Touch of Shadow

by April Aasheim

  “Nope, better. It’s the Switching Hour!” Josh said.

  “The what?” I managed to reach my phone; it was buzzing so hard I thought it was trying to take its own life. A flashing picture of a slim man in a naval uniform crowded my screen.

  “Blake Wants to Meet You! Accept date to meet him now at: The Mean Bean!”

  I stuffed the phone back in my purse. A handful of people were already stampeding out the door, as if racing home to beat a storm.

  Josh, too, was reaching for his backpack and jacket.

  “Where is everyone going?” I asked.

  Josh shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “On random days between 12:00 and 3:00, Switch hosts the Switching Hour. Every thirty minutes, you meet a new date at a new location.”

  “That sounds like a lot of work,” I said, struggling to keep up with him as the café emptied out. Even Rachel and Audrey were long gone.

  Josh looked right, then left, his mind elsewhere. “I forget, is The Little Tea Pot north or south?”

  I pointed across the street. Josh gave me a quick wave of thanks and hurried off.

  So much for True Love.

  Outside, the town was now quiet, while couples huddled inside cozy shops and cafes. I’d had enough for one day. My mind was on a bubble bath and a classic movie, preferably an old black and white.

  Passing The Mean Bean on my way home, I paused to check out the silhouette of a thin man in a naval hat, sitting at a window.

  “Will You Accept?” My phone asked.

  Lacking a No button, I simply turned off my phone. Naval Hat might be disappointed that no one showed up, but in another thirty minutes, some other face would blink onto his screen and the cycle would begin again.

  As I reached The Aunt-Tea-Query, I spotted Audrey and Rachel conversing on the porch Bend and Break, the neighboring yoga studio. Apparently they were the only two customers in The Java Crowd who weren’t off on a mystery date.

  The front door opened and Yvette, the owner of the yoga studio, stepped out, followed by a well-built man. At first glance, I thought it was Ella’s stepson Nick. But his features were firmer, his eyes steely, and his manner more frenetic. He was smiling, but his hands were restless as he spoke with the three women.

  This must be Garett.

  How serendipitous that I should see him with Audrey and Rachel today. But then again, Reed Hollow wasn’t a large town.

  I was about to step inside, when I saw Yvette hand Audrey something. From this distance, it looked like a bottle of vitamins. Audrey smiled and shook Yvette’s hand, then waved goodbye and walked away.

  Rachel glared at Garett, then hurried off to join Audrey.

  Garett lingered to speak to Yvette. I couldn’t hear what he said, but her face paled. With a wink and a smile, he left the yoga instructor on the porch, jogging to catch up to the women.

  Yvette must have felt me watching her. She frowned as she tightened the belt on her long sweater, our eyes locked before she turned and went inside.

  The Open sign on the door flipped to Closed.

  Six

  (Kela)

  Kela tucked the ends of her wavy bob behind her ear, puckering her lips as she studied the lines on the old woman’s palm. It was a hand she had read many times. Clara was a regular who visited weekly, to see if her fortune had changed.

  For all her wishing, Clara’s lot never veered or revealed anything unexpected. She lived alone on a widow’s income. Her children never visited. And her schedule was so fixed you could set your smartphone by it. But Kela admired her conviction, believing that even at this late stage in the game, her fortune could be reversed.

  On each visit, Clara would point out changes in her physical appearance:

  “This mole is new, and I think it’s in the shape of Jesus.”

  “I saw a raven yesterday. And now I have a large freckle on my wrist.”

  “I think this scratch I got while clipping the rosebushes is a symbol. My dead husband loved to garden and I think he’s trying to contact me. What do you think, dear?”

  “Honestly Clara, I think it’s just a scratch.” Kela would answer truthfully. Unless there happened to be an unusually deep sadness in the woman’s eyes, especially on birthdays, Christmas, or Mother’s Day. Then, Kela might add, “But it certainly could be a message from your husband. He did love rose bushes.”

