One Woman's Junk

by J. B. Lynn

  37

  Leaving Winnie and Beatrice behind her, Amanda stepped into One Woman’s Junk and inhaled the scents of orange and cinnamon, and was comforted by it.

  “I told you, you should try and stay on the cop’s good side,” Rupert said.

  Looking around, she saw that he was lying on top of a collection of waffle makers. It looked uncomfortable, but he seemed to be totally at ease, like he was soaking up rays at the beach.

  “You saw that?” Amanda asked.

  He nodded.

  Amanda shook her head. “Nothing is going smoothly.”

  “Death is rarely smooth,” Rupert said. “Trust me, I’m speaking from personal experience.”

  Amanda squinted at him. “Do you think Beatrice is right? Do you think something bad happened to Letty?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Do you think Rena is a thief?” Amanda asked, busying herself with straightening the paperwork around the cash register.

  “No.” Rupert shook his head emphatically. “She’s a good kid. I watch over her sometimes.”

  “Can she see you?” Amanda asked curiously.

  “No, she can’t see me. She can’t even sense me,” Rupert said. “She also can’t sense the ghost that’s haunting her.”

  Amanda looked at him sharply. “She’s haunted?”

  Rupert nodded. “Did you think I’m the only ghost in the neighborhood?”

  “Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought,” Amanda admitted. “Once you said that Letty isn’t around…” She trailed off.

  Rupert frowned. “Yeah, well, Rena is haunted.”

  “Who haunts her?” Amanda asked curiously.

  Rupert shook his head. “Long before the bakery was a bakery, the bakery was a bar. Good things never happen at bars.”

  Amanda nodded as she understood what that meant.

  “The story I heard,” Rupert said, “and remember that this isn’t me speaking from firsthand knowledge, it’s just a rumor, was that there was a hurricane party held at the bar.”

  “What’s a hurricane party?”

  “It’s when idiots get together in a public place to get drunk while a hurricane is bearing down on their location,” Rupert said with disdain.

  “Is that a real thing?” Amanda asked disbelievingly.

  Rupert nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Hurricane parties are a pretty big deal, people get pretty drunk.”

  “Something I never encountered in upstate New York,” Amanda murmured. “We just stock up on enough milk, bread and junk food to feed an army when they predict a blizzard.”

  “Anyway,” Rupert continued, warming to his story. “This woman, Chicky, had a fight with somebody at this party, nobody seems to know what started it, but the next morning, once the storm had passed, Chicky’s body was found outside. No one seems to know if she died of natural causes, because of her own stupidity, or if someone did her in, using the cover of the storm so they wouldn’t get caught.”

  “So why is she haunting Rena?” Amanda asked.

  Rupert shrugged. “Maybe she’s bored. Maybe she reminds her of whoever she had that fight with that hurricane night. I don’t know. But I know when Rena sleeps on the street, Chicky tortures her.”

  “Tortures her how?” Amanda asked.

  “She can’t really physically hurt her,” Rupert explained. “But she can scare her, whisper things in her ear while she’s sleeping that cause her nightmares, that kind of thing,”

  “You can do that, too?” Amanda asked.

  Rupert shrugged. “I guess so, but I wouldn’t.” He seemed insulted that she even asked the question. “Harmony might know,” he added. “She seems to have a unique base of knowledge.”

  “But you said she can’t see you,” Amanda reminded him.

  “Yes, but she can always sense me, and she sensed the powers that you and your sisters have.”

  “I wouldn’t call them powers,” Amanda said.

  “Gifts, then.”

  She shook her head. “Believe it or not, talking to you is not a gift.”

  He feigned being insulted. “I’m hurt. You’d miss me if I was gone.”

  “I still think I’m supposed to help you be gone,” she said.

  “You’ve watched too much TV,” he admonished. “Only I can solve my own problems.”

  “And what would they be?” Amanda asked with genuine curiosity.

  Before he could answer, the bell over the door jangled.

