by Tegan Maher
Years ago, the city council had tried to make the beach no-drinking, but so many people had disregarded the rule that they'd changed it to no glass containers on the beach and required beer cans to be in a koozie. They'd also invested in fancy-looking stone garbage can holders to encourage people to throw away trash rather than leaving it on the beach or throwing it in the water—a move I was glad to see.
Rae thought about that for a minute. "Well, I guess it stands to reason that even if she had been there, we all look way different in a bathing suit and sunglasses than we do in a picture."
"Yeah, plus remember the summer I lifeguarded?"
She snorted, almost choking on her danish. "You mean the week you lifeguarded."
I scowled. Being a lifeguard was more like being a babysitter for drunks and scatterbrained parents than being the hero I'd imagined. After the first week, I'd lost patience with the sunbathing, water-skiing portion of humanity. When an overheated kid stuffed full of junk food puked on me when I was trying to find the mother who'd lost track of him, I'd decided the job wasn't for me.
"Yeah, whatever," I said, waving her off. "My point is that I didn't spend time looking at faces. I spent my time looking for fires. I watched for trouble, not people. She could have been there, especially in a larger group of people, and the guards might not have even noticed her."
"Kasey Ball sure noticed her," she said.
"No kidding," I said, washing down a huge bite of pastry. I was getting antsy thinking about the folks standing outside. "But she seems like the sour-grapes sort. She probably noticed any chick on the beach that was having fun rather than chasing kids."
"True," she said. "But it seems odd that nobody's even reported her missing."
"Yeah," I answered, throwing away our napkins after Rae shoved the last of her breakfast in her mouth. "But for now, we have people outside who are missing their caffeine, so let's open the doors before they shift into an angry mob."
I was nearly trampled when I swung it open. They weren't angry, but the mob mentality was there for sure.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHE FLICKED THE OPEN sign on, and I unlocked the door, pasting on a smile as I did. Folks dressed in everything from brand-new high-end fishing outfits to jeans and old waders tromped in, all looking for their fix. After sun-up, it slowed a little, but that's when our regular crowd started drifting in.
Levana showed up at seven, and it was a good thing she did. All the family members who weren't fishing drifted in, and we were slammed clear through lunch. I tried to keep an ear out for anyone waggin' their tongue about the murder, but all I heard were rumors and gossip, some of it so wild that I could hardly believe what people could come up with.
I was passing by a table and two women were talking about it in conspiratorial whispers.
"I heard she was dressed in all black and had a pentagram tattooed on her hand," said one, raising her brows in that manner that indicated she was an absolute authority.
The other woman, a granny type, gave a derisive snort. "That's a cock-and-bull story if I ever heard one. Everybody always jumps straight to the devil-worshiper thing. She was found nekkid. They suspect it was some kinky sex game that went sideways."
I rolled my eyes and at the same time thought about how Coralee must have been pullin' her hair out right about then. She didn't like it much when rumors spun out of her control, and this one was of wildfire proportions.
That reminded me of the two girls, Mari Jo and Clara, who were supposed to come to the shop. I'd called the couple who'd bought the entry piece the day before, and they'd agreed to come get it after one, so I hoped the girls held off, too. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was twelve thirty and started cleaning and restocking. We'd gone through less than half the pastries I'd made the night before, so thankfully I didn't need to bake any more that night.
The last person I served was a woman who looked like she had a stick up her butt, and by the time she'd finished and headed to her seat, I wanted to put one there for her if there wasn’t.
First, she asked about every single coffee on the menu. While people behind her shifted from foot to foot, shooting her angry glances, I tried to be patient. Then when I grabbed a blueberry muffin from the case for her, it wasn't the one she wanted. I had to go shoulder deep in the case to get the second one from the front.
But finally, she paid and went away to find a table.
Ten minutes later, she cried out from her seat. I glanced over while I made the ten-thousandth cup of Lively Latte of the day, and she was jumping around like she had ants in her pants. There was a coffee stain the size of a quarter on her slacks, and she was making a huge fuss.
