“Not at the moment, no, but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Please do,” I said.
Our evening had gone late at Ash’s, so we didn’t make that final stop of our informal ghost tour. Instead Ash piled us into his car and drove us up Ashmun so we could climb into our own vehicles and return home.
When I made it back to my rental I added the ring and dried flowers to the other box of finds. Somehow in doing that I felt I was on the right track. I wasn’t at the end of this quandary, but I at least felt I was getting closer to solving the riddle.
I also kept wondering about the woman I’d seen near Ernest’s ghost. She always seemed faint or trailing behind. I suspected it was Cora, but didn’t understand why they couldn’t connect. If they were dead weren’t they free of worldly bonds? Was she divided in her loyalties somehow, perhaps feeling she owed some of her afterlife to her husband, so that kept her and Ernest from truly connecting? Was something else preventing them from reuniting?
I told myself to ask Zelda if her grandmother and grandfather had been close.
24
It was the night of the Christmas tree lighting.
I opted to shutter my shop for the night since the big event took place on Ashmun, a couple blocks away from my store, which was toward the end of the tourist drag.
Being a business owner, however, I took it upon myself to promote my boutique. Jordan, Vanessa and I would be at the lighting with handbaskets in tow to offer some small bits of swag, namely candy canes with festively wrapped soap samples, tiny scented tea lights or little bags of tea blends attached.
I am enough of my mother’s daughter, after all, in that I see no problem with trying a bit of self-promotion and potentially lining my coffers.
And Mom being Mom, was in attendance with Tom. She would never miss such a big community event, given that it was a prime opportunity to see and — even more importantly — be seen.
She wore a blood red coat trimmed in white fur and had their two beagles in tow, both happily snuffling around and enjoying attention from passersby.
Each dog donned a festive sweater in shades of red, white and green.
Personally I thought Beanie looked like he could win an ugly Christmas sweater contest, and that Hooper could manage a close second, but I kept those thoughts to myself.
Tom wore a coat that matched Mom’s and was sporting the start of a white beard which caused several children to squeal and point. One wide-eyed boy scampered up to him, asking if he was in town to check his naughty-or-nice list.
“I most certainly am,” he chuckled, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
When two little girls skipped away, giggling amongst themselves after asking him for some hot new toy for Christmas, Tom turned to Mom. “Those are the Weber girls; they’re on the nice list.” He paused and gave mom a saucy wink. “You, my little cactus flower, are on the naughty list.” He gave her rear end a playful swat.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Being naughty gets me some nice things,” Mom replied, her tone tart as she turned and wiggled her bottom. Then she raised her ankle and invited me to admire her newest footwear. In the spirit of the season they were black and trimmed with white fur, and jingled when she walked. “You look festive, daughter dear,” she said as she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her coat pocket. A click of the lighter and an inhale followed. “Your red hair spilling over that emerald green coat makes you look all Christmas-y.”
“For that you get something from the nice basket,” I said, handing her a candy cane. Tom promptly took the candy and Mom kept the candle that had been attached, giving it a sniff. “Minty. Mmmm.” She looked around. “Where’s your man?”
I shrugged. “He’s supposed to turn up.” I spied him in the distance and hiked my arm up to wave. Roger noticed, smiled, and trotted over, pulling me in for a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek. Roger was nice and warm so I took advantage of it and leaned into him to absorb some of his heat.
He greeted Tom and Mom and then pulled a glove off his hand and pressed it to my cheek. “You’re chilly. Perhaps something hot to drink would help warm you. I saw Emily has a hot cocoa booth set up back there.” He jerked a thumb in the direction he came from.
“Sounds good to me,” I smiled. “I could use a warmup.” I waved goodbye to Mom and Tom and linked my basketed arm with Roger’s as we ambled to Emily’s, both of us plucking goodies from its depths and handing them out to people as they milled by.
