Nothing Town

by Cherie Mitchell

  “Cheese is bad for your bowels,” Organza pouts. “And your complexion.”

  “Fine. I really don’t care if I turn into a farting bag of pimples. Where’s Reece?”

  “He’s gone to his room. Did you have a fun afternoon at the library?” Mom is truly exceling herself this afternoon in the niceness stakes. I walk across the room to give her a quick, very quick, hug to show her that I appreciate all that she’s doing.

  “We did have a good afternoon and it was very productive. I learned a lot.” And I found plenty that I still need to investigate.

  “What about your dates? Did you manage to go on any today?” Mom flutters her eyelashes at me. “From what I’ve seen, there are some very attractive men in this town. I’m almost envious that I’m not a young woman like you. There would be plenty here to keep me busy if I was.”

  “The dates are my work. I’m interviewing the men for an upcoming TV clip. I doubt very much that any of these fleeting meetings will turn into a real romance.”

  Organza decides it’s time to add in her two cents, as if anyone in their right mind would be willing to bank on what she has to say. “You’re turning into an embittered old hag, Ellie. You’d better get yourself down off that shelf soon or you’ll be left there forever.”

  “All the best cups are left on the shelf,” I snipe back. “Only the mugs are used, Organza.”

  I’m treated to one of Organza’s death stares. I don’t let on to her, but I’m actually astonished at how well my sister has managed to shape, mold, and refine her death stare over the years. She was good at it when she was four but now that she’s 21 – wowza.

  “We found a lovely restaurant when we were in town,” Mom continues, as if that entire snippy little episode between Organza and I never happened. “The Crippled Herring.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “The Crippled Herring. It’s a seafood restaurant. I thought it was a very clever name, especially as their logo is a picture of a fish on crutches. It will be perfect for Reece’s birthday dinner.”

  “Mom, I’m not fond of fish and Organza is a vegan. We might need to find someplace else.”

  “I eat fish sometimes,” Organza insists, probably just to rile me. “Especially if it’s been grown organically. We asked the chef and he told us all their fish was organic. He said the purchasing department only bought fish that hadn’t been subjected to the rigors and stresses of the modern world. I can bend my rules and eat fish if I know it’s lived its best life.”

  Wonderful, let’s all lace our sneakers on and go for a jog down that well-trodden crazy-nutso trail.

  Reece pops his head into the living room. “Did someone call me?”

  “Reece! We were just talking about your birthday dinner. It’s a seafood restaurant but they do serve other meals for the fussy ones amongst us. Although according to the chef, it’s difficult to find a steak oriented restaurant in the area.” Mom opens her arms to him but he scoots around her to avoid her hug and finds himself a seat on his own on the sofa.

  I don’t believe anything Mom just said about the difficulty of finding a steak restaurant in Euthanasia. Not with all those livestock freighters rushing everywhere. “Looks like it’s gonna be fish, Reece. Happy with that?” I give my brother a side-eye to let him know that he’s free to refuse.

  “I’m happy with anything as long as we’re all together.”

  Honestly, I love this kid.

  “So,” says Mom, “What’s everyone up to tonight? There’s a great TV show on later.”

  “I’m having a bee venom facial, a bubble bath, and then I’m washing my hair.” Organza seems happy with her plans to commandeer the only bathroom for the entire evening.

  “I’ll watch TV with you, Mom.”

  Everyone looks to me next and I know I should say I’ll join Reece and Mom in front of the TV but I want to mull over what I learned at the library, have another read through the book, and schedule a few more dates. “You guys go ahead and do whatever you want to do but I need to work on my assignment.”