"It burns!" she howled.
Raeann jumped around the counter with a cup of soda water and a clean towel. When she handed the cup to the woman and held out the rag, the dingbat dumped the cup of water on the tiny coffee spot, then held the pants away from skin.
"I'm sure it's blistered," the woman said, working herself into a tizzy.
"I'm sure that's not the case, ma'am," Rae said, still holding the rag out. "The restroom is right back there." She pointed toward the restrooms. "If you'd like, here's the rag to sop up some of the wet."
By that point, I was irritated. She'd had the coffee for ten minutes; there was no way it was still hot enough to burn her. For that matter, a spot that size wouldn't have done any damage even if she'd splashed it on her as soon as I'd handed it to her.
She turned on me. "And there was something in that muffin—a rock or something. I think I chipped a tooth! And my slacks are ruined. I may have to call my lawyer."
Now I was just pissed, and the folks around her, most of whom were locals and knew she was full of it, were getting irritated too.
"Now looky here," Emory, one of our regulars who was already out of sorts because she'd taken the chess table he usually sat at with his buddy, said. "That's flat-out baloney. Them's as fine 'a muffins as you'll ever have cross your tongue. And if you're dumb enough to slop coffee on yourself then dump a cup of water on it, well, that's on you. Now zip it. And while you're at it, get off that table. Me and Judd wanna play chess."
The woman's face went a scary shade of purple, and she turned on Rae.
"I demand my money back."
"Good Lord," I said, fishing the cash out of the register. "Here. I'll pay just to shut you up." Resisting the urge to curse her with actual ants in her pants, I shoved the money at her. "Get out. And don't come back."
Rae, who was terrible at confrontation, stepped back and just scowled at her as I pointed toward the door.
"Well I never," she said, offended as only the high and mighty could.
Emory gave her his best disgusted look. "And with that attitude, you prolly never will, either, you old bat. Don't let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya!" He jerked his head toward the front.
She stomped out the door, and I couldn't help but notice as I scooped her cup and plate off the table that both were empty. I just shook my head as Emory and Judd moved over and pulled the chess pieces out of the little bag sitting on the windowsill.
"Forget her," I told Rae, who looked frazzled. "Let her be miserable somewhere else."
Little did I know, she'd made it her mission to be miserable everywhere.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AFTER WE CLEANED UP and restocked, I headed down to my store. I still liked the sound of that. The sun reflected off the front windows, and the gold lettering glinted. In accordance with Hunter's never-alone rule, Rae'd watch me until I was at the shop.
While I was rooting through my purse for my keys, Trouble yelled at me from across the street and waved, floating over after she'd caught my attention.
"Hey, Trouble! What's up?"
"Nothin'," she said, pushing a strand of translucent blonde hair behind her ear. "Angus is down watchin' em fish. That's about as exciting to me as watchin' paint dry, so I figured I'd come hang out with Belle and Coralee for a while. They've be
en busy though, so we couldn't talk much. I thought Coralee was gonna pop her cork. Between Belle's criticizin' and all the mangled-up gossip she had to correct over and over, it's been a bad day for her."
I laughed as I unlocked my door. "Poor Coralee. I was thinking this mornin' how crazy this must be making her. And I have no doubt Belle's takin' advantage. C'mon in. I have some work to do, but I'd love the company, and I expect Erol probably would, too."
"Oh," she said. "By the way—two girls stopped by earlier. The same ones I saw comin' out of the Clip N Curl yesterday."
That sucked. "Mari Jo and Clara. I'd told them I'd be here today, but then Raeann needed my help this mornin'."
Erol floated through. "Nice to see you could finally roll out of bed and squeeze some time into your busy day to stop by. You missed customers."
Glowering, I explained where I'd been. To his credit, he looked a little abashed, but that didn't stop a little nugget of guilt from settling in my craw.