  38

  Winnie held the door to One Woman’s Junk open as the man, carrying the cardboard box, waited for Beatrice to roll herself through the doorway. She did so, wincing, as the pressure on her wounded hand ached.

  She saw Amanda’s wide-eyed look as she took in the character coming in behind her, and flashed her a reassuring smile.

  The man followed Beatrice inside, and Winnie brought up the rear. The dog ran up to the man and barked excitedly as though happy to meet him.

  “Oh, hey there, doggy,” the man said. “What’s your name?”

  “We don’t have a name for him yet,” Beatrice said. “We keep trying things out, but nothing seems to stick.

  “It’s been my observation,” the man said, putting the box down on the counter by the cash register, “that here in Florida, where the majority of the dogs are small yippy creatures, that their owners, who spoil them rotten, tend to give them the names of food.”

  “Food?” Beatrice asked.

  “Yes,” the man said, adjusting his spectacles. “Things like Cocoa, or Sugar, or Cupcake.”

  The dog didn’t seem to respond to any of the names that he said.

  “Kumquat? Peanut?” the man continued hopefully.

  “Or Cheese,” Amanda said. “Brie? Cheddar? Havarti?”

  They all turned and gave her an incredulous look.

  The dog turned his back on her.

  “You can’t name a dog Cheese,” Winnie reprimanded.

  Amanda shrugged. “I like Cheese better than those other things.”

  “Coffee!” Beatrice suggested. “I like coffee better than those things.”

  Again, the dog seemed unimpressed.

  The man shook his head. “But this dog, this scruffy mutt, this smudge of DNA, is not a pure breed, so probably doesn’t deserve such a sweet clean name.”

  Beatrice gave him a hard look, unsure whether he had just insulted their dog.

  The man reached into the box and pulled out three roses. One white, one red, one pink.

  He handed the red one to Amanda, the pink one to Winnie, and the white one to Beatrice. They all stared at him, confused. “I would like to convey my deepest condolences on the loss of Letty.”

  “Thank you,” Winnie said.

  “Perhaps we should pray for her,” the man said. So saying, he closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and bowed his head.

  The sisters all looked at each other, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “Dearest Letty,” the man began, “a woman of inimitable character.”

  The bell over the door jangled, interrupting him as someone else walked into the shop.

  “Maybe Letty propped open the door with Angus because she hated that bell,” Bea muttered through gritted teeth.

  The sisters all looked to see Piper strolling in.

  “May your spirit bless us always,” the man continued, unfazed. “You were a special person on Earth, and you’ll be a special person in heaven.”

  Beatrice fought the urge to giggle. Not that the man had said anything inaccurate about her godmother, but it seemed a little strange to be holding a remembrance service for her in the middle of the shop.

  Piper watched the whole exchange with amusement dancing in her eyes.

  “Also,” the man said, dropping his hands and raising his eyes. “I want you to know I made a donation with Letty’s name on it to the Ringling Art Museum, earlier in the week.”

  “That was very kind of
you,” Winnie said. “I’m sure she would have appreciated the gesture.”

  The man nodded. “And now,” he said in a voice that took on the characteristics of a self-important auctioneer. “Let me introduce myself, I’m Peabody.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Peabody,” Amanda said.

  “No. Just Peabody.” He fanned his fingers through the air as though he was spreading his name across a marquee in bright lights. “Peabody.”

  Piper covered her mouth and held back laughter.

  “What can we do for you, Peabody?” Winnie asked.

  Not for the first time, Beatrice felt herself grateful for her middle sister’s poise in the face of insanity.

  “It’s not what you can do for me, it’s what I can do for you,” Peabody announced dramatically.

  The Concordia sisters looked at each other. They were all on the verge of bursting into laughter.

  “I come bearing unique treasures.”

  “Unique treasures?” Amanda asked weakly, leaning against the shelf that held the cash register.

