“I hope this horizontal sign gives us enough visibility,” I mused aloud. “I thought a vertical banner would be more eye catching, but the Silver Six vetoed the idea.”
He glanced at the concrete sidewalk and street. “Where would you have put it?”
“In the planter.”
“But those can be harder to keep secure when the wind kicks up,” Eric said. “Which reminds me. We may get a storm on Monday. If we do, I’ll help you take this down so it won’t be a flying hazard.”
I nodded. “Good thinking. Otherwise Maise will be ordering us to batten down the hatches. Ready to move the ladder back?”
I could’ve sworn as soon as I said “back,” both animals stood, and sure enough, they trotted in front of us as we hauled the ladder to the alley.
Again, I feared they’d dash inside. They didn’t. Not when we hung the ladder, not when I lowered the service door. And yes, I felt terrible about shutting them out.
Eric glanced around the workroom as if searching for something.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you have a small bucket or pan to fill with water?”
“Eric, the pup and cat are darling, but if I start taking care of them, they won’t go home.”
“Giving them water won’t keep them here, Nixy. If they do stick around, though, you don’t want them to get dehydrated. It’s supposed to be close to ninety degrees today.”
The alley was on the east side of the building, so the back of our space would be shaded until at least noon. Still, I didn’t want the little critters to be thirsty.
I huffed a breath. “We keep a few bowls in the kitchenette.”
He followed me into the small space that shrank more with him standing so near. I got soup bowls from the upper cabinet, filled one with water, and handed it to Eric before filling the other.
I opened the door to the alley, and there they were, curled up together. Both twitched their ears and lifted their heads when Eric and I put the bowls near them, then slowly rose to drink.
“There,” I said. “Our fur friends are taken care of, and you, sir, are due at the station, I believe.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m overdue. See you later?”
“If you have time to stop by, yes.”
He gave my arm a friendly squeeze. “Hope the grand opening is a smashing success.”
Success, yes. Smashing, not so much. We had breakables in the emporium, and let’s face it, we’d need every sale to make a go of this business.
I went into the store proper, fighting off a mild wave of claustrophobia at the sight of the overflowing displays. The Six hadn’t rearranged their art and Aster’s herb balms and such so much that they needed tweaking, so I grabbed a duster and gave every surface a swipe. Nervous energy, I knew. The life changes I’d made were a bit frightening, but they were also exhilarating.
When I’d proposed the idea of opening a folk art gallery, with me as manager, and Sherry and her friends supplying the art, I’d done it to be able to stay near my aunt and yet still use my art background. Sherry owned the building free and clear except for taxes and upkeep, and she and the housemates had artist contacts. The antique dealers who’d been renting the building were closing shop, and my roommate in Houston was marrying and moving out. Plus, our lease was expiring. In short, the timing to relocate and open the emporium seemed to fall into place—both on the Six’s end and on mine.
True, my experience was in fine art. I’d given up my job at the prestigious Gates Gallery in Houston to move to Lilyvale. But art is art, whether it traced its origins to the primarily practical or the purely aesthetic.
We’d expanded from our initial concept of selling folk art only to carrying a variety of crafts from handmade jewelry, to stained glass, to mosaics and about everything in between. Art is supposed to evoke emotions, and I’d seen that happen in response to a skillfully crafted basket, or beautifully designed quilt, and even to certain aromas in Aster’s collection of goodies. Seen it? I’d experienced emotional connections myself. Besides, we needed to offer a wider range of items with a wider range of prices. Affordable prices. Disposable incomes tended to be a closely guarded commodity here in Lilyvale as much as anywhere. No point in being too specialized.
Even Fred and Dab got in on the action. They’d taken to welding odds and ends in one of the farmhouse sheds to create whimsical metal art, and had already sold a few pieces to Jasmine’s dad and to her boyfriend.
My cell phone alarm beeped. The Six would be arriving soon. I put the duster away, brushed off my emporium tee and twill capris. One hour until the official first day of our grand opening. Time to take down the wind chime, put out the wooden display benches, and fill them with goods.