Trouble floated through the shop, running ghostly fingers over the things I'd made. "I really like this table set," she said.
I'd found a coffee table and two end tables that had once had glass insets in the tops. I'd sanded the pieces down and painted them country blue, then white, and used sandpaper to give them a distressed look. Then I'd scattered a layer of small seashells across the recessed areas and filled them in with clear epoxy.
"Thanks," I said. “I gathered the shells myself.”
Erol hmphed. "Took a day to go to the beach and happened to pick them up while you were there, you mean."
"That's not very nice," Trouble said, drawing her brows down at him, then turned to me. "I think they're beautiful."
"I'm glad you like them," I told her, then tilted my head at Erol. "And she's right. You're sorta bein' a jerk. What's got your knickers in a twist?"
He sighed. "I'm sorry, sugar. It's just, I'm worried about Norman. He's been a little off lately. He disappears and doesn't seem himself. I'm worried he's sick."
"Aw, sweetie. I'm sure he's fine. Would you like me to take him over to Will's to have him checked out?"
His face lit up. "Would you?"
"If it'll make you quit griping, absolutely. I'm sure he's fine, though." I hadn't noticed anything off with him, but on the outside chance there was something wrong, I'd rather be safe than sorry. "Where's he at, anyway?" He was usually right there ready for a cracker as soon as he heard me come in.
"That's what I mean," Erol cried, throwing his hands in the air. "He's not bein' himself at all."
"Calm down. I'll talk to Will."
While he fussed around looking for Norman, I went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of tea, then headed into the workspace part of the building. I was in the middle of converting an old washboard into a bathroom piece. I was putting a mirror in the top because the wooden logo piece was missing. A dowel between the legs would be nice to hang a towel from, too.
I liked to take breaks from big projects to do small ones like this because of the instant-gratification factor. Sometimes it was just nice to work on something for a few hours and have something finished. While I worked, I let my mind roam, and it drifted to the woman who was coming to pick up the entry piece, and her words.
No matter how much thought I gave it, I had no idea what misty could possibly mean. It was a common name, but I didn't personally know any. It wasn’t misty when we found the body, and there wasn't any fog in the forecast. After a few minutes, I shrugged it off; it would present itself eventually, assuming she was right.
Since my gut said to listen to her, I didn't want to find myself in hot water before I figured it out.
I'd almost finished the washboard piece when the bell jangled above the door. Dusting my hands off, I opened the bottom of the Dutch door between the two areas and found Mel standing in front of the counter dressed to the nines. There was no sign of her husband, and she smiled.
"He was busy today and couldn't come. I assured him two healthy women could get a lil ole bench piece and some knick-knacks in the truck by ourselves."
I hadn't realized I was that easy to read and wondered if she'd read my mind. I knew it was possible, but I had a pretty solid shield—since Shelby'd came into her powers, I'd had no choice but to build a strong one, right along with Raeann. If not, she'd cheat the pants off us at cards or Scrabble.
"Don't worry," she said, looking around, her attention drawn to the various do-dads and accent pieces hanging on the far wall. "I didn't read your mind."
I raised a brow at the phrase because she didn't seem to be joking. If she was, she was either assuming I was non-magical—which would make her a terrible psychic—or that she could get into my head, which was presumptuous.
She flapped a hand toward me but still didn't make direct eye contact. "Of course, whether or not I could get past those Flynn shields is another question but irrelevant. I just saw you look behind me when I came in alone and figured you were expecting him. I'm just gonna look around for a few minutes—see if I find anything else while I'm here."
Not sure what to say to that, I just watched her. She was an odd duck. Self-assured but with an undertone of airheadedness. I had a feeling that was deceptive, though; unless I missed my guess, she was sharp as a tack and well aware of how people reacted to her.
Addy popped in, and I glanced at her, curious.