I nearly stumbled over my two feet when I spotted a woman up ahead. She had super pale skin and vibrant orange-yellow hair. A lot of it was tucked under a slouchy gray beanie cap but it still stood out like a beacon, even more so because of the drab hue of the hat. I looked her over quickly and was amused by her mismatched outfit. She wore a hot pink puffer coat, black leggings with a colorful skull pattern on them, and had her feet tucked into printed Doc Martens boots. Some bright turquoise blue socks peeped up over the tops of her footwear.
I smiled, enjoying the topsy-turvy appearance. As she breezed past I stuck my arm out.
“Cool hair,” I said. “Would you like a candy cane? I made the attached candle.” I handed her one and then paused for a second before I reached into the basket, and handed her a second, this one with tea. “I also think you’d like some tea. It has marigold in it. Your hair reminds me of marigolds, now that I think on it.”
“Thanks.” Her voice was husky and deep, and my first thought was that she knew how to do things. What, I wasn’t sure, but that’s the thought that came to me. “Marigold? Hmmm?” she held up the offerings and looked at the tea. “I frequently have use for marigold in my line of work.”
“Are you a gardener? A florist? Wait, do florists use marigolds?” I asked, but a group of traveling musicians separated us and a crowd of people thronged past. A moment later she was gone.
“Did you see where she went?” I asked Roger, turning to try and spot her.
“No. It got a bit hectic for a couple minutes; she probably got shuffled in the crowd. Don’t worry. She’ll be easy to spot with that hair and that coat.”
I kept craning my head to look, but the orange-locked girl was gone. Roger gave me a nudge to keep going forward, and seeing no sign of pink or orange, I shrugged and continued.
“You wanted to share hair color tips with her, huh?” he teased, his icy blue eyes sparking with mirth.
“I don’t know. She was just interesting. I gave her the candle, but right after that I felt like she should have the tea.”
“Well, she has it now, for whatever her line of work may be. We’re by Emily’s now; let’s get some cocoa. We can also have her keep an eye peeled for the marigold girl.”
When we arrived at the booth Emily and Meadow were busy serving red-and-green paper cups of flavored cocoas. Emily introduced Meadow to Roger and she jerked her hand out to shake his. “He wants some of the chai, not the cocoa,” she said in her sing-song voice.
Roger looked impressed. “Is this a family trait,” he asked, accepting his cup.
“Yes,” Emily smiled as she plopped a couple large marshmallows on top of some cocoa before handing the beverage to me. “Poppy wants something classic, traditional. And yes, Meadow here knows what kinds of treats people are hankering for.”
“Just treats?” Roger asked.
“Just treats,” Meadow said. “I like sweet things. I can tell you’re sweet, too.”
“That’s the brother of the guy who hit on you the other day,” Emily explained.
Meadow crinkled up her nose. “He wasn’t very sweet. Not at all.”
Roger chuckled at the observation. “I guess Wyatt was sweet on you but you weren’t impressed with Wyatt, huh?”
She shook her head, her blonde curls, now twisted into haphazard braids, swishing side to side. “He’s pretty on the outside but he’s not what I’m into.”
Just then Tom approached and Meadow beamed at him. “Oh, here’s the candy man,” she beamed.
/> Mom was in tow. “Remember: Just give him the first thing that comes to mind,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll be here all night serving him cocoas and cookies and I’ll have to roll him home.”
Tom gave Mom a side-eyed glance and smiled as Meadow took a large cup, dropped some marshmallows inside, added cocoa, topped it off with more marshmallows, a mound of whipped cream and plenty of sprinkles. Then for good measure she added a candy cane as a stirrer before presenting the drink to him.
“Boy, she’s got your number,” Roger said, sipping his own smaller drink.
“That she does,” Tom said, dropping a ten-dollar-bill in the tip jar. “That she does.” He raised his drink and he and Mom began to saunter off. I stopped them before they could go too far.
“If any of you see a girl with hair the color of marigolds and wearing a bright pink coat, let me know.”
