A Pocketful of Stardust

by J P Barnaby

  “Hi,” the guy said shyly.

  “Hey, come on in,” he said, pushing a box over to the side so he could see the beautiful man a little better. Jake perked his head up at the newcomer, sniffing the air.

  “Thanks. I saw the lights on.”

  “Were you just wandering by?” Noah smiled and pushed the computer away.

  “I was asked to bring this over to you.” He held out the package he’d carried over. “It’s pound cake. Aunt… I mean, Sarah says you’re probably sick of casseroles.”

  “That’s nice of her. Please tell her thank you for me. I’ll try and stop by later today to see her—it’s been a while since I talked to anyone without a jillion people around.” Noah set the package off to the side.

  “Yeah, the… wake?” At Noah’s nod, he went on. “It was really crowded. I’ve never been to a wake before.”

  “My dad was pretty popular.”

  “Yeah, Aunt… well, Sarah said he was a really nice man. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet him. I’ve been here a couple of weeks, but I didn’t get out much.” Kyle glanced around at the books. Noah watched him quietly.

  “So is she your aunt or not?”

  “What?” Kyle’s focus came back to him.

  “Miss Sarah. You keep starting to call her aunt but then correcting yourself,” Noah said.

  “Well, she’s sort of my aunt. Distantly. She said I could call her Sarah, but it seems kinda disrespectful. Where I grew up, we didn’t call adults by their first names.” Kyle shrugged. He put a hand on the back of his neck and looked up at Noah through his lashes. Something in Noah tugged at him, hard.

  “Where did you grow up?”

  It took Kyle a minute to answer, but then he said “out west” like he was trying to be deliberately vague.

  Noah watched him play with a pen on the counter.

  “We don’t here much either, call elders by their first names. I mean, my dad was close with Miss Edna, but he never called her anything but Miss Edna. I called her Miz Mackey when I was a kid, but now that I’m grown-up”—he made air quotes—“I can call her Miss Edna. Why don’t you call Miss Sarah that?”

  “Call her Miss Edna? I don’t think she’d like that.” Kyle smiled shyly.

  Noah laughed. The guy had a cute smile, shy as it was. He decided he liked Kyle.

  “I like Miss Sarah.” He met Noah’s gaze again. There was something lurking in his soft green eyes, some kind of sadness or maybe fear, but Noah didn’t press. Maybe if they became friends, he’d find out what it was.

  “So. You want a glass of tea or something? Some of Miss Sarah’s cake?”

  “I… sure. Yes. I don’t really have anywhere to be.”

  “Come on back, then. There’s a fridge in the office.” Noah grabbed the package and led the way back down a narrow corridor to a sunny office space. He’d set his personal laptop up on the counter there so he could sit on the barstool, though there was a big desk. It always just seemed to be… Dad’s. Jake lay down on his bed in the corner. He must have come to work with his dad often, because he seemed to have a bed in every room. Noah opened the refrigerator. “Dad liked his sweet tea, so he always had it in here.”

  “I… um, if you’re going to have some….”

  “Are you kidding? Miss Sarah’s pound cake is legendary. Or should I say ‘legen—wait for it—dary’?”

  Kyle cocked his head.

  “It’s from a TV show. Neil Patrick Harris is godlike.”

  “You shouldn’t say that.” Kyle looked appalled. “That’s blasphemy.”

  Noah blinked rapidly. “I don’t mean it literally. I don’t worship him or anything—well, I kinda do, but not in a religious sense. I just really like him.” He shot Kyle a grin, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Me? Nah. I did see him in Hedwig on Broadway, which was awesome. But that was a couple of years ago.”

  “You’ve been to New York?”

  “I live there. At least I think I do. I don’t know yet what I’m going to do.” He took a couple of paper plates down from one of the cabinets and a knife and forks from one of the drawers, then sliced pieces of the pound cake and plated them. They took them back out front to sit at the counter. Noah tossed a small cube to Jake, who snatched it up and followed.