* * *
“You know those animals are still in the alley, missy?”
I turned to Fred as he and Dab came into the emporium from the workroom. We’d had steady traffic until the noon hour, but the store was virtually empty now. Thankfully Fred had removed the loaded tool belt from his walker to make navigating in the store easier. And quieter.
“You’ve mentioned it every half hour, Fred,” I reminded him.
“Ain’t you gonna do somethin’ ’bout them?”
“I don’t know what I can do right now. Doralee is due here to set up her demonstration with Sherry. Besides, you said you tried shooing them away. They went to the end of the alley and came right back.”
“That dog is smaller, but reminds me of coon dogs we had when I was a boy,” Dab said, hitching his slacks up to his waist. They fell right back to his hips.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled as I moved a few of Aster’s Aromatics products to fill a hole. Thankfully we’d had buyers this morning, not just fellow shop owners and other well-wishers stopping for a look-see. Still, I needed to put out another couple of plates of cookies and refill the sweet tea pitchers.
“Or she could be,” Dab continued, “some sort of Doberman mix.”
“She?” That stopped me. I hadn’t paid attention, and Eric hadn’t mentioned the sex of the dog. “The dog is female?”
“Yep,” Fred confirmed. “Both’a them animals is female. Dab and me think they’ve been spayed, too. Saw faint scars on their bellies.”
I considered that a moment as Eleanor approached. She’d waved Sherry, Aster, and Maise off to lunch, and would take hers when they got back.
“Are you still talking about those animals?” she asked.
“Fred and Dab think they’ve been fixed. And if someone went to that expense, they must have owners. We just have to find them.”
“I do believe you could take pictures with your tablet and set up a slide show so customers can see them.”
“Brilliant, Eleanor,” I said with a grin.
“You wanna get a shot of that little cat’s paws,” Fred instructed. “She’s got three forward claws on her front paws ’stead of four. Might could be a clue to find the owner.”
I’d heard of the polydactyl cats at the Hemingway Home and Museum in Key West, but had no idea how common or rare a three-toed cat might be. Still, Fred might be right about it being a clue.
I didn’t have a ton of time before Doralee showed up and Sherry returned from lunch at the Lilies Café. The metal folding chairs we’d borrowed from various churches to keep for the week were set into neat rows and the small folding table for the demonstration was up and ready. I could make time to take photos.
I grabbed my tablet and strode out the workroom to the alley. Dab and Fred came along to help me pose the critters.
The men had put a cardboard box out to give the animals shade. Big softies. The critters came right out and sat when we appeared, their eyes—the dog’s golden and the cat’s green—gazing at me with trust. They darned near posed as I took photos, staying side by side. They allowed Dab and Fred to separate them enough for me to get pictures
of them from their sides—the better to see their markings. The cat let Dab hold her for a close-up of her three toes, but wriggled to get down when I’d finished. As soon as her paws hit the pavement, she returned to her canine friend’s side. They had full water bowls, I saw, and it was no stretch to figure who had seen to that.
I’d just set up the slide show and set my tablet by the cash register when Doralee and Sherry, Aster, and Maise came in laughing. Zach trailed behind with a rolling bin of Doralee’s supplies. He greeted me with a soft-spoken, “Good afternoon, Nixy,” and then began unloading what Doralee needed for the demonstration on the table near the workshop door.
I tingled with anticipation when people began trickling in. Some cruised the displays, others claimed a seat. Cindy Price, the peppy forty-something reporter-photographer from the Lilyvale Legend, began taking pictures as soon as she entered the store. Sherry as our official emporium spokeswoman gave Cindy an informal interview as they toured the space. Eleanor had volunteered to take photos for our website today, so I circulated. I also checked to be sure Aster had bowls of loose lavender and lavender sachets strategically stashed on the shelves. In April I’d learned firsthand that the herb really did have a calming effect. Not that I expected trouble, but hey, liberal use of the lavender couldn’t hurt.
