by J. B. Lynn
Rupert chuckled. “Is that all?”
She halted, put her hands on her hips, and gave him a hard look. “Is that all?”
“It’s sad that your godmother died,” Rupert agreed. “But you’ll figure out what to do with the shop, your sister has bigger problems than her wheelchair, and you’re not seeing things. I’m right here.”
Realizing it probably looked like she was standing there talking to herself, Amanda began to walk again, this time more slowly.
“You can’t be.”
“But I am.”
“If I can see you,” Amanda asked, tears choking her. “Why can’t I see Letty?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rupert said.
“And?”
“Maybe ghosts are tied to where they died, geographically, I mean,”
“So if I want to see Letty, I should go to the hospital?”
Rupert shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume that if somebody like you were to go to the hospital—”
“What do you mean, somebody like me?” Amanda asked indignantly.
“Someone who can see ghosts. It would track that if you go to a hospital, a place where lots of people died, you’ll be inundated.”
“Oh,” Amanda said quietly. The suggestion actually made a lot of sense.
“Or maybe she’s moved on,” Rupert suggested. “Maybe she died at peace, and you and your sisters fulfilled her last wishes.”
“Moved on,” Amanda mused allowed. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him suspiciously. “Am I supposed to help you move on?”
Rupert shrugged. “I kind of doubt it; I don’t feel that my business here is done yet.”
“And what business is that?” Amanda asked.
He shook his head. “You’ve got company.”
Amanda looked around and found Detective Tom Keller striding toward her. “Good morning, Ms. Concordia.”
“Good morning, Detective. Here to rifle through our belongings some more?”
He winced. “No, I’m just here to get coffee and a muffin. Have you had breakfast? Can I buy you some?”
Amanda shook her head.
The detective tilted his head to the side and studied her. “Was that a no, you haven’t had breakfast? Or a no, I can’t buy you breakfast?”
“Both.” She bit her lower lip, ignoring the way she found his questions oddly endearing.
“Look,” he said tiredly. “I understand that we didn’t get off on the best foot possible, but I was just doing my job. And—”
“You’ve told me multiple times you were doing your job,” Amanda said snippily.
“Because I was. But just because we got off on the wrong foot, doesn’t mean we have to continue that way,” the detective said hurriedly. “We’re going to end up seeing a lot of each other.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I eat at Piper’s place five days a week.”
“I’ll make it a point to avoid it then,” Amanda told him dryly.
He winced again.
“You shouldn’t make an enemy of him,” Rupert coached from behind him.
The detective didn’t hear him, of course, but Rupert’s statement got Amanda’s attention. “Why not?”
“Why not?” Detective Keller repeated, confused.
“You might need him to help you clear your aunt’s name,” Rupert said.
Knowing that it wouldn’t look good for her to answer him with the detective standing right there, she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to silently signal that she needed more information.
“Trust me,” Rupert said. “You’re going to need that help.”
24
Beatrice was alone in the store, Greta having run out because one of her kids was sick.
She took advantage of the freedom to paw through the electronics on a table near the rear of the store, hoping to find a camera that could read the memory card. “So many waffle makers,” she muttered aloud.
“So many waffling people,” Pim piped up.
Bea took the sheep out of her pocket so that she could look at him while they talked. “Who’s waffling?”
“You,” the toy accused. “You need to stand up for yourself with your sisters.”
“I’m in a wheelchair,” she reminded him dryly.
“You know what I mean. They may have bossed you around when you were a kid, but you need to show them you’re not that anymore.”
Bea nodded. She knew he was right, but sometimes it was easier to fall into old patterns of acquiescence than to have a fight.
“Don’t yes me to death and then not follow through,” Pim warned.
The bell jangled and a strange person walked through the door.
Bea shoved Pim back into her pocket.
She looked at the person, unsure if it was a man or a woman. Long shaggy hair hid their face, and they were dressed in a baggy camouflage coat, which was disconcerting, considering everyone else in town was decked out in sandals and shorts.
“Can I help you?” She tried to keep the nervousness out of her voice, but she was well aware of how vulnerable she was being the only one in the shop, and unable to protect herself.
The person shuffled forward and set a black backpack, with an incongruous hot pink and turquoise tassle zipper pull, down on the floor.
Beatrice fought the urge to reach for her cellphone.
There was no way she could get it out, and dial 911, and have someone arrive to save her.
“I’m sorry about Letty,” the person whispered.
“Thank you, did you know her?” Beatrice sat up a little straighter in her chair, wondering why this person was here and what they wanted.
“She was very kind to me.” A hand, with dirty fingernails, brushed the hair off the face of a young woman, who might still have been a teenager. It was hard to tell, since the circles under her eyes made her look like she’d lived a hard life.
“Letty was kind to everyone,” Bea told her. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Rena,” she said with a shy smile.
“Bea. Letty was my godmother,” she replied.
“Sometimes I would bring stuff in that I’d found. I didn’t steal it,” the girl said hurriedly. “And Letty would pay me for it.”