  “I used to live in Chicago. I liked it. But I had to leave—” Kyle stopped, looking distressed and maybe a little embarrassed. “I mean, I live here now.” He shoved a bite of cake in his mouth.

  “Because you’re gay?” Noah asked, trying to sound offhand.

  “No. I mean, not because… I don’t…. How did you know?” Kyle stammered, his face flushing red below his crimson hairline.

  “Guys don’t smile at each other the way you smile at me,” Noah said, bumping his shoulder. “It’s okay, I’m gay too. And I like smiling at you that same way.”

  “Oh.” Kyle couldn’t seem to come up with anything else to say.

  Noah sat down across from him and tried the cake as well. “She hasn’t lost her touch. So you live here, with Miss Sarah—”

  “Though I’m going to find a place to live as soon as I get a full-time job. Leroy over at the grocery store said he might be able to take me on when it gets closer to Thanksday.”

  “You mean Thanksgiving?”

  Kyle blushed again, his fair skin going crimson. “Yes. Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

  Noah shrugged. “It’s cool—I knew what you meant. You want to work there?”

  “I don’t know—it would be okay, I guess. It’s a job.”

  “I wish I could hire some help around here, but I can’t afford it. And it’s not helping having to keep it closed while I figure out what’s going on. Dad was pretty organized, but he wasn’t expecting to just drop….” Noah swallowed but managed a weak grin at Kyle.

  “I’m sorry about your pa,” Kyle said softly.

  “Thanks.”

  A moment later the door chimes sounded, and Noah looked up.

  It was Matt Handley. “Noah.”

  “Matt.” Noah’s voice was cool over Jake’s low growl. “What can I do for you?”

  “Just passing by. Thought I’d see if you were around.”

  “I am, but I’m kinda busy.” He indicated the computer and stacks of books.

  “Oh. So you’re planning on staying?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Noah said. “But it’s stupid to not have a business open for as long as it’s viable. I do have loan payments.”

  “True,” Matt said. He laughed his fakey laugh. “Speaking of business—your daddy banked at First National Bank, did you know?”

  “No, but I figured he did.”

  “He did. You need to come in in the next day or so. There’s some matters we have to go over. Any time’s fine—any time you can get away from your busy schedule, I mean.” He laughed that fake laugh again.

  “I’ll be by. If there isn’t anything else?”

  “No, no. I’ll see you in a day or so, then.”

  “Count on it.”

  “I’m a banker—we’re always counting!”

  Noah laughed, but it sounded as fake to his ears as Matt’s. After the man had gone, Noah flipped the lock on the door and turned back toward the main part of the store. He’d had enough of visitors.

  “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “Handley? No. I went to school with him. He’s a jerk.” Noah reached down and scratched Jake’s ears.

  “He certainly didn’t smile the right way,” Kyle observed and Noah laughed. He hadn’t laughed so much since he left New York.

  “No, he did not.”

  “I like your smile better.”

  “I like yours too.” He returned to the counter, and they sat back down to finish their tea and cake.

  Kyle left a little while later, and Noah locked up behind him, then went back to trying to make sense of Charlie’s records. After an hour or so, he gave up and went home with J
ake to the house that still echoed with his dad’s laughter. He’d try again tomorrow. It was Sunday, and while he wasn’t much of a churchgoer, it had always been the quietest day of the week, so maybe he’d get more work done. He had the appointment with the lawyer on Monday, and assuming he could find any ducks, he better get the little bastards to line up.

  Tomorrow. He’d find something to help the store tomorrow.

  Chapter Five

  THE DOOR to the staircase loomed in front of Noah. He was five years old again, listening to his father telling him why he couldn’t go up there. “It’s dangerous,” Dad had said in the serious voice that always meant Noah had to listen to him. “I don’t even go up there—it’s dirty and dusty and there are… spiders.”

  Noah hated spiders. Even twenty years later, he eyed the door dubiously, flashlight clutched in his hand. A Yale lock—but then again, so were most of the locks in the store. He searched through the key ring and finally found a key that fit. The one that did was the last on the ring. The lock was stiff, as if it hadn’t been opened in years, which made Noah think that his dad really hadn’t ever gone up there. Whatever “up there” was. But he wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything in the attic he either needed to worry about or could sell to help out the store.