With ten minutes until demo time, a group from the technical college where the Six volunteered came in the store. The students were noisy but not unruly, and the affection the students held for the seniors was obvious and touching. The photographer even snapped a few shots of the two generations posing together.
Not so touching was seeing Ernie saunter through the front door, Kim gripping his arm and Georgine trailing behind. Ernie looked comfortable in faded black jeans and a green polo shirt and tennis shoes while Kim wore a short black skirt, a figure-hugging blue blouse, chunky-heeled sandals, and almost as much jewelry as she’d been draped in the night before. In contrast, Georgine was dressed rather like her brother in plain blue jeans, a collared shirt open at her throat, and loafers.
Ernie’s gaze swept the gathering and he scowled when he spotted Sherry, Doralee, and Zach chatting with a group of students near the door to the workshop. When Ernie moved toward the group, Kim still clinging to his arm, I moved to forestall another scene. I intercepted the couple before they reached the demonstration table.
“Mr. Boudreaux, you might want to find a seat before they’re all taken.”
He drew himself up, looked down his nose at me. “I don’t intend to cause a problem—Nixy, isn’t it? I just want to see the tools Doralee intends to use.”
He edged past me, not quite pushing me out of the way, but nearly so. I caught up at the demo table.
“Hmm. I wonder why she’s not using a rotary tool. It would be faster. Personally, I’d use a wood burner.”
“Then you’d set off our smoke alarms, Mr. Boudreaux. And the power tool creates too much dust,” I said, arms folded.
“Ah, then I understand her choice of hand tools. Looks like a new set, too.” He peered at the tool kit, each tool nestled in a thin plastic molded space that fit its shape. He poked at a few, making the plastic crackle, then faced me. “Of course, one can do more with power tools. I’d be happy to demonstrate carving and burning methods outside. Give these people more gourd art ideas. “
I bit off what I was tempted to say and forced a smile. “Our craft demo schedule is full, Mr. Boudreaux. For the entire week. Now, please take your seats.”
“Some people would jump at that offer,” Kim huffed. “Come on, Ernie. Let’s go shopping.”
They moved off, and I followed about five feet behind, blending with the crowd, but staying close enough to eavesdrop. Rude? The Six would say so, but I wanted to know if Ernie was plotting trouble.
“You go on if you want,” Ernie said. “Find Georgine and shop with her. I’m staying.”
Kim heaved a sigh. “This was supposed to be a romantic weekend. First, you let your sister tag along with us, and now you want to be around Doralee.”
Ernie stopped at Aster’s display of balms and soaps. “I told you. I need to know if she’s stealing my designs.”
“I don’t see how she could be if you haven’t seen her for months and months. Not even at an art fair.” Kim gave Ernie the stink eye. “Besides, you’re supposed to ask her about the opal. You promised.”
“I will, I will. After she finishes.”
“For cripes sake, Ernie, her room is next to ours. You could knock on the door anytime.”
I nearly choked. They were all staying at Inn on the Square? Awkward.
“She’s with Zach. Would you appreciate her knocking on our door?”
She heaved an exaggerated you’re-right-but-I-won’t-admit-it sigh. “Fine, we’ll stay, but you ask her about the opal, and then we do what I want.”
Ernie didn’t respond but escorted Kim to the only empty seats in the middle row. I pivoted away and came face to scowling face with Georgine.
“So sorry. I didn’t know you were behind me.”
“You should watch where you’re going,” she snapped and brushed past me. I had to wonder if she’d heard Ernie’s and Kim’s exchange. Double awkward.
At the demo table, I checked to be sure Doralee and Sherry had all they needed at hand. They did, and our gourd artist donned her smock, while my aunt wore an emporium apron. After I made the introduction, I stood at the far side of the sales floor, halfway to the front windows near Eleanor’s display of carved figurines. Georgine, I saw, had found a chair near the front but not that far from where Ernie and Kim sat.