  “Why yes,” Peabody said. “Perhaps you’ve noticed some of my other finds dotting the shop. The toilet brush holder made of beer bottle caps? The peg leg converted into an umbrella stand? And, of course, Angus.” He pointed at the Loch Ness ashtray.

  “And today I bring new treasure,” Peabody told them. Reaching into the box like a magician reaching into his hat, he pulled out, not a white rabbit, but a rubber lizard. “I present Sam, the singing salamander.” Peabody shook the rubber lizard violently, and sure enough, it began to sing in a tinny voice.

  “Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey.”

  At this point, Beatrice gave up and just began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, and once she started, her sisters joined her, and once they started, Piper gave up the fight, too.

  Instead of being insulted, Peabody beamed. “Isn’t it fabulous?”

  After a moment, the sisters and Piper got themselves under control.

  Beatrice wiped away the tears that had sprung while she had been laughing so hard and prepared herself for whatever the next unique treasure was that Peabody was about to pull from his box.

  He pulled out a metal jar with a lid. The word LUCKY was etched into it. “Check out this unique party cocktail shaker.” He shook it to the right and then the left, doing a bit of a Cha Cha, pretending he was mixing martinis.

  Beatrice held out her hands, wanting to see it.

  He handed it over to her.

  “It’s a party in a jar,” he told her.

  She examined it for a moment. “It’s an urn.”

  “A what?” Amanda asked in a horrified tone.

  “It’s an urn,” Beatrice declared. “You know, for ashes.”

  “Ashes of dead people?” Winnie gasped, as horrified as her older sister.

  “I’m guessing there was no person named Lucky,” Beatrice said. “It’s probably for a pet.”

  She turned her attention to the dog, who was sitting on the floor watching the entire exchange. “Do you like Lucky as a name?”

  The dog growled.

  Piper burst into laughter again.

  “Letty always had an eye for quality, too,” Peabody said, undeterred from his salesmanship. “Obviously, you know quality goods when they’re delivered.”

  “It’s an urn,” Amanda repeated.

  “Why once,” Peabody continued as though he hadn’t heard her, “I had this AA painting that I was just ready to sell to her and she—”

  “AA, as in, Alcoholics Anonymous?” Winnie asked.

  “No,” Peabody said, like that was something ridiculous, whereas a singing salamander and an urn for a pet’s ashes weren’t quite so ridiculous. “Alexander something with an A,” Peabody continued. “Anyway, I brought in this picture and she refused to take it. She made me go down to one of those art dealers downtown to have it appraised. It was an inexplicably whimsical painting of paintings and butterflies. You know what I mean?”

  Bea swallowed a chuckle as Winnie just nodded in agreement. It was obvious that she had no idea what he was talking about, but was too overwhelmed to protest.

  “That guy bought it from me for two hundred dollars,” Peabody crowed. “I would have let Letty have it for twenty.”

  “How much for the singing salamander?” Piper asked.

  The Concordia sisters all burst into laughter again.

  39

  The sisters’ hysterical laughter at Peabody’s escapades seemed to have dissipated the tension between them, and they worked well together for the next couple of hours.

  Beatrice spent most of her time sorting through the merchandise. She loved Letty, but she hadn’t had the slightest idea of what was really valuable. Some pieces she had marked too low, others too high, and still others Beatrice was pretty sure she could get more for on eBay.

  While she did that, Amanda charmed the customers who walked in. She had a way about her that made everyone feel at ease right away. And Winnie worked the cash register while alternating sketching madly on her drawing pad and typing away furiously on her laptop. Beatrice didn’t know if she was working on something regarding the store, or her own business, but her sister scowled a lot at both the paper and the screen.

  Finally, after the morning rush was over, Winnie disappeared upstairs, saying she wanted to work on some of the paperwork at Letty’s desk in the apartment.

  Beatrice noticed that Amanda kept glancing over at the bookshelf. “Is the ghost here?” Beatrice asked.