  I leave my family to it and go up to my bedroom, figuring I have half an hour or so before dinner. I can hear the trees scratching and knocking but I ignore them. Reece did say they wouldn’t come in unless they were invited and I have no intention of inviting four potential tree witches inside the house. However, I would like to know more about this Sacral Decree. Jane Oakleigh stated she was driving a rift between the town and the countryside, and I’d already noticed it existed, but what does ‘life and death will foster a boundary never to be unbroken’ mean? I open Chapter Four again and read through it slowly but I’m left none the wiser after finishing it. I need to find someone who is willing to talk about the history of this town, but who? The few men who I’ve asked about the rift have clammed up quickly after I raise the subject. Maybe a woman will be more forthcoming. Not one of the older ones – none of them seem too friendly – but maybe I’ll have more luck in striking up a conversation with a woman closer to my own age.

  If I can find one.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I have three dates lined up today so I tell my family I’ll be out of the house until dinnertime and to go ahead and do whatever they feel like doing. They’re all sitting around in their pajamas, clearly in vacation mode, and no-one seems too bothered about going anywhere fast. They wave me off and I grab the newspaper from the front lawn as I pass. It’s only 9.30am and my first coffee date isn’t until 10.00. Some time to myself to read the local news while I prepare for a busy day seems like a good way to ease myself in.

  I grab my usual table at the coffee shop and spread out the newspaper. It’s full of local gems including plans for a new cycle way, the outcome of the latest Town Council elections, and a few cheery advertisements for the upcoming annual county fair. It makes for bittersweet reading. I’ve lived in small towns in the past yet I’ve never really managed to become part of the local culture. Warren’s End chose to shut my family out but things could’ve worked out very differently in Gypsy Creek if Liam and I hadn’t moved into that particular haunted house. But I can’t go back and change the past. Que sera, que sera.

  As I’m folding up the newspaper, I look out the window and see the young mother from the library pushing her toddler in a stroller. I watch as she walks into the bookstore down the street and an idea starts to form. I wonder if she’d like a friend… I can’t guarantee she’s a local person but she might be willing to talk about the rift if she knows it exists. I’m about to go down the street to speak to her when the door opens and my first date of the day walks in.

  Oscar Mason is yet another likeable guy. He has a similar lumberjack, mountain man look as Bud Feely and he has one of those warm smiles that seems as if it were made for me alone. He answers all my questions, confirms that he’s only had a handful of dates in his lifetime, and then admits that he’s looking at moving on from Euthanasia. He’s the first of my interviewees to say that he doesn’t see a future for himself here so I probe a little further. “Most of the locals seem invested in this town, despite the shortage of women. Why are you happy to pull up your roots and move elsewhere?”

  “I didn’t say I’m happy about it, it’s more that there isn’t much to keep me here. My Dad died when I was young and Mom passed away last year. I don’t have any family left here and I want to create a family of my own. I work for the church but pastors are encouraged to have families nowadays, more so than they were in the old days.” He gives me a goofy, adorable smile. “Can you recommend a town where I can find more women like you?”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere. You’ll have no problem finding yourself a nice girl. You’re a handsome man and you have one of those genial personalities that people can’t help but like. I have no doubt that you’ll find plenty of women willing to date you, regardless of where you decide to live.”

  “Except in Euthanasia.”

  “Of course, but there’s a valid reason for that.” Our conversation is going so well t
hat I’m almost loathe to bring up the topic of the rift but I decide to do it anyway. “Ever since I first arrived in town, I’ve noticed that there’s a definite divide between the men in town and the country boys. Would you like to tell me anything about that? On tape?” I lift my video camera from where it rests on the table. Oscar has already allowed me to film some of his answers but it would be great to get him chatting about the rift.

  Unfortunately, just as with the other men, my question about the town and country divide immediately kills our conversational vibe. Oscar sets his mouth into an ‘I’m done’ straight line and won’t even look me in the eye. He makes his excuses and hurriedly leaves, quite possibly never to be seen again.

  Errol Jackson arrives twenty minutes later and I silently vow not to make the same mistake with him. Errol is a serious-looking man, the type who thinks his words through carefully before allowing them to leave his lips. I start our date with my usual explanation as to why I’m here and I ask if he’d mind speaking into the camera. He cautiously agrees but I get the feeling that Errol approaches every new venture with caution.

