Anything But Extraordinary (Extraordinary Series Book 1)

by Mary Frame

  He reaches over, pulls a frame out of the stack, and hands it to me.

  I examine the picture closely. The man in the photo is a few years older than me, in a tan uniform with colorful pins adorning his left breast. The United States flag flies in the background.

  “What’s his name?”

  “His name was Jason. He was a marine. Sixth division, twenty-first infantry, Kandahar. He died during a routine supply run. They ran over an IED and . . .” He shrugs.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He takes a sip of his tea and his lips purse. “I would have lost it if it weren’t for my wife. We had each other even if we missed Jason so much it was like our chests had been hollowed out. We even talked about adopting or taking care of foster kids. Got screened and on a list and everything. But then she got sick. She died a few years after Jason.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I already said sorry, and the word is so lacking.

  “You only had the one son?” I ask instead.

  “Yes. He loved this town. He was the football captain, the prom king. When he was young, there were always children in our house playing, running around. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I heard it again today.”

  We drink our tea in silence for a moment. Then he says, “Thank you.” The words are so soft I almost think I imagine them.

  “For what?”

  “You suggested they come over here. I never would have done that for myself.”

  We go back to sipping silently out of our cups again. After a minute, I ask, “Would you like me to pour you some more tea?”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  I leave Mr. Bingel’s after an hour of sitting there and listening to him tell stories about how his wife loved to sew and sing old bluegrass songs, and how his son loved the New England Patriots and mowing the law.

  When I’m within a few feet of the front door, I hear the phone ringing.

  Surprised, I race the rest of the way inside and into the kitchen where the landline is nestled in a cradle, hanging on the wall.

  “Hello?” I answer, out of breath.

  “Charlotte?” The voice is at once familiar and dreaded.

  “Ruby?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Hey girl! How are things going?”

  Ruby’s voice is happy and bright.

  But her question is loaded.

  I’ve taken over your identity. You don’t mind, right?

  “Things are great,” I say. “Everything is coming along as scheduled. The shop is almost ready to go.”

  “Oh good. I was worried because I got a message that you called a couple of weeks ago? Something about the roof?”

  “I’ve gotten it all taken care of,” I rush to explain. Dammit, why did I call her and why did I forget?

  “Okay, that’s great. So listen, I just got off the phone with my parents, and our accountant is stopping by this week to go over the records you’re keeping and check out the shop.”

  My heart stops in my chest and then restarts in double time.

  “What?”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she rushes to explain. “I am a people person, Charlotte, and I knew right away that you were good people. I trust you with everything.” Her voice is laced with sincerity, and I would think it was sweet if her words weren’t so, so stupid.

  “It’s just that, my parents, you see, I told them I left you in charge of everything, and they started going off on me about how crazy it was to leave a complete stranger in charge of my store.” She sounds truly upset. “They never trust my judgment.”

  “It’s fine, Ruby, I understand.”

  Inside, I’m freaking out. Someone is coming, sometime this week, someone who knows that I’m not Ruby. This whole town thinks I’m Ruby, the friendly psychic that’s helping to catch the Castle Cove Bandit. The store is open. We have customers that we shouldn’t have. This guy is going to get here and expose me for the fraud that I am.

  We’re screwed.

  “How are things going with the Dalai Lama?” I ask, needing to change the subject to something, anything she can babble about while my mind races.

  She rambles on about how she’ll be out of reach completely until she leaves, but I’m freaking out too much to pick up much more than that.

  What am I going to do?

  My brain is a mass of white noise, all of it saying the same thing. Leave. Get out while you can, before it’s too late.

  “So when is this guy coming to check out the store?” I ask brightly when she says she has to hang up.

  “I don’t know, sometime in the next few days. His name is Jackson Murphy. He’s a great guy, you’ll love him.”

  Yeah, as much as I love a needle between my fingers. “That’s great. I’ll keep an eye out for him. You have fun and don’t worry about anything.”

  “I never do. I know everything will work out great. Talk to you soon, Charlotte!” She clicks off and I’m left holding onto the phone like a lifeline. If I let go, it will all disappear.

  ~*~

  I don’t tell Paige about Ruby’s call until the next day when she comes home from school, and I’ve had a chance to think things over and come up with a plan.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” I say after she’s revived me with coffee and brownies leftover from the opening. I pace back and forth in the living room. “We’re going to tell this guy that Ruby said we could open the shop.”

  One of my many worries. We aren’t even supposed to be open yet.

  “What if he knows we’re not?” Paige asks.

  “Even if Ruby talked to him today like I did, she’s going to be out of contact until she returns. Which means, for all he knows, I could have talked to her after he did and agreed to open the shop since we have all the merchandise and there’s no reason not to. We aren’t using that money, so even if he checks, all the receipts will add up.”

  “Okay, what about the rest of the town?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If anyone comes in looking for a reading, or to buy something while he’s here . . .” She grimaces.