  Finally he managed to work it into the lock and got it to turn. Then it was the door that resisted, the wood swollen against the frame. He yanked hard and almost lost his balance when it flew open with an acrid puff of age.

  Stairs. Yup. Those were definitely stairs. Noah half wished he’d brought Jake, but it was Sunday and Miss Edna’s time to socialize. She had taken Jake around with her to get him out with people because he’d been so listless.

  He looked for a light switch and found one, but when he flicked it on, the bulb at the top of the stairs only lit for a moment before it popped and died. “Swell.” He turned on the flashlight and shined it up into the darkness.

  At least the handrail was sturdy—it didn’t even wiggle when he put his weight on it—and the stairs seemed firm enough as he climbed to the top. That was good—he probably wouldn’t have to factor in major structural repairs to the place, if he were to sell. He didn’t see any indication of ceiling damage downstairs, so hopefully the floors up here were as good.

  Noah found a short hallway at the top, with a window at the opposite end of the hall and two doors facing each other. Ancient metal slat blinds spotted with rust covered the window. When Noah pulled on the cord, it disintegrated in his hand and the blinds fell with a crash to the floor.

  Noah jumped back, remembered the stairs behind him just in time, and grabbed the frame of the door on his right. The door swung open and Noah shrieked at the sight of a figure looming in the shadows. He prayed for a moment that God wouldn’t let him die before he’d gotten a chance to know Kyle.

  It didn’t move. He stood there, staring at it. Waiting. When it didn’t move, Noah took a step forward, then another. After a minute Noah’s heart rate slowed and he realized it was a dressmaker’s dummy wearing a vintage gown. Beyond the figure was a small living area, with a mouse-eaten love seat and a big old-fashioned radio on a stand. A floor lamp sat beside a wing chair, the leather of the chair cracked and split.

  Weird. Aside from the killer dummy, it didn’t seem so dangerous up here. The floors felt solid, and he didn’t find any water damage. It smelled weird—mold maybe. The space probably just gave his father the creeps and he didn’t want to admit it.

  The door across the hall led to a kitchen. It felt like it sat over the larger part of the store below, because it was considerably bigger than the little sitting room. The appliances were antique, at least fifty years old, maybe older. The fridge even had the old-fashioned latch-type handle that was notorious for trapping kids years ago. Curious, he opened the fridge door to find it not only perfectly empty but immaculately clean, though there was a musty smell from it being closed up so long. Maybe someone would buy vintage appliances on eBay.

  Same for the cabinets—the outsides were thick with dust, but the interiors were clean and as empty as the refrigerator. He liked the old red Formica table and matching chairs. The seats were as split as the leather wing chair, though.

  A door behind the table led to a small, empty bedroom with a tiny window that had the same metal blinds as the hall window. The blinds were open, lighting the room enough that he didn’t need the flashlight, though the room was gloomy. He didn’t try the overhead fixture; the bare lightbulb in the socket looked like one of Edison’s originals.

  He’d have to do some serious updating if he stayed, maybe rent it out to help with the mortgage. Of course, it looked creepy now, and he could almost understand why his dad hadn’t liked it, but that was because it was old, and the air was stale—and the feeling that he wasn’t alone was just his imagination. Once he’d had the place painted and furnished, it would be fine and the creepy feeling would go away….

  As he came out of the bedroom, he noticed another door to the right of the fridge. Behind it was another small bedroom with a slightly larger closet. Instead of the single door of the first bedroom’s closet, this one had folding louvered doors. This room had a double window and plenty of light. He stepped into the closet, looking around. There were a couple of shelves built in on one side, and the brackets for a clothes rod, but they were both empty. Ah, there was the clothes rod, standing in a corner.

  A recessed square covered the ceiling, probably a hatch to the attic, but he couldn’t tell much without an overhead light fixture. Though he didn’t see stairs or a ladder—just a simple latch.