  We duck and dive around the usual questions, Errol admits to feeling lonely in a town light on female company, and then I start to edge toward the information I really want. “I went to the library yesterday with my brother. I had a good look around and it wasn’t long before I found myself in front of the local history shelf.”

  “Is that so?” He has a nice twinkle in his eye when he’s looking right at me, giving me the impression that there might be a funny side to Errol hiding beneath that serious exterior.

  “One of the other men I’ve already interviewed mentioned something called the Sacral Decree and I also found a book at the library that referred to it. Do you have anything to add?”

  “How do I know if I’m adding anything when I don’t know what you already know?” he points out practically (and cautiously).

  I toss away my vow to tread lightly and decide to jump in feet first. I am Ellie Friedlander after all. No half measures here. “According to the book, four women were condemned as witches by the men of this town. Before the last woman died at the stake, she dropped a curse on the town of Euthanasia and decreed there would be a divide between town and country. The way she saw it, her curse would break up the fellowship of the Town Council. I’m trying to find out some more about the extent of her decree, especially the part where she stated that life and death will foster a boundary never to be unbroken.”

  He’s just taken a sip of his coffee as I say that part and the table ends up wearing most of it. He splutters and chokes and I shove a wad of paper napkins at him. “Are you okay, Errol?”

  “I’m fine.” He wipes the napkins across the mess on the table and rises from his chair. “I have another appointment. I have to go.”

  “Was it something I said?” Of course it was something I said.

  “Enjoy the rest of your day.” He makes a small detour to drop his wadded-up napkins into the trashcan and two seconds later he’s gone, leaving the door banging behind him. I see him hurry past the window with his head down. He doesn’t even glance my way.

  Two dates down today and I’ve managed to get on the wrong side of both of men. No one seems to want to talk about one of the most interesting things I’ve discovered about this place. I’m receiving the same bland response from each man about how lonely he is but none of them want to delve into the heart of the matter. I pack up my video camera and put it away, sure that the next man will be the same as the others. I have to improve my interview technique or I’m going to find myself with a stack of banal replies and no real story. It’s enough to lower my mood and I’m even considering whether or not to postpone the next date until I reassess my approach.

  And then in walks Jack Hemlock.

  Chapter Eighteen

  If I thought Ronnie Kay was hot then Jack Hemlock is top level volcanic. On top of that, he doesn’t have that odd vagueness that Ronnie had about him. He’s attentive and charming, and his killer smile makes me involuntarily scrunch my toes up inside my shoes. Yeah, I know Ronnie Kay gave me a case of the butterflies before I met him and before I found out what a real life dork he was, but Jack in the flesh is causing great, swooping flocks of pterodactyls to whirl around inside my gut.

  He spends a good five minutes asking about me and paying me light, funny, and un-creepy compliments. I find it hard to look away from his smoldering gaze and several times I have to pinch my thigh under the table to ensure I stay focused on what he’s saying. He tells me I have an angelic face and he drops in a silly line about me having jumped off a cloud to land in the coffee shop, but I’m willing to let that slide as I’m currently so mesmerized by Jack that I’d probably let him away with just about anything.

  I decline his offer of another coffee and opt for a fruit juice instead, given that I already have another caffeine ricocheting through my veins to power a nuclear artillery. He saunters up to the counter to place the order and I can feel the drool gathering at the corner of my mouth as I scoop up my share of eye candy. He has one of those butts that were just made for his Levis, his silk paisley shirt is to die for, he’s tall and broad shouldered, and he has a sexy aura about him that very nearly wrings me out and hangs me up to dry. I’m a little confused by my reaction to him – I mean, I like men but I’m not generally the type to find myself knocked flat and barely able to pull together a coherent sentence in a man’s company.

  Jack returns to the table and my stupid heart does a backflip when he bestows another of his slow, lazy grins on me. “How long are you planning to stay in Euthanasia?”

  “Um, until I’ve finished my assignment. As I said earlier, I’m hoping to interview as many of the town’s single men as possible.”

  “So you’re not looking for love?”

