shot open wide. “You have a name?”

  I nodded. “I know what he looks like, too.”

  He sat back, blowing out a gust of breath. His hands rose to scrub at his hair while he thought. His expression shifted from speculation to sympathy. “And you find these things out by touching stuff and talking to ghosts? No wonder you get headaches.”

  I felt my face crease with a rueful smile. “Yeah, I actually witnessed her murder when I held that Bible a few months back. She had it with her when she was killed.”

  Scott grimaced and sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “That must be a horrible thing to see.”

  I gave him a sober nod. “More like experience. It felt like it was happening to me.”

  His eyes went wide and he laid a hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  It was quiet for a moment, then he cocked his head at me, like an inquisitive bird. “You said you had a name.”