"What? I just wanted to lay eyes on the woman. If she's gonna go around sharin' visions and issuin' dire warnings to my family, I wanna know who I'm dealin' with. 'Specially after what she just said."
I stepped behind the counter and let her do her thing. She crossed her arms and floated along, examining Mel like a bug under a glass for a minute, watching while she picked up a piece here and there to look at it.
"I don't get any bad vibes off her," Addy said, "but I don't know how far I trust anybody who pays more for a pocketbook than I made in a week."
A brief smile flitted across Mel's face as she examined the seashell tables. I hoped it meant she liked them—it would be a nice chunk of change for the week if she bought them along with the entry piece, but the timing was a bit suspicious.
"Still," Addy continued, rubbing her chin, "she gave you the warnin' free and clear and didn't tell you to act on it, other than to be careful."
She huffed out a breath, frustrated again by one of the major suck points of being dead. "This was so much easier when I was alive and had my magic."
The silence between the living parties in the room was starting to feel weird to me. "Do you like the tables?" I asked.
"I do," she replied absently, trailing a finger across the epoxy, "but they're meant for somebody else."
Since I had no idea what to do with that comment, I let it hang and cleared my throat. "Well then. Would you like a bottle of water or a soda?" Standard Southern reaction—when all else failed, fall back on your manners.
I jumped when something fuzzy pushed against my hand and smiled when I looked down. Norman was standing on his haunches looking fit as a fiddle, glancing from me to the box of crackers and back.
I'm not gonna lie—I was relieved to see him. I'd started to buy into Erol's paranoia. I handed him his cracker, smiling back at him, which was starting to feel less and less weird every time I did it. I handed him a second cracker after he shoved the first in his mouth. He grasped it gingerly with his front teeth, then rushing off toward the little bridge system we'd made to make it easier for him to get from point A to point B.
Yeah, I realize my life was strange. A few baseboard bridges and rat-sized staircases swiped from an old Barbie DreamHouse were mere drops in the crazy bucket at that point.
"A water would be divine," Mel said, snapping me back to reality just as Norm's fuzzy butt disappeared into the back.
I headed toward the kitchen and grabbed us each one out of the fridge. When I reappeared, she'd added a reading lamp I'd made from an old ceiling-fan globe and chandelier arm and one of my Coke-sign clocks to the pile. The lamp
suited her, but the clock threw me a little; shabby-chic didn't seem to be her style. A sale was a sale though.
She didn't even try to haggle; she just pulled out the cash and handed it to me.
We loaded up the bench and the rest of her items, chatting as we did so. She didn't say anything else creepy, and I found myself liking her.
"So, not that it's any of my business, but what do you do for a living?"
She laughed and put her hand to her chest. "Me? I spend my husband's money, sugar. I host parties that make him look good and spend so much time fightin' the agin' process that I'm ashamed of myself. Sometimes I have to clean up messes and do other things I don't wanna do just because people are foolish. But as the wife of a justice of the Supreme Court of Georgia, appearances mean far more than what they should."
Heaving a big sigh, she said, "I envy you. I love my husband, but sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision. I'm a farm girl at heart, and as your aunt said, paying a workin' man's weekly salary for a purse still doesn't set right even after all these years."
It took me a second to realize she was referring to Addy's comment—a comment she shouldn't have been able to hear. I thought back to the small smile that crossed her face when Addy said it.
Mel's eyes glittered with mischief, and she looked square at Addy, who was hovering beside me. "Or I assume you’re her aunt. According to all accounts, her mother crossed over, right?"
Addy narrowed her eyes at her. "What's your game?"
"No game. It truly was coincidence that we ran into each other. I didn't know she owned the place until we walked in and I recognized her. It's not like you Flynn women don't bear a striking resemblance to each other."
"And the warning?" Addy asked, still looking at her suspiciously.
She lifted a shoulder. "The women in my family all have the sight. I didn't get anything until we shook. Even then, it was just the one disembodied, white word, and the phrase. And darkness. Literal, not figurative."