  Those eyes. They’re burning a hole right through my soul and I’m loving the pain they’re inflicting. “Love isn’t on the agenda, but in my experience it tends to turn up when it’s least expected,” I say flippantly.

  “That’s a shame,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to my mouth in such a way that it makes it sexily obvious without being creepily intrusive. Be still my beating heart.

  I pinch my thigh again, harder this time. I need to regain control of both my senses and this conversation. I’m supposed to be the one in charge, not the delectable Jack Hemlock. I decide to try a different approach with my questions about the Sacral Decree and I casually drop the book I ‘borrowed’ from the library onto the table between us.

  “What do you have there?” He tips his head one side to read the words on the cover. “The Moribund Witches of Euthanasia.”

  “Yes, have you heard of them? They’re a fascinating part of this town’s history and folklore. I thought it was in my best interests to do some reading and this book has proven invaluable.”

  “To be honest, I’m a blow-in. I wasn’t born in Euthanasia. I only settled here recently.”

  “Oh.” Dammit. Jack isn’t my target audience if he wasn’t born here, and especially if he’s only recently arrived in town, but there’s no way I’m cutting this date short based on that minor technicality.

  Jack pulls the book toward him and spins it the right way around. He flicks through the first few pages, giving me the chance to gaze undisturbed at his handsome face, his dark brow, and his full, sensuous lips. He looks up suddenly, catching me off guard, and I hurriedly drop my eyes. “Have you read it?” he asks.

  “Yeah, but it’s more of a booklet than a novel. It talks about four women who were condemned as witches and burned at the stake. Apparently, one of them placed a curse on the town before she went up in smoke. I want to know more about that.”

  “Fascinating,” he drawls. “Yes, I think I know the story.”

  “You do?” Great! I bounce happily in my chair, pleased that I’ve finally found someone who can tell me more about the Sacral Decree.

  He smiles another of those lazy, seductive smiles. “Perhaps. Or
perhaps I’m just a very good liar.” He somehow makes the words sound exciting and unpredictable rather than sinister.

  “Ellie! I didn’t expect to see you here.” My trance is broken with the arrival of Organza. Wonderful. I attempt to signal to her with my eyes to scram but she’s not having a bar of it. She ignores me and turns the full force of her irresistible loveliness onto my date. “Hi, I’m Ellie’s sister, Organza.”

  I’m amazed and delighted to see that Jack gives Organza only the most cursory of glances. He seems utterly unaffected by her beauty and self-confidence, instead turning his attention right back on me. “Hi there,” he says to her dully, without giving away a trace of interest.

  Organza’s smile falters, but only for an instant. My sister is pretty much bulletproof and she doesn’t understand rejection. It’s not something she’s ever had much experience with, mostly due to her blonde good looks and her remarkably thick skin. “And your name is?”

  I decide to claw back some of my authority. “This is Jack Hemlock. We’re in the middle of an interview so this is probably not a good time to stop and chat.” I’m still trying to pass her the ‘get lost’ glare but she refuses to look at me.

  “Can I join you?” Completely ignoring what I’ve just said, she’s already pulling up a spare chair and preparing to sit down.

  “No.” Jack’s voice is loud and commanding. I see several of the men in the coffee shop swivel their heads around to watch the little tableau. Jack places his arm across the chair to prevent Organza sitting down. “As your sister just said, we’re busy.”

  Organza blinks rapidly. I can see the cogs slowly turning over behind her eyes. She’s never had to deal with anything like this before and it’s plain to see that she hasn’t a clue what to do next.

  “I’ll see you later, back at the house.” I sit down hard on my own hand so that I don’t accidently give her a shove to help her on her way.

  With one last perplexed look at Jack, Organza puts her perfect nose in the air and flounces off, followed by the appreciative gazes of every man in the café - except for Jack. I can barely contain my sigh of admiration. He’s just climbed another rung on my ratings ladder with his careless disregard of Organza and her self-centered expectations that her presence shall be valued wherever she goes.