  Clara always insisted on giving Kela a crisp ten-dollar bill; Kela actually charged twenty for a reading. Most days, Kela managed to return the money to Clara’s purse as she escorted her to the front door.

  But something was different about Clara today, and Kela was deeply troubled. One of the lines on her palm had… shortened. More concerning, it was her life line. Kela had read that line so many times that she could draw it from memory. In fact, Clara had one of the longest life lines she had ever seen. It started at the left of her palm and wrapped all the way to the right, towards the back of her hand. But now, it didn’t even reach past her index finger.

  “Freaky!”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Kela rubbed Clara’s palm with her thumbs, as if she could massage the life line back to its previous length. She had been reading palms for fifteen of her twenty-five years, and had never seen this before. Did this mean Clara was not going to live to the very long life Kela had repeatedly promised? Granted, Clara was already remarkably old, but a promise was a promise.

  “Clara,” Kela asked, “how old are you now? Fifty-three?”

  “Oh, dear, you flatter me.” Clara reached into the front pocket of her starched yellow blazer and produced a striped handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes, then swatted Kela’s leg playfully. “I’ll be seventy-eight this week.” She announced proudly.

  “Is that all?”

  Clara’s cheeks managed to redden beneath the deep layer of powder, and Kela realized her faux pas. She blamed her blunt Sagittarian nature.

  “I mean, you’re so wise, Clara. It’s hard to believe you’ve come by all that wisdom in just seven-and-a-half decades.” Kela put on her brightest smile and Clara fell under her spell. Few people could resist Kela’s charms when she pointedly directed them, be they handsome young men or sweet old women.

  Clara nodded serenely and withdrew her hand, folding it in her lap. “And just think how much more wisdom I will gather over the next forty years.”

  “I said forty, huh?” Kela’s jaw slid sideways as she glanced at Clara’s sun-damaged hands. “Do you… do you have plans for those forty years? I mean, don’t you miss Harry?”

  The woman apparently hadn’t heard her; she was already searching for her money as the grandfather clock announced their session was over. She handed it over – the same ten that had been passing between them for the last two months. Kela pretended to pocket the bill while Clara reached for her cane. The woman would never ask for help standing up, and it took an uncomfortably long time, but Kela waited with a patient smile.

  “You sure you don’t need a ride home today?” Kela asked, walking her out. “I have friends who can give you a lift. They wouldn’t mind.”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m infirm,” Clara said, winking as she scooted through the door. “Remember, I’m not yet two-thirds through my life. I got my flu shot, and I’ve been taking my vitamins and some local herbs. I feel great! I’ll just catch the bus.”

  Kela watched her client limp away. How had her life line shrunk so suddenly and drastically? It was a puzzle that niggled at her all the way into the kitchen. Maybe that’s what happened when you got old? All bets were off. She didn’t think on it for long, however, as she had things to do. Baylee and Alex would return soon and she needed to act quickly.

  She pirouetted her way through the empty tea house, her bare feet hardly touching the polished hardwood as she gracefully skirted tables and chairs. She loved the restored Colonial farmhouse when it was quiet. She could feel its ancient roots, could almost hear the whispered secrets of the home’s previous occ
upants, living parallel lives in different timelines. Timelines that were quickly forgotten. But Kela never forgot. She revered the past in a way that even Baylee didn’t understand. Unlike her older cousin, she connected to real people who had once lived, not simply actors in old movies.

  Kela’s toes touched down lightly into a plié. She spun once more, and then curtsied, taking her imaginary rose. Her mother had never signed her up for ballet. It was a pity, as Kela was certain she would have dominated the stage. But there were no accidents in this universe and Kela understood that fame would have taken her away from her true calling: helping people. And not the simple fix of helping with money, either. She healed people with her intuition - and her soul.

  She made her way through the arch and into Baylee’s office. The antique shop smelled surprisingly musty, which was odd, since Baylee kept it squeaky-clean.

