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I
was a little trepidatious returning to Shops on Main Thursday morning, and I was glad Grandpa Dave was right behind me in his truck when I pulled into the parking lot. I waited for him before going inside. It was a beautiful late summer morning. The sun was shining down through the leaves of the maple trees at the side of the parking lot, and a mourning dove called from somewhere overhead. It seemed an appropriate bird to be here this somber day.
“What do you want to start with?” I asked Grandpa.
“Let’s start with the sewing tables,” he said. “They’re on wheels, and they’ll be easier to move around once we decide where we want them.”
The sewing tables and sewing machines were in my car, so I popped the trunk, put the keys in my pocket and grabbed a table. Grandpa Dave did the same, and we headed into the building. Luckily, he was ahead of me and was able to open the door.
When we got inside, we saw that the shop owners had gathered in the hallway between my shop and Connie’s.
“Is...is everything all right?” I asked, afraid of what the answer might be.
“We’re all going to work together to make sure it is,” Connie said. “I was just telling the others that I cleansed my shop, the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the hallways earlier this morning with sage.”
That explains the smell.
“And I’ll be happy to cleanse your shops too.”
“What do you mean?” Janice asked, impatiently looking at her long red manicured nails.
“Burning sage drives out negative energies,” Connie said. “There’s a lot of anger, hurt, and, well, maybe even Mark’s restless spirit in this house. Cleansing helps restore positive energy. And, if Mark’s still here, it could help him go to the light.”
Burning sage could send a spirit to the light? Max!
I didn’t want Max to go to the light. But, then, that was selfish. I wanted what was best for her. Truly, I did. But I at least wanted to be able to tell her