  Startled by the question, Amanda almost jumped out of her skin. “Yes.”

  “Does he know what happened to Letty?” Beatrice asked.

  Amanda shook her head. “I already asked him that. He doesn’t know.”

  “And she isn’t here?” Beatrice asked.

  Amanda shook her head.

  Bea sighed, disappointed. “You’d think she’d want to look after us.”

  “Rupert thinks that ghosts are tied to where they died geographically,” Amanda told her. “Maybe I should go back to the hospital and see if I can find her there.”

  Beatrice absorbed that for a moment. “Your ghost’s name is Rupert?”

  “He’s not my ghost. He’s a ghost.” Amanda glanced nervously in the direction of the ghost and then nodded in the affirmative. “Don’t insult him,” Amanda cautioned.

  Beatrice looked to the bookshelf. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “He says that Rena is haunted,” Amanda revealed.

  “By an angry blonde woman with a beehive hairdo?” Beatrice asked.

  Amanda looked to the ghost and then blinked, surprised. She turned her attention back to Beatrice. “How did you know that?”

  “Rena brought in a toy car and when I held it last night, I got a vision of her being threatened.”

  Amanda looked unimpressed.

  “That’s why I went out last night, I had to go find her. She was in danger.”

  Amanda looked from her sister to the ghost and seemed to listen for a moment. “Rupert says you did the right thing,” Amanda said. “He said that the ghost has never followed her in here.”

  Beatrice felt a warm glow of pride fill her when she realized she’d been able to use her power for good.

  “Why not?” Amanda asked the ghost.

  After a beat, she turned to Beatrice, “He thinks that something about Letty protected her.”

  “Like the crystals?” Beatrice asked, tapping her ring.

  “He doesn’t know,” she admitted. Then, she suddenly asked, “Don’t you find all of this really strange? I mean, I’m conversing with a ghost and you’re treating it like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “Certain objects talk to me. They always have, for my entire life. Nobody ever believed me, and most of the time I just ignore it, but they do.” Her shoulders relaxed as she spoke her truth. It was a relief to accept a part of herself that she’d always disavowed. It was unsettling to
make the admission to her sister, but she knew she was making the right choice.

  Amanda squinted at her.

  Bea sucked in a breath, wondering if Amanda would voice doubts about what she’d shared. She desperately wanted to be believed.

  “What objects?” Amanda asked curiously.

  Beatrice dug in her pocket and pulled out the black sheep. “This.”

  “What is it?”

  “Some sort of kid’s toy, I think.”

  “I am the great and mighty Pim. I am more than a child’s plaything,” Pim declared angrily. “I am a trusted confidant.”

  “He says to tell you he’s my trusted confidant,” Beatrice said dryly.

  “He talks?”

  Beatrice nodded. “So far, he’s the only item that speaks clearly to me.”

  Amanda squinted at the black sheep. “He looks like someone teethed on his face.”

  “One did,” Pim admitted with revulsion.

  “So, are you saying,” Amanda said slowly, “that all those times you stole things as a kid, it’s because they were talking to you?”

  Beatrice nodded, fighting back the shame she felt at her previous actions. “I mean, they weren’t as clear as they are now. I can understand everything that he says.” She held up the sheep for emphasis. “Before, it was more just feelings.”

  Amanda nodded slowly as though she was trying to wrap her mind around things. “Tell me about this vision you had about Letty.”

  Beatrice looked at her for a long moment. “It’s not pleasant.”

  Amanda shrugged. “Sometimes the truth isn’t pleasant. That doesn’t mean it isn’t necessary.”

  Beatrice described the scene at Red Bug Slough as quickly and completely as she could.

  When she was done, Amanda was frowning. “Maybe I should go there and see for myself,” she said.

  “But not by yourself,” Beatrice warned.

  40

  The bell over the door jangled, and Ash Costin strolled in, an easy smile deepening the lines around his eyes. He held some loosely rolled-up papers at his side.