  “Auntie Vivi?” she called out. If her aunt’s spirit saw her, she would undoubtedly tell Baylee, who would nix her plans. But Vivi had been strangely absent the last few days, and Kela had even begun to wonder if she had finally found the light. She hoped not. Though she couldn’t communicate directly with Vivi, Kela enjoyed knowing she was around.

  The flooring inside the antique shop was a darker wood than in the café. It was also sleeker, less worn. While the antique store had thrived in the eighties and nineties, it was mostly dormant now, with only an occasional customer or drop off. Of course, Baylee did nothing to advertise, but Kela wasn’t about to tread on her cousin’s toes when it came to business.

  The musty smell seemed to have lifted, or maybe she had just acclimated to it. Now she was dizzied by the heady scent of leather. It permeated the air, coming from Baylee’s plush new office chair, and from the covers of the many old book lining the shelves. The scent evoked visions of wealth and riddles and achievement. Kela imagined herself with her hair done up in a bun, a pencil behind her ear and reading glasses on her nose, psychoanalyzing the citizens of Reed Hollow. Only one more year of community college, then two at RHU, and then her master’s program and an internship. Or she could just get her life coach certification online. Life coaches had leather couches, but they got to use them about three years sooner.

  Kela sank into Baylee’s chair and spun it around, just to feel the air tickle her cheeks. Suitably dizzy, she turned on the computer and continued her project. Baylee’s dating profile was nearly complete, but there were a few more tweaks she wanted to make. She had it on good authority that the Switching Hour would happen that very afternoon.

  The problem, as Kela saw it, was that she could make her cousin look great online, but meeting Baylee in the real world was another matter. Baylee was classically pretty, but she certainly had her quirks – gloves, scarves, brooches. And ick! Pantyhose! She even wore them in the summer! A few men – the marrying kind – might find all that endearing, but not the fun ones.

  Kela would need to get creative. She’d have to tell the truth about her cousin, but somehow make her much more interesting.

  “Let’s see, hobbies…”

  No one was going to bite if Kela put movies without color and pining after my dead husband. After a few thoughtful moments, she typed: hiking and darts. It wasn’t a super-stretch. Baylee did maintain a compost pile way out towards the end of the garden, and once she had successfully launched a spatula across the room, knocking a scone from Alex’s hand before he tried to put it up for sale.

  Loves: Travel. Rock and Roll. Fun!

  “I mean, who doesn’t love those things! Okay, last question. Describe your dating philosophy.”

  I’m an adventurous spirit who has traveled the world. I’m seeking someone to share in my many adventures. You should be handsome, charming, and not afraid of the dark. College men encouraged to wink.

  Kela looked over the profile, deciding it was as perfect as it could get, considering the material she was working with. She hit the Accept Free Trial button and clasped her hands together. Voila! Soon, her cousin would be dripping in dates, and maybe her mood would improve.

  As she was about to exit the website, Switch interrupted the task, asking if she wanted to see local singles who were available Right Now. Kela didn’t need any help getting dates herself, but she was curious. And she did have some free time. Unlike Baylee, she wasn’t afraid to take risks now and then.

  “Why yes, thank you,” Kela said as she tapped Accept.

  Before she could blink, forty men of various ages, sizes, and facial hair arrangements grinned out from her monitor. She rapidly cycled through them, realizing she knew most of them. A few of their wives might be surprised to find out they were here. “Billy Barber, you dog. You’d better hope Grace doesn’t catch wind of this.”

  If Grace did find out, it wouldn’t be from Kela. She had outed more than one straying man before, only to have her own morals called into question. No, Grace would have to find out about Billy all on her own.

  She shut down the computer and left the room, feeling both excited for Baylee and downhearted about the number of lonely hearts in Reed Hollow. Though she had little experience with romantic heartbreak herself, she had lost her parents young and understood how easily one could feel disconnected, even in a crowded world. What the world needed most of all was – love.

  Going through the café and into the kitchen, she noticed five pies on the counter –made for mayor’s birthday party. Grabbing a fork, she tasted the chocolate silk crème, and nearly spit it out. Had Alex forgotten that cocoa powder by itself was disgusting? Ugh! Perhaps it was better these pies had never made it out into the public.

