Divine's Emporium

by Michelle L. Levigne

  Jeri's heart did a few skips when he spoke his ex's name so calmly, without any anger or hurt.

  "Blackmail you with what?" Stanzer just grinned. "She doesn't have any claim on you, so even if her spy got pictures of you and Jeri in bed, it wouldn't do any good. She can't charge you with infidelity, when she's the one who lied, stole and cheated, and then told bank officers she was your wife so she could get into your account."

  "She sounds pretty vicious to me," Jeri muttered. "Some people will kill their own mothers, for enough money."

  "Don't worry. Miss Fashion Plate doesn't have a slimy leg to stand on. She can't hurt you or the kid, and she certainly can't hurt Jon-Tom."

  "Then who does the Peeping Tom with the camera work for?"

  * * * *

  Maurice knew he was in trouble when Angela crooked her finger at him, beckoning for him to follow her into the kitchen. Diane, Holly, Jeri and the baby were having lunch in her apartment. Jeri had just shared the exciting events of the day before.

  "Want me to set up some booby-traps for the guy stalking Jeri?" Maurice said, when Angela turned her back to her refrigerator, crossed her arms, and looked at him, rather than refilling the lemonade pitcher, which had been her excuse for leaving her guests in the other room.

  "Why do I have the feeling we'll find your fingerprints all over this?"

  "Me? Why would I waste magic moving cameras around and making illusions of guys spying on them? Jon-Tom doesn't need any help being a white knight, if you ask me. He's hooked solid on Jeri, and I say good for them."

  "Not the spy. The former suitor who showed up on Jeri's front step without any explanation."

  Maurice considered playing innocent for about two heartbeats, then common sense got the better of him. Besides, he didn't like lying to Angela. There were times when the ends still justified the means--but how was he going to convince her of that before he got in trouble?

  "Had to test her, for Jon-Tom's peace of mind. I've heard what people have said about the skinny witch he almost married, and I've eavesdropped on Jeri when she gets in a blue funk and thinks about the creepazoids she left behind. Until she made the big choice and kicked the wimp out of her life, Jon-Tom was going to always wonder, y'know?"

  "So you contacted Foster and let him know she was here." Angela nodded. The very calmness of her expression frightened Maurice just enough to make his wings twitchy. "How?"

  "Diane's computer. I borrowed it while she was busy last week and she left the Internet open." Maurice snorted. "I have my own email account now. You know how long it takes to type out an email, hopping from one key to another?"

  A tiny bubble of laughter escaped Angela. One corner of her mouth twitched. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head.

  "Your technique... Well, it's improving. And your reasoning is shaky, but logical just the same." She opened the refrigerator to get the lemonade to refill the pitcher. "You're learning. Just don't help matters along and call Caryn to come test Jon-Tom for Jeri, all right?"

  "Hey, the last thing we need is her trying to sweet-talk him to get her claws into his money again. Even though all that woodworking of his could make big bucks with interior decorators."

  Maurice caught his breath when her gaze bored into him. "Not my idea. Jeri's. She was saying it just the other day, gushing to Holly about all the detail he puts into things, and how much her buddy loved the little table she sent her as a thank-you for helping her find Neighborlee and putting together her new identity and... I wouldn't invite that witch to invade our town. Cross my heart and hope to die." Maurice drew the X over his chest and pressed both hands over his heart.

  "I believe you, but if Caryn walks through my door one of these days, I'm going to wonder. You do realize that?"

  "How about if I promise to never, ever again manipulate the creeps without clearing it with you first?"

  Angela tipped her head to one side and studied him for several long moments. Maurice could feel pressure building up around his wings, as if invisible fingers reached to grab them and pull them off. Or maybe pull him away by his wings and lock him up somewhere much worse than the holding room when he faced the Fae Disciplinary Council.

  "You have a deal," she said, and picked up the pitcher to take out to her guests.

  Maurice slumped down onto the top of the refrigerator and let out a sigh. Then he sneezed from the dust on top of the appliance.