“Wait, what?” Mom looked incredulous. “That combo can’t be real.”
“It is very real,” I said. “And if you see her, give me a yell or text me.”
“Why are you looking for her?” Emily asked, already scanning the crowds.
“Hopefully not to trade haircolor hints with her,” Mom drawled. “Honestly if you go orange on purpose like that time a few weeks back when it turned into an orangutan color, I’ll disown you. That was hideous.”
“I don’t want to talk hair color with her,” I snapped.
“Thank heaven for small favors,” Mom sighed.
“But I do want to talk to her. About something. For some reason, and I can’t explain why, but I feel like I need to talk to her, and not just for the two seconds I spoke with her some moments back.”
Mom gave me an assessing look as if she was trying to decide if I was lying, and then she shrugged and turned to go. “Okay. If we see her, we’ll let you know, and see if we can suss out if she’s new to town or visiting or something. I kind of want to see this wild hair myself.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Roger and I wandered around some more, both of us handing out more samples, and waving and nodding at people we knew. I spotted Zelda near the big holiday tree and gave her a wave.
Lester Kavanaugh was in front of the historical society, chatting animatedly with a thirty-something blonde woman. She nodded politely but looked bored. She also was leaning away from him as if she was trying to avoid his bad breath and his kinetic hands from making contact with her ample bosom.
“I wonder if Lester’s gonna try and molest her,” I muttered to myself as I turned to look up at Roger.
A loud smack assaulted our ears.
“He did,” Roger said, his eyes lit with humor. “And she molested him right back.”
I looked and saw Lester rubbing his now very red cheek. I couldn’t help but smile.
When he saw us looking his way, Lester took a deep breath and bounded over. “Miss Blue! So lovely to see you!”
He looked like he was going to barrel right into me, but Roger deftly moved forward and tucked me closer to his side and turned to partially block Lester, who paused just in time to avoid colliding with Roger.
“How are you, Lester?” Roger said.
“Good, good.” Lester turned to me. “I was hoping you’d come to my office one day this week and I could, um, show you some of the things I’ve been finding out about the Chapman building.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice of you,” I said. “Can I get a little hint of what you’ve discovered now?”
“Ah, well, it’s complicated,” he said, “I’d rather show you.”
The leer on his face made me think he had little information but a lot of ulterior motives.
“I’m sure you would,” Roger said. “How about next Tuesday at noon. I’m a fan of history, so I’d like to tag along and hear what you’ve found.”
Lester’s mouth bobbed open and closed like a fish gulping for air. I had the distinct impression he wasn’t pleased Roger would be coming along. “Well … .”
I waited to hear what he would say next but I was distracted by a flash of blue.
There, next to the doorway of the historical center, were a few forget-me-nots emerging through a crack in the concrete. I felt a shiver run up my spine and turned to my left.
There, maybe half a block away, stood the ghost of Ernest Sloane. He’d looked a bit livelier the last time I’d seen him, but he was back to his bloated, soggy self. He stared at me but the expression on his face seemed more defeated than anything. It made me feel deeply sad to see it.
Standing several feet behind him was the same mystery woman I’d seen previously on the ghost tour. She remained indistinct, but I could see her hair was auburn and that she wore an ivory blouse and a long gray skirt. I continued to stare while Roger talked to Lester, and the female specter craned her head and her gaze bored into me. I felt an icy shock ripple through me and for a flash I experienced such rage and such longing that I took an inadvertent step backwards onto a patch of ice, causing me to lose my balance and tumble backwards. I gave a little squeak of surprise and made an indelicate grunt as Roger, his reflexes quick, lunged forward and righted me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, directing me to a bench.
“Yeah, I’m …,” I trailed off, looking in the direction of the ghosts. They were gone, but a chill remained, like freezing water had been trickled down my back. I turned to where I’d seen the flowers moments earlier and they were still there, but dissolving rapidly, like something exposed to air after a long absence, and they soon crumbled into nothing.