“So, you were a consigner?”
The girl shrugged and shook her head slightly. “I didn’t have to wait for it to be sold for her to give me the money,” she said hesitantly.
Before Beatrice could ask her more, the bell jangled over the door and a woman with fake hair, a fake tan, a fake nose, and fake boobs marched in.
Beatrice immediately didn’t like her. “Hello. Can I help you?”
“I want my bag back,” the woman said.
Rena skittered out of the way, pretending to look through a rack at the back of the shop, but Beatrice could tell she was watching the exchange carefully.
“Are you a consigner?” Beatrice asked with a tight smile, wondering how many times she would ask that particular question today.
“I’m a victim,” the woman announced.
Beatrice tilted her head, remembering what Letty always said, “If you revel in your victimhood, you’re the cause of your own problems.” The memory made Bea smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not understanding you.”
“Letty Gould stole my purse,” the woman accused.
“Oh, you’re the Axelrod woman,” Beatrice deduced.
“Amber Axelrod.” The woman nodded. “I want my purse back.”
“It’s not here,” Beatrice lied smoothly. She made sure not to glance in the direction of the denim bag that housed the stolen purse.
“I saw her flaunting my stolen Maggie by Tucci purse on that Helping the Homeless segment on the news.”
Bea bit her tongue to keep from blurting out it was a Moochie, not a Tucci. There was no reason to antagonize the woman.
“I reported it to the police,” Amber added.
“And they searched for it,” Beatrice said with a tight smil
e. “They didn’t find it.”
At least that part was the truth.
“If I don’t get it back, I’m going to drag your mother’s name through the mud,” the woman threatened.
Beatrice felt her smile begin to crack. “Letty was my godmother, and she wasn’t a thief.”
The woman stepped toward her. Beatrice reached for the brake on her wheelchair so she could slide herself back, not that there was much room to escape.
“She was a junk dealer.”
If Beatrice hadn’t been confined to the wheelchair, she’s pretty sure she would have slapped the woman’s face for saying something so terrible about her beloved godmother.
She closed her eyes, remembering Letty’s favorite quote from Othello that she used often when Bea had gotten caught shoplifting. “But he that filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor indeed.”
She’d let Letty down too many times in the past. She wasn’t going to do it again. She forced herself to take a steadying breath. “I think you should leave,” Beatrice said. “Otherwise, I’ll be the one to call the cops.”
As if on cue, Detective Tom Keller strolled through the door.
The woman rounded on him, her voice screeching up another octave. “Why haven’t you found my purse?”
Poor Keller looked shocked by the assault. But he managed to not back away.
“That bag is worth more than your salary,” the woman attacked, shaking a finger at him.
“No,” Beatrice piped up, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “The bag that you say was stolen, was a Tucci knock-off.”
“Excuse me?” she shrieked.
“It was fake,” Beatrice said with conviction. “Kind of like you.”
She heard Rena chuckle in the background.
“Way to win over friends and influence people,” Pim chided.
She ignored him. She was incensed that Amber Axelrod had insulted her godmother’s memory. Maybe she thought she was hot stuff in this town, but Beatrice had dealt with people with a lot more money and power than her. She wasn’t cowed, even though she was stuck in a wheelchair. “Like I said,” Beatrice continued, “I’d like you to leave my shop now.”
Amber Axelrod looked from Beatrice to Detective Keller. “I’m going to contact my lawyers,” she said.
“Go for it,” Beatrice invited. “But first, get the hell out.”
Outraged, Amber flounced out of the store.
Beatrice slumped in her chair, exhausted by the altercation.
“I was going to warn you that she might come by,” Detective Keller said. “I’m sorry she got here first.”
“I’m surprised she got out of bed that early,” Beatrice quipped. “She seems the high maintenance type. Or maybe she’s just the high price tag type.”
It was the detective’s turn to chuckle. He turned his attention to Rena. “Buy you a cup of coffee?”
Rena shook her head. “Piper already gave me one.”
He nodded and pointed at her. “I’ll see you soon.”
Rena nodded.
25
After the detective left the store, Rena looked at Beatrice and asked, “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
Bea shrugged. What she needed was answers, and she doubted the young girl had them.
Rena glanced around the store to make sure they were alone, and then scuffed the floor with her shoe, saying, “Letty let me get my mail here.”
Beatrice nodded, noticing that the girl’s sneaker had a hole near the big toe.
Remembering what had been said about a news report, she guessed, “You’re homeless?”
The girl looked away and jerked her chin in the affirmative.
“Do you know where Letty kept the mail?” Beatrice asked.
Rena shook her head.
She gestured at herself, injuries and all. “I haven’t been up to the living quarters. It might be up there. If you can wait a couple of minutes, I’m sure one of my sisters will be back and they can check for you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Beatrice wondered why the girl was homeless and felt a twinge, knowing that because of her own choices in life she’d come pretty close to that herself.