  * * * *

  Jeri, Diane and Megan, a high school girl who worked at Divine's part-time, had taken over the counter with their jewelry project two days later. Jeri was picking through the glass beads Angela had suggested she use to make a bracelet. When the wind chimes gave off a sour note, she turned to look at a sleek, black-haired woman in a wine-colored silk suit as she sauntered through the door. She recognized the designer, mentally shrugged, and went back to her project.

  Diane inhaled sharply, making Jeri turn to look again.

  "Caryn. It's been a long time." Angela appeared around the corner from the back room. "Jon-Tom's not here." Her voice lacked its usual warmth.

  "I know." Caryn continued her runway stroll through the store, flexing her mile-long legs. "I saw him go into McRory's Hardware. I just thought I'd check and see what he's been selling here before I go to our house to wait for him." She rested her elbow on the counter and turned to survey the store. "I can't believe you're still making a go of this place. How can anyone find anything in this disaster zone?"

  "People who know what they need always find it at Divine's," Jeri said. "Maybe you just don't know how to look."

  "You're new around here." Caryn pursed her collagen-enhanced lips and looked her over from head to toe.

  "You've been gone a long time, Caryn," Diane said. She placed herself on Jeri's right hand, like a guard.

  "Not long enough," Megan said.

  The door slammed open, making the chimes jangle and the bells clatter. The floorboards shook. A subliminal chord in the air, a scent of freshly cut wood, told Jeri who had come through the door just seconds before Jon-Tom came into view. His face had settled into deep, dark scowl lines.

  "What are you doing back in town?" he growled.

  "Oh, honey, can't we let bygones be bygones?" Caryn used a honeyed tone that made Jeri's stomach twist. Her petulant look transformed into something warm, delighted and seductive. Her hips swayed in a definite come-on as she walked toward Jon-Tom and held out her arms.

  "No. I just want be-gones. As in, you will be gone." He took a step backward. "What do you want, Caryn?"

  "Well... I was really hoping to make it up to you." She fluttered her eyelashes. On anyone else, Jeri might have believed the sorrowful look. "I guess I can't really expect you to welcome me with open arms when it's been just silence between us for so long, huh?"

  Jeri flexed her fingers, wanting to claw Caryn when the supermodel wannabe ran a long fingernail tip down the middle of Jon-Tom's chest.

  She caught her breath when he grabbed Caryn's wrist and shoved her hand away. Jeri grinned, delighted far more than she thought she had any right to feel.

  "You said you wanted nothing to do with me, remember?" Jon-Tom said quietly.

  "Well, yeah, but... Well, you scared me."

  "The only thing you've ever been afraid of," Angela said, "is not getting your way and all the attention."

  Caryn turned to glare at Angela, but caught herself. She put on her sorrowful mask again and turned back to Jon-Tom. Her pout turned into a quivering bottom lip. "Please, sweetie, can't we be friends? I realize what a mistake I made, and--"

  "Your mistake was thinking I'd believe your repeat performance." He glanced around the shop, seeming to see Angela, Diane, Megan and Jeri for the first time. "You always preferred being as public as possible, to try to get people on your side."

  "Oh, now that's not fair!" Caryn stomped her high-heeled feet.

  Jeri gave her points for poise. She would have fallen over and broken at least one ankle, if she had tried that move.
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  "I came to tell you I want you back. And you're being so mean. I thought you loved me."

  "Past tense." Jon-Tom moved past her to the basket on the floor, where Junior still slept, amazingly undisturbed by the tension in the atmosphere. "You throw something out, it's kind of hard to get it back in the same condition."

  "But we can fix things and make our marriage work." Her tone turned wheedling again. "You were always so good at fixing things. Let's see if you can fix us. In spite of all our arguments, I really do want to be married to you."

  "There is no 'us'." He glared at her and stopped short, as if her presence kept him from getting any closer to the baby.

  "Oh, why are you so mean to me?" She stomped her foot again, wobbling a little this time. "I want you back. I want it all back. Our house and all the gorgeous furniture you made for me. Especially the cradle. You'll let me have the cradle, won't you? Please? Pretty please?" She wriggled a little and took mincing steps closer to Jon-Tom. She started to put her hand on his chest again, then visibly thought better of it.

  "Jon-Tom, you know what I think?" Jeri said. "Your reputation is growing, and she wants to cash in on it."