  The front door flew open and Kela heard the angry click of hard boots on the smooth wood. Leaving the kitchen, she found a red-faced woman glaring at her from the solarium.

  “Can I help you?” Kela asked, donning her most winning smile. The customer seemed like a tiger, ready to pounce.

  The woman reached into a shopping bag and drew out an antique silver box adorned with elaborate etchings. She thrust it onto the nearest table, and popped open the latch.

  “Thieves!” The woman accused, wriggling her finger near Kela’s chin. “You may think it’s funny to steal from others, but I don’t. You had better explain or else I’m calling the police.”

  Seven

  (Baylee)

  Opening the door to The Aunt-Tea-Query, I was ready to give my cousin a stern lecture. I had okayed a dating profile, but I had not okayed actual dates! She could have at least given me a warning.

  I marched inside, fists clenched, only to find Kela already engaged in a dispute. An antique shop customer was waving her arms and wagging her finger in Kela’s face. Kela stood motionless, until the woman’s finger got too close to her nose, at which point, she pushed the woman’s hand away.

  “Don’t you touch me! I’ll sue!” shouted the woman.

  I dropped my purse on the nearest table and raced into the solarium. Kela was sweet, until she wasn’t. When her storm doors were thrown open, it was anyone’s guess what would happen.

  “What’s going on here?” I demanded.

  “She’s calling us thieves,” Kela said.

  “Well, you are!” the woman retorted.

  I recognized her as a customer, but I couldn’t remember her name. She had one of those unremarkable faces that could only be described as plain. Her hair was unruly from the wind, and the fire in her eyes gave her the appearance of a perturbed porcupine.

  I racked my brain to remember who she was. It was ironic that I could read other people’s memories, yet my own failed me so often.

  Yolanda Darcy. That was it. She had come in a week ago looking for a gift.

  “Now, Yolanda,” I said, gently.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” the woman corrected me.

  “Mrs. Darcy. We’re not thieves. Our business has a stellar reputation in this town. You knew my mother, she was an honest woman and she passed her values down to us. Please tell me what is wrong.”

  “Do you remember the combs you sold me
?”

  “Yes…” I answered carefully. Mrs. Darcy had come for tea and had wandered into the antique store. She took a liking to a set of Edwardian hair combs. If I recalled correctly, I’d given her a very good deal. “Was there something wrong with your purchase? I believe I informed you that antiques are sold ‘as is.’ You can’t expect like-new quality from something a century old.”

  “Yes, there’s something wrong.” Mrs. Darcy scowled back at me, tapping the box with one of her fingers. “One of the combs is missing.”

  “Pardon?”

  She opened the case and I looked inside. There were only five combs, all set into the black velvet lining, yet I had sold her six. I immediately knew which comb was missing. It was a lovely piece adorned with small jade stones that I had discovered wedged between two books, probably a carryover from when my untidy Mother ran the shop. It had been filthy and covered in layers of gunk, but after I polished it up, I thought it was so exquisite I considered keeping it myself. But we needed the money and the combs would only sell as part of a set.

  “I saw the way you ogled the comb! Your family has a reputation in this town for hocus-pocus. I’ll bet you or your kooky brother used magick to steal it back!”

  My hackles were fully raised now. Patient Baylee was done for the day. “Mrs. Darcy, leave my family out of this or our conversation is over and you’ll have to take this up in court. Do you understand?”

  This seemed to catch the woman off guard. She closed the case, thrusting it into her bag. “I just call it like I see it,” she said, though her voice had softened a note.

  “Now take a deep breath. Remember, it was there when I sold it to you. We even gift-wrapped the box because you said it was for your grandmother’s birthday.”

  “It was! And that’s why I didn’t know it was missing until today. My poor sick Gram opened it, and there were only five combs inside! I want a full refund.”

  “That’s a strong accusation.” For all I knew, she could have lost the comb or taken it herself, declaring fraud and demanding her money back. It wouldn’t be the first time a customer had tried something like that.