“I found this.” Rena reached into her backpack and pulled something out. She stepped closer to Beatrice and held it so that she could see.
Beatrice reached out to take it from her. Their fingers brushed and for a split second Beatrice saw a vision that upset her. A blonde woman with an old-fashioned beehive hairdo, red-faced and furious, screaming.
As soon as her contact with Rena was broken, the vision dissipated, but the throbbing pain in her head was back.
Shaken, she focused on the object in her hand, rather than look at the girl. It was a toy car.
“Like I told you,” Rena said. “Letty used to just pay me for things if they were of any value.”
“Sure,” Beatrice said. “We can put this up for sale in the store. I just have to get the paperwork.” She began to roll her chair toward where the paperwork was stored.
“You don’t understand,” Ren said, a note of desperation weaving through her tone. “Letty used to give me the money straight out, and then she’d try to sell it.”
Beatrice considered that for a moment. No doubt her godmother, sensing the young girl’s precarious position in life, had wanted to do what she could to help her out.
“Maybe three dollars?” Rena suggested.
Beatrice looked down at the car and examined it for a moment. “No.”
She looked up to see that the girl’s face had fallen.
“It’s worth more than you think,” Beatrice hurried to explain. “It’s a collectable. I could probably sell it in the shop for about fifty dollars, and online for even more. So how about I give you twenty for it?”
Rena looked up, surprised. “Really?”
Beatrice nodded. “But only if you find yourself a pair of shoes over in that basket.” She pointed to the basket of shoes in the rear of the shop she’d gone through herself yesterday.
“I don’t need new shoes,” Rena said defensively.
“I don’t think you understood,” Beatrice said. “I meant, take the shoes in addition to the money.”
Rena looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”
Beatrice offered her a smile. “It’s good business. You obviously have an eye for finding quality stuff.” She waved the car. “I want to get our relationship off on the right foot.”
Rena chuckled. “Off on the right foot, like with shoes.”
For the first time since her accident, Beatrice let out a belly laugh. “Oh, that’s horrible,” she wheezed. “Too punny.”
Rena chuckled and moved toward the basket of shoes.
The bell over the door jangled, and Winnie walked back in. She looked curious about the big smile that still stretched across Beatrice’s face.
“This is Rena,” Beatrice said as way of introduction. “She gets her mail here, but I told her that since I hadn’t been upstairs, I didn’t know where it might be.”
Winnie looked from her sister to the young girl, and smiled.
“Sure, it’s upstairs. I’ll go get it for you.”
She exchanged a look with Beatrice as she headed for the stairs, asking what was going on. Beatrice shrugged in response. It wasn’t like she could tell her sister that Letty had played fairy godmother to the homeless girl.
“I’m sorry about Letty,” Rena murmured as she rummaged through the box of shoes. “She was very kind.”
“She was,” Beatrice agreed.
“Unless somebody pissed her off,” the girl remarked. She pulled out a pair of sandals and examined them.
“Was there someone around here that did that?” Beatrice asked curiously, remembering how unhappy Letty had seemed in her vision at Red Bug Slough.
Rena nodded, kicking off her old shoes and trying on the new ones. “She had problems with a couple of people around here. She did
n’t like Matt, the guy who owns the bakery.” She admired the shoes on her feet. “But, to be fair, nobody likes him. And also, the landlord. She really disliked him.”
Beatrice nodded, digesting the information. “Do you happen to know why she was at Red Bug Slough the day of her accident?” she asked hopefully.
Rena shook her head. “I don’t, I’m sorry.”
Winnie clattered back down the stairs and held out a single envelope. “This is all I could find for you,” she said, holding out the paper to Rena.
Rena snatched it up greedily, her eyes scanning the return address.
Beatrice could see her disappointment and the tears that filled her eyes.
Rena turned away from the sisters, and Winnie made a pained expression at Beatrice, indicating that whatever the girl was seeing wasn’t good.
“Winnie,” Beatrice said, trying to salvage the mood. “We owe Rena twenty dollars. Can you get it for her out of the cash register?”
For a moment, she thought that Winnie was going to argue, but then she just nodded and moved over to get the cash.
“And that Axelrod woman who was just here,” Rena added as an afterthought. “Letty really didn’t like her. I saw them arguing on the sidewalk one day.”
26
After Rena had been paid and left the store, Winnie gave Beatrice an enquiring look. “What was that all about?”
“She’s homeless,” Beatrice explained. “I get the impression that Letty looked out for her.”
“Letty was always taking in strays,” Winnie said with fondness.
“Did you hear what she said?” Bea asked excitedly. “She said that Letty didn’t like the Axelrod woman. That means, Letty knew the person who accused her of being a thief.”
Winnie raised her eyebrows, indicating she wasn’t impressed by the latest revelation. She looked around the shop. “What happened to Greta?”
“One of her kids got sick, the school called, so she ran out.”
“Is she coming back?”
Beatrice shrugged. “Probably not.”
Winnie sighed. “It’s not a good idea for you to be here in the shop alone.”