Roger muttered a terse goodbye to Lester and led me back in the direction we’d come from. The street had been blocked off so crowds could mill about, and a large bonfire had been lit.
“You look cold,” Roger said, pulling off a glove and pressing a warm hand to my cheek. “Yes, definitely cold.” He directed me near the blaze and as soon as I felt some of the heat emanating, I did feel a bit better. I smiled at him, hoping he took the expression as one of gratitude.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, his eyes looked concerned.
“I’ll be okay. It feels good here by the fire — fortifying, if that makes sense. Let’s just stand here a few moments.”
He nodded and stood close enough that he wrapped an arm around me. I suddenly felt very tired and leaned into him for a moment. The ghosts had made me feel sad and drained, so I was grateful to have Roger so near. He felt solid, substantial, like I could really rely on him. That gave me a lot of comfort, that simple moment of happiness.
“God, is it skunk-ass cold!”
A raspy female voice broke our moment of silence and when I opened my eyes the marigold-haired woman stood nearby.
“It’s you,” I said.
“Who else would I be?” she smiled, holding her hands near the fire, then turning so she could warm her backside. “Ah, that feels good. My ass is ice cold. It’s so cold and damp here. How can so many people stand it?”
I shrugged. “We’re just used to it. If we only ventured out when it was warm, we’d hardly ever go out.”
“I take it you’re not from around here?” Roger asked.
The woman shook her head. “No. I’m originally from Detroit, but I’ve lived all over.”
“Where are you now?” Roger queried.
“I still have an apartment in Detroit,” she said, “but I’ve been on the move for a while. Minnesota. Kentucky. Tennessee. Georgia. South Carolina.”
“Do you travel for your work?” I asked.
“You could say that.”
I waited, hoping she’d elaborate, but she didn’t.
“I like your hair by the way.” I reached out a hand. “I’m Poppy, and this is Roger.”
“I’m Catrina,” she said, shaking my hand, then Roger’s. She inclined her head toward her left. “I was thinking of checking out that brewpub up ahead. They’re offering some samples and I’m hoping to warm up with a slider or some chili. You look chilled. How about you come along and warm yourself up, too?”
“Sure,” Roger said. “I think that’d be a good idea for Poppy. Plus we know the owner of the brewpub. The food is good; I can assure you of that.”
“What about the beer?” Catrina asked.
“I don’t drink,” Roger said, “so I can’t say, but Poppy’s tried it.”
“Yes, I can confirm that it’s good.”
25
A few minutes later we were inside Scott’s, seated near the window. He wasn’t formally open for business but was offering samples of food and selling drinks while letting people tour the establishment. When he realized Catrina was with us, Scott brought a mug of ale for her to try. She sipped, nodded her head in approval, and quickly downed half the mug in one swoop.
“Wow, you must be thirsty,” Scott smiled.
“I was,” she agreed as she looked around his place. “And this is good.” She raised the mug and downed the rest. “Very good.”
“Would you like another?” Scott asked, amused.
“Sure. Twist my arm, why don’t you?” she said as she wiped foam from her upper lip.
A moment later she was well into her second beer and nibbling on a slider.
“Are you related to Poppy,” Scott asked.
“No, we just met,” Catrina said, draining the rest of her mug. Scott opened his mouth to ask something, but she shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m good. For now.” She set the glass down and looked me over. “Why do you ask if we’re related? We don’t look so much alike, other than being pale.”
“You put that beer away like Poppy can when she’s on a roll.”
“Hey!” I snapped. “I’m always on a roll.”
“It also made me think of Fiona,” Scott added.
“Who’s Fiona?”
“She’s my mother,” I explained. “She can throw back drinks like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I think I like the sound of this lady.”
“So what brings you to town?” Scott asked. “Are you a transplant? Are you just passing through?”
A Spot of Bother Page 18