  He lifted the clothes rod and poked at the latch.

  The door dropped open and something crashed onto Noah with a clatter, smelling of dust and must. It knocked him to the floor, half in, half out of the closet. He had a what-the-fuck moment, and then he realized what was staring him in the face.

  A skull.

  A human skull.

  A white, bony, empty-eye-socket human skull.

  Grinning at him.

  He screamed and ran.

  Chapter Six

  THAT EVENING, after he’d stopped shaking, Noah sat on the wicker chair on the back porch with his second beer, watching the lawn but seeing nothing. Someone had died in his father’s store. That was why his dad didn’t want to go into that room all those years. Did he know what was in there? Had he been involved? Questions chased conjecture around his head. Was it Jimmy Hoffa? Jesus, what the hell happened? Should he tell someone? Miss Edna? The police?

  He grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket and dialed Yeira’s number.

  “Hey, Noah, how are you?” Her voice helped calm his anxiety.

  “I’m a little freaked-out.”

  “Why?” She let the word trail out.

  “So I was at the store earlier, and I went upstairs to see what was in the second-floor area. My dad never used it, not even for storage. I thought it was weird.”

  “Okay?”

  “And when I got up there, I found…. Well, it could be like stage props or something, but I think it was a skeleton.” He sounded ridiculous, but his shoulders finally relaxed from being able to say it out loud.

  “Do you think your dad knew it was up there?” Her tone hadn’t changed, like finding a body was a common occurrence. Maybe in her life it had become commonplace.

  “No, but something about it made him uneasy, so he never went up there.”

  “Did the bones have any sinew on them? Like rubber bands between them?” He didn’t want to think about how she knew that. As a Syrian refugee, she’d probably seen lots of dead bodies and such.

  “I saw some, but mostly there was just rotted clothes.”

  “You need to call the police.”

  “Yeah, I figured. I’m going to go make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, and then I’ll call.”

  “Let me know how it goes.” Ever the reporter.

  Jake nudged his hand while he stared out at the old oak that overhung
the garage and tried to figure things out.

  “Hey, buddy.” Noah rubbed the big dog’s head automatically. It was muscle memory now. He didn’t have a dog in New York, and he loved Jake’s constant, warm affection. He could remember so many times when he’d come in to see the big guy lying on his father’s feet as the man read the paper. Always the paper, even after Noah had gotten him an e-reader for his birthday a couple years before.

  No, he refused to think his father had been involved in someone dying at that store. The image came back to him, haunting him as he washed up his dinner dishes. The bones had been clean underneath the mostly intact clothing, so they had to be pretty old. How long did it take for fabric to disintegrate? The dress on the mannequin had lasted, though in poor shape—was it newer than the bones or older? It had probably happened before his grandfather had even bought the store. Noah made a note to look up the last owner when he had time. He needed to go to the store, be responsible, and call the police. Gruesome as it sounded, he kind of welcomed the distraction. He had to meet with his father’s lawyer the next day. Then he’d see how bad it really was.

  He’d figure out everything else later.

  Jake whined as he let him in the door. Bones and dogs didn’t really make good company, and whoever was up in the attic didn’t deserve to be gnawed on. Noah walked past the F-150 in the driveway. He supposed that with the truck, he didn’t need the rental, but he couldn’t make himself turn it in, though it was stupid to keep paying for it. If he took it to the airport, it would feel like his visit was permanent instead of wrapping things up before he went back.

  He thought about going across and asking Kyle to come with him, but he was a big boy and needed to start handling things himself.

  The streets were quiet. But then, in sleepy little Aster, they were usually quiet. Most folks worked during the day, and kids would be in school. He had the road to himself as he made his way back to the store, back to what waited. Assuming there really was a dead body and he hadn’t imagined it. The past few days had been terrible, dealing with the grief and the stress of putting his father to rest. He had to have overreacted. He wouldn’t be surprised if the skull turned out to be a prop for the store, a Hamlet display or something. Noah needed to see it again before he decided what to do.