  “We’ll tell everyone we’re temporarily closed.” I turn around to pace in the opposite direction. We need a reason to keep people away. “We’re sick.” I snap my fingers. “Or one of us is. One of us has the flu. A bad one. One that will keep everyone away for a few days. I’ll be the sick one; you still have to go to school and that way you can spread the word.”

  “When exactly is he coming?”

  Deflated, I plop down next to her on the couch. “She didn’t say exactly. Sometime in the next few days.”

  Paige nods. “I’ll start spreading the word tomorrow then.” She pats me on the back. “Don’t worry. We’ve been through worse than this.” She leans her head against my shoulder.

  She ain’t lying.

  I don’t walk Paige to school for the next two days, choosing to spend my time peeking out the window at every sound, wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. Tabby calls and wants to come over for dinner, and I have to tell her about the “flu.” She thinks I got sick from touching all those old people’s hands during the opening. I ask her to tell Troy so they know I can’t help with the investigation for the next couple of days.

  Fleetingly, I wonder if we should leave town . . . but while we made enough money from the grand opening to last a couple weeks, there’s not enough to find a new place to live and pay rent.

  My hope is that this Jackson Murphy guy will show up for a few hours and then leave and I won’t have to think of him ever again.

  The second day passes, and again, no accountant. The waiting is killing me.

  Finally, on the third day—just when I’m starting to feel like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, except Wilson isn’t a ball, he’s a cat named Gravy who still hisses at me constantly and won’t let me into the living room—a sleek black sedan pulls into the driveway.

  Paige is at school. She shouldn’t be home for a couple mo
re hours. Thank god he didn’t come by when she was home. One less thing to worry about.

  I greet Mr. Murphy at the front door and usher him inside.

  Jackson Murphy is younger than I would have thought. In my daydreams, which were more like nightmares, I pictured an older, balding and/or white-haired man with a protruding belly and fancy suit.

  He has the fancy suit, but his hair is dark and he can’t be more than thirty-five, with a strong jaw and bright blue eyes. He’s actually quite attractive, a thought that might be more pressing if I weren’t so worried about him ruining my life. His eyes are pretty, sure, but they are also sharp and assessing, which I don’t like at all.

  After quick introductions, I get right to business.

  “When I talked to Ruby a few days ago, we agreed to open the shop, since nearly all the merchandise she purchased has come in.”

  He stares at me without speaking or smiling, making me nervous.

  I clear my throat. “Anyway, I keep all of the records here.” I lead him to the checkout counter. “Here’s the account ledgers and receipts and invoices that I haven’t put into the computer yet.” I have all of the paperwork up front at the register. I’ve gotten everything ready so he can review it and then hopefully get the hell out of here before someone else actually talks to him or I lose my ever-loving mind, whichever happens sooner.

  “Can I use the bathroom?” he asks without even a glance at the paperwork I’m holding.

  My whole body deflates.

  “It’s down the hall.”

  I show him which way to go and then pace the front room, waiting for him to come out. Every creak and movement throughout the house is a jolt to my already-frazzled nerves.

  Finally, he comes back, his tie loosened a bit.

  “Here’s the paperwork,” I try again, fairly shoving it in his direction.

  “Right. Thanks.” He takes the paperwork from me, but instead of reading it, he asks, “Do you have somewhere I can go over this?”

  “Sure, sure, you want to go through the paperwork in the kitchen?”

  I could bring him upstairs to the office, but I don’t want him to get too comfortable and I don’t want him to see the live streams of various parts of Castle Cove.

  “That sounds great.”

  He follows me through the house and sits at the small dining table.

  I leave him to the numbers and pace the front room, questions zipping through my mind like ping-pong balls. What if he wants to stay the night? No, that’s crazy. What if he wants to come back tomorrow? What if he finds something screwy and decides that I’m no good and kicks us out? What if—

  “You recorded damages to some of the product. What happened?”

  I startle when his voice interrupts my stream of thoughts, then grimace. “My cat,” I say. “But I’ve already ordered replacement products. The invoice should be in there and the product will be here within a couple of weeks. I paid for the replacements with my own funds. That should be listed in there as a credit.”

  “Does Ruby know you have a pet? I’m not sure animals were allowed in the lease agreement.”

  “Um. No. I didn’t have a cat when I moved here, but there were these kids—”

  Uninterested in my explanation, apparently, he interrupts me to keep his line of questioning going.

  “You have some notes in here about a leaky roof?”

  “Oh. Yes. I had it repaired.”

  “Do you have an invoice for that?”

  “No, a friend of mine . . . um, the owner of the local hardware store came over and repaired it. I paid her back by working for her. But she said the roof will need to be replaced before winter.”

  He frowns, a crease forming between his brows. “Mm-hmm,” he says, making some notes in his phone.

  Mm-hmm? What does that mean?

  “What about the bed? You had to replace it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Were there any other damages?”

  I shake my head no.

  His eyes run down the paper before meeting mine. “I’ll have someone deliver a new mattress. Ruby will probably want something that will last and is environmentally friendly.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  The thumping of my heart and the sweating of my palms abate for a moment. He doesn’t want to kick me out. And it sounds like he’s done. I figured it wouldn’t take too long, there isn’t that much stuff to go through. Maybe he’ll leave and everything will be fine.