Doralee began by describing the various tools used both in wood and gourd carving, throwing out terms like veiners, gouges, and skews or chisels. She held each up in turn, and the audience was quiet enough that I could hear the flimsy plastic crackle as she removed each item. I didn’t notice that much difference in most of the implements, but I was also distracted by watching Georgine. She alternately ran her fingers around her rope necklace, and hooked her arm over the back of the folding chair to turn and glare at Ernie and Kim. They either didn’t notice or flat ignored her. Hard to do since I could almost see cartoon steam come out her ears.
I idly wondered what Georgine would do if I spritzed her with Aster’s lavender water. For that matter, how would Kim react? I almost chuckled aloud imagining their outrage even as I noted latecomers quietly slip in the door. Two middle-aged women hovered behind the rows of chairs and watched the demonstration. A guy in his thirties wearing a royal blue scrubs shirt with jeans and a black and gold New Orleans Saints ball cap stood near the ladies, but didn’t appear to be with them. He wore dark sunglasses, and tugged the cap bill low as if shielding his eyes. Hmm. If the scrubs meant this guy worked in health care, I sure didn’t recognize him as a local nurse or lab tech. At least not from any of the medical offices I’d been in for Sherry’s checkups. Maybe he worked in Magnolia, not Lilyvale.
The door opened again to admit two teens, a man, and a woman, but I sensed they weren’t all together. For one thing, the teens sat on the floor up by Doralee and Sherry without a backward glance. In contrast, the adults darn near hugged the wall by the door. The woman was a platinum blonde with perfectly coifed hair dressed in a pale green linen skirt suit, ecru pumps, and oversized retro round cat eye sunglasses. She linked arms with a man who looked a good bit younger, maybe in his thirties. He wore mirrored shades, navy slacks, and high-end burgundy slip-on shoes. Not penny loafers, thank you very much. No tassels either. Those were costly shoes.
With their noses in the air, I wondered why they’d come into the store in the first place. Did they have a similar business and were checking out the competition? If so, I’d not heard the emporium had a rival. Or they could be art snobs slumming in our pedestrian shop. I’d met their type in Houston. Thankfully, most folk artists and crafters were down to earth almost as much as Doralee.
I turned my attention back to her demonstration.
“You can see I’ve sketched feathers on the gourd and I’ve begun carving them,” she said as she raised it above her head to show the audience. “Instead of using clamps or vises, I’m securing my gourd in this box. It has a partially open front and a nonslip pad inside to hold the gourd steady while I work. My friend Zach”—she gestured to where he sat in the front—“designed and constructed this for me, and he’s working on an adjustable box to accommodate the different sizes and shapes of gourds.”
Zach merely smiled. I liked that he didn’t make a show of modesty. The idea really was ingenious. With or without an adjustable model.
“I’m an advocate of using masks when cutting, carving, or burning gourds, but I don’t want to wear a mask for the program. And I certainly don’t want to expose anyone to dust. So I’ll be carving just enough for you to see the process.”
She launched into the next part of her presentation to a rapt audience, mentioning the various tools to make cuts deep or shallow, wide or narrow, as she went along.
“While I finish,” she said, “Sherry Mae will show you how to weave the grapevine we’ll use to top off the gourd.”
Sherry wore her bangs over her bad eye again. I hoped she’d be able to see well enough to weave.
“I presoaked these vines,” she said, “and began the initial weaving to get the size right, and to save time. You can use single strands of vine, or you can twist or braid them. As you see, I’ve braided some for more visual interest.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t been aware of holding as Sherry wove the vine in a circle maybe two inches in diameter. Each layer of vine added to the height of the piece until it was as tall as wide, and all the while, she described her technique without a stumble or even a pause. She finished with a flourish, and held the vine top high for all to see.
“See the tendrils hanging here?” She pointed to five hanging bits of vine. “I curved them to more or less conform to the inside of the gourd and worked them in as I wove. These tendrils will hold the woven vine in place, so long as you don’t jerk on it. Or you can secure your vine topper by drilling holes along the rim and tying off your vine with twine. Doralee?”
Paint the Town Dead Page 4