  "Oh, what do you know?" Caryn snapped.

  Jeri didn't doubt that if she could have gotten away with it, Caryn would have stuck her tongue out at her. For all her appearance of sleek sophistication, she was nothing but heavily lacquered and polished trailer trash.

  "Everything Jon-Tom makes is a work of art," Jeri said. "I got four phone calls last week from a designer who wants everything Jon-Tom can give him. I gave his sister a table Jon-Tom made, and she showed it to him. This guy sells to the rich and famous and his interior design work gets into all the magazines. He wants an exclusive contract for Jon-Tom's work. And I'll just bet you're here to get your claws into all that money."

  "I don't care about that." Caryn wriggled a little closer and fluttered her eyelashes. "Please, Jon-Tom? Honey? Let me have my cradle? You made it just for me. It's special to me."

  "Can't have it." Jon-Tom flicked a glance at Jeri, then down at the baby. "It's being used."

  Caryn followed his look. Her expression hardened into something sharp and glacial. Her lip curled up when she saw the baby. She took two steps backwards.

  "Well, it didn't take you long to find some sap to start shooting out babies, did it?"

  Diane and Megan gasped, sharp little sounds of exasperation and fury.

  Angela smiled serenely and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the counter.

  "Of all the nerve," Caryn continued, and pointed at Jeri. "I'll bet you had her waiting in the wings. You couldn't wait to get rid of me, could you?"

  "That's not the story I've heard from people in this town," Jeri said.

  "You were just waiting to snatch up what belonged to me," Caryn snarled.

  "You didn't know what you had! I'm using the cradle. Jon-Tom is mine and I'm not giving him back. So just climb onto your broomstick and get out of town." Jeri managed to keep a pleasant expression on her face as she spoke, though it took all her self-control not to spit.

  "I want--"

  "That's always been your problem." Jon-Tom sounded tired more than angry. "You couldn't get what you wanted, so you dumped me and ran. You have no claim on me."

  Caryn's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Under her expertly applied makeup, she had gone sickly white. Then red fury flooded her face, rising up from below her collar.

  "Fine! I don't know why I cared so much to try to drag you out of the sticks so you could make something of yourself. You had a great chance, but you're blowing it. You'll never get anywhere." She stomped toward the door, wobbling now on her high heels.

  "Just waste your life taking care of other people's snot-nose brats and making toys for kids who'll only break them over and over and--" She let out a scream when the door refused to open, no matter how much she pushed on it.

  "Pull," Jeri called sweetly.

  The look Caryn shot her was nearly potent enough to kill. Then she yanked the door open. The chimes sounded like birds singing as the door thudded closed faster than usual.

  "And stay out!" Maurice roared, brushing his hands against each other, as if he had physically pushed the door closed.

  Diane saluted him, then settled down at the table again.

  Angela let out a long, gusting sigh that turned into soft laughter. She slid down into the nearest chair.

  "I've been waiting years for you to rip strips out of her hide," she said, turning a beaming face to Jon-Tom.

  "He didn't yet," Megan muttered sourly. "Not as much as she deserved."

  "What did she mean?" Jeri said. "The stuff about taking care of other people's kids?"

  "That's Jon-Tom's dream," Angela said. "He's got this huge house on the edge of town, lots of land, and a playground he's built over the years. He's going to have a daycare someday, and then a nursery school and pre-school. He's already making quite a living as a toy-maker." She rose from her chair and headed back behind the coffee bar portion of the shop. "And someday when he's old and white-haired and fat, he can grow a beard and convince everyone he really is Santa Claus."

  "A daycare, huh?" Jeri smiled even wider. Her heart skipped a few beats when Jon-Tom finally smiled and visibly relaxed. She noticed he hadn't looked toward the door once his ex had slammed her way outside. That made her more glad than she liked to admit. "What's the big hold-up right now?"

  "Funding, mostly. And getting my staff." Jon-Tom stepped over to the basket and knelt to scoop up Junior. "Hey, buddy, did that old witch scare you?"

  Junior belched loudly and slapped Jon-Tom's nose. The laughter from everyone in the room broke the last bands of tension.