  “Everything else looks in order,” he says. “Just keep your cat out of the store, and I think you’ll be okay.” He smiles.

  A wave of relief crashes over me. “Great.”

  He clicks his briefcase together. “I’ll be getting out of your hair then.” He hands me a business card. “My numbers are all on there. Don’t be afraid to call me if you need anything else that isn’t a minor repair.”

  “I will,” I say, a bit in a daze as I walk with him toward the front room.

  Before we make it halfway there, a loud knock at the door freezes me midstep.

  My heart, which had just started to calm itself, races yet again. Who’s at the door? They can’t be here, not now, not when Jackson is so close to leaving.

  “Are you okay?”

  Oh shit, he’s still behind me.

  “Oh, fine! I’ll . . . see who that is.”

  I wish he wouldn’t follow me, but what else is he going to do? He’s trying to leave. I can’t very well ask him to hide.

  This might be the moment where everything falls down around me in a flood of disgrace.

  Crossing my fingers that it’s just another delivery, I pull open the door.

  It’s Jared.

  Chapter Twenty

  He’s in his uniform, holding some kind of to-go food container.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Oh crap. All my worst nightmares are coming true. If it’s discovered I’m a fraud, what will happen to Paige?

  “Tabby said you were sick,” Jared says. His gaze is fixed somewhere over my shoulder.

  “Oh, I, uh, yes. I have been sick.”

  I have no idea what to say next. I probably don’t look sick at all. Then I realize Jared isn’t just staring over my shoulder. He’s staring at Jackson. I clear my throat around the lump that’s formed there. “Jared, this is Jackson Murphy, he’s . . .” I have to be very careful about how I word this next sentence. “He’s an accountant. Mr. Murphy, this is Jared Reeves, our local deputy.”

  I force a smile to my face. It will be okay, right? Dear god, don’t let Jackson refer to anything about me not being Ruby. Like, calling me by my name or mentioning Ruby at all or really, anything else.

  Jackson smiles at Jared. “Just making sure all of Ruby’s accounts are in order.”

  My smile is frozen on my face, my brain not registering the words for a few seconds before analyzing and deeming them safe. Okay. That’s okay. It’s normal to refer to people in the third person, even when they’re standing right there, right?

  “He’s leaving,” I say quickly. I move back to let him pass. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Thank you,” he says. “It was nice to meet you.” The words are directed at me, but Jared—probably assuming I had met the accountant before—is the one who responds.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” he says.

  Luckily for me, Jackson smiles and leaves, probably, hopefully, not realizing that Jared didn’t realize the words were intended for me and not him.

  I can’t move or speak until Jackson is safely in his car and backing out of the driveway.

  My breath rushes out of my lungs and I finally focus on Jared.

  “I brought you some soup.” Jared holds up the container.

  “That’s so nice,” I say, taking the dish from him. It’s warm in my hands.

  He’s watching me. Is that glint in his eyes concern or suspicion?

  Better to be safe than sorry.

  I cough and turn away, putting the container on the she
lf nearest me so I can make the coughing fit more convincing. As I cough into my hands, I rub under my eyes to make them a bit watery and red before turning back around.

  “Are you sure you’re better? You don’t look so good.”

  “I think I just need to sleep some more.” I add a grimace and a sway to make the performance more convincing.

  “Do you need help?” Jared is next to me, his hand on my arm.

  “I’m good. I’m going to sleep. Thanks for the soup, I’ll see you later.”

  His hand is still on my arm, warm and sturdy and reassuring.

  “I’m not sure I should leave you like this. At least let me put the soup in the fridge and make sure you get to your bed, okay?”

  “Okay, yeah, that’s fine.” I let him think he’s helping me, all the better to convince him of my honesty and general helplessness.

  I lean on him while he walks me up to my room.

  “Thank you,” I sniffle with a yawn while he helps me into bed.

  Then I listen to his footsteps track back down the stairs. He shuffles around in the kitchen for a minute before he finally heads out the front door. To be safe, I wait a few extra minutes before going back downstairs myself.

  The soup is in the fridge, and there’s a note on the counter.

  Get some rest. I’ll pick up Paige and make sure she has dinner, the note reads.

  It’s signed J.

  He’s going to take care of Paige for me.

  Dumbfounded, I slump against the counter. I’m pulling one over on him, and he’s going to take her to dinner. Guilt swarms against my insides like angry kittens with tiny, sharp claws.

  What if he’s taking her to dinner as a ruse, but he actually knows I’m a big fat liar and he’s taking her away to grill her?

  I shake my head. No. He totally believed my ruse.

  Still. I feel a little anxious, waiting for them to return. I spend the next couple of hours peeking out the front window until his cruiser finally pulls up at the curb.

  I race back to the kitchen, fluffing my hair and mussing it with my fingers to make it look like I just woke up.