by Gayle Leeson
I made a mental note to tell Grandpa Dave my little joke. As you’ve probably guessed, I didn’t have a lot of friends. Not that I wasn’t a friendly person. I had a lot of acquaintances. It was just hard for me to get close to people. I wasn’t the type to tell my deepest, darkest secrets to someone I hadn’t known...well, all my life.
The brawny book man’s name was Ford. I’d have been truly delighted had it been Harley, but had you been expecting me to say his name was Fitzgerald or Melville, please see the aforementioned joke about books and covers. He was friendly and invited me to come around and look at his collection anytime. I promised I’d do so after I got settled in.
Then it was downstairs to meet the rest of the shop owners. The first shop on the left when you came in the door—the shop directly across the hall from mine—was Delightful Home. The proprietress was Connie, who preferred a hug over a handshake.
“Aren’t you lovely?” Connie asked.
I did not say I doubt it, which was the first thought that popped into my brain, but I did thank her for the compliment. Connie was herself the embodiment of lovely. She had long, honey blonde hair that she wore in a single braid. Large silver hoops adorned her ears, and she had skinny silver bracelets stacked up each arm. She wore an embroidered red tunic that fell to her thighs, black leggings, and Birkenstocks. But the thing that made her truly lovely wasn’t so much her looks but the way she appeared to boldly embrace life. I mean, the instant we met, she embraced me. Her shop smelled of cinnamon and something else...sage, maybe.
“Melba, that blue is definitely your color,” Connie said. “By the way, did that sinus blend help you?”
“It did!” Mrs. Meacham turned to me. “Connie has the most wonderful products, not the least of which are her essential oils.”
I could see that Connie had an assortment of candles, soaps, lotions, oils, and tea blends. I was curious to see what all she did have, but that would have to wait.
“I’m here to help you in any way I possibly can,” said Connie, with a warm smile. “Anything you need, just let me know. We’re neighbors now.”
Mrs. Meacham took me to meet the last of my “neighbors,” Mr. and Mrs. Peterman.
“Call us Ella and Frank,” Ella insisted. She was petite with salt-and-pepper hair styled in a pixie cut.
Frank was average height, had a slight paunch, a bulbous nose, and bushy brown hair. He didn’t say much.
Ella and Frank had a paper shop. They designed their own greeting cards and stationery, and they sold specialty and novelty items that would appeal to their clientele. For instance, they had socks with book patterns, quotes from famous books, and likenesses of authors.
After I’d met everyone, Mrs. Meacham handed me the keys to my shop and went upstairs. Although my shop wouldn’t open until the first of September, she’d graciously given me this last week of August to get everything set up.
I unlocked my door and went inside. I was surprised to see Max standing by the window. I started to ask her how she’d got in, but then I saw that there was another door that led to the kitchen. I imagined my space had once been the family dining room. Anyway, it was apparent that the door between my space and the kitchen hallway had been left unlocked. I’d have to be careful to check that in the future.
But, for now, I didn’t mind at all that Max was there. Or that it appeared she was wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing yesterday. Must have been some party!
“So, you leased the shop?” Max asked.
“I did!”
“Congratulations! I wish we could have champagne to celebrate.”
I laughed. “Me too, but I’m driving.”
Max joined in my laughter. “I’m so glad you’re going to be here. I think we’ll be great friends.”
“I hope so.” And I truly did. I immediately envisioned Max as my best friend—the two of us going to lunch together, talking about guys and clothes, shopping together. I reined myself in before I got too carried away.
I surveyed the room. The inside wall to my right had a fireplace. I recalled that all the rooms upstairs had them too. But this one had built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side of the fireplace.
“Does this fireplace still work?” I asked Max.
“I imagine it would, but it isn’t used anymore. The owners put central heat and air in eons ago.”
“Just checking. I mean, I wasn’t going to light fire to anything. I merely wanted to be sure it was safe to put flammables on these shelves.” I could feel my face getting hot. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m just so excited—”
“And I’m excited for you. You have nothing to apologize for. How were you supposed to know whether or not the former tenant ever lit the fireplace?”
“You’re really nice.”
“And you’re too hard on yourself. Must you be brilliant and well-spoken all the time?”
“Well...I’m certainly not, but I’d like to be.”
“Tell me what you have in store for this place,” she said.
I indicated the window. “I’d like to have a table flanked by chairs on either side here.” I bit my lip. “Where’s the best place around here to buy some reasonably priced furniture that would go with the overall atmosphere of the building?”
“I have no idea. You should ask Connie.”
“Connie?” I was actually checking to make sure I’d heard Max correctly, but it so happened that I’d left the door open and Connie was walking by as I spoke.
“Yes?”
“Max was telling me that you might know of a good furniture place nearby,” I said.
“Max?” Connie looked about the room. “Who’s Max?”
I whirled around, thinking Max had somehow slipped out of the room. But, nope, there she stood...shaking her head...and putting a finger to her lips.
“Um...she was....she was just here. She was here yesterday too. I assumed she was a Shops on Main regular.”
“I don’t know her, but I’d love to meet her sometime. As for the furniture, I’d try the antique stores downtown for starters. You might fall in love with just the right piece or two there.” She grinned. “I’d better get back to minding the store. Good luck with the furniture shopping!”
Connie pulled the door closed behind her as she left, and I was glad. I turned to Max.
“Gee, that was awkward,” she said. “I was sure you knew.”
“Knew?”
“That I’m a ghost.”
Interested in reading more? Designs on Murder, Book One in the Ghostly Fashionista Mystery Series, only 99 cents - www.ghostlyfashionista.com
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