  Then Jon-Tom's grin froze. He turned and frowned at Jeri. "What interior designer?"

  "Oh... Ah... Well, I have this friend and I told her about your furniture and she didn't believe me, so I sent her that little plant stand you made. To thank her for helping me find this town."

  "And?" His face seemed to close up, all the warmth and laughter not so much fleeing as hiding behind heavy doors, like a bank vault.

  "Well, her brother went absolutely crazy about it, and she gave him my new phone number and, well, I'm sorry. I meant to tell you, but you've been so busy and I didn't want to bother you and I wasn't sure how you'd react to finding out that someone wanted to put you under a contract..." Jeri wished she had picked up Junior first, because she really needed a hug and she doubted she was going to get it from Jon-Tom any time soon.

  "She's heard enough of what Caryn did to you," Angela said, "so she has a good idea how you feel about wealth and fame."

  Jeri nodded, praying Jon-Tom wouldn't throw her out of his life as quickly and easily as he had his ex-fiancé.

  "See? It wasn't me this time," Maurice landed on the top of the cash register. "Other people like to interfere, too. Not just me."

  Angela turned her head just enough to silence him with a look.

  Jeri swallowed hard and tried to smile when an embarrassing need for tears burned her eyes. "I just thought Rita would love that table and she's about the only friend I have outside Neighborlee, and she's how I found this town in the first place. Honestly, Jon-Tom, if I had thought she would bother you--"

  "Jon-Tom, if you don't get down off your high horse and tell Jeri you're not angry with her, I don't know what I'll do," Angela said. "Both of you, just think for a minute. Your problems are solved. Be glad about it, will you?"

  "Solved?" Jon-Tom's voice cracked.

  Jeri dared to hope when one corner of his mouth started to curve up.

  "You've been living in dread of Caryn coming back and trying to wheedle her way back into your life. Well, she came back and she tried, and she failed. And Jeri, now you know you're free of all those people in your past. Don't you feel better knowing you can stand up to them?"

  "Yeah," Jeri admitted, letting out a long, gusting sigh. "I do. I'm sorry, Jon-Tom. Honestly, I am. I was
n't thinking about money when I sent Rita your table."

  "Yeah, I know." He shook his head, then shifted Junior over to one arm and wrapped the other one around her.

  Jeri felt something cold and hard and afraid, deep inside, melt at his touch. She wanted to stay safe, wrapped up in his warmth, held close to his side, for the rest of her life. But what were the chances of that happening?

  She didn't really believe the stories Angela had told her about the Wishing Ball sitting on her counter, but Jeri knew better than to dismiss anything that might help. That evening, just before she left the shop, she rested both hands on the rainbow-streaked globe and thought about all the things that would make her life perfect. Jon-Tom was at the top of the list.

  * * * *

  "So, how come you've never asked me to see your place?" Half-asleep, Jeri spoke slowly, as Jon-Tom started his truck down the few short streets between Divine's Emporium and her cottage.

  He understood exactly how she felt. It had been a rough day. He still felt the aftershocks of the encounter with Caryn. Mostly because he hadn't felt anything. Not the hurt and anger she'd left behind, or the disgusted shame he'd felt for admiring anything about his ex.

  He liked the way Jeri had flayed Caryn with only a few words and that amused little smile. He had asked Stanzer to do a little investigating, based on Jeri's encounter with her pseudo-fiancé, and had learned a few things about the woman riding next to him in his old truck.

  Natalie St. Germaine Hollister had vanished three months ago, leaving all her ties clearly severed, with no trail for her alleged friends and family to follow and force her back into high society. She was rich and cultured and had a reputation as a quiet little mouse who let others do her thinking. Her aunt, who had raised her, was a mover and shaker in the art world, sponsoring concerts and charity events.

  Stanzer openly admired her for the brains and guts it took to cut free like that.

  Jon-Tom remembered the glimpses of fear she had showed before she pulled herself together and slapped Foster back on his expensive heels. He preferred the woman slouched on the seat next to him, spotted with baby formula, dusty from digging through the treasures at Divine's, her hands rough from helping him re-finish the floors of her house, who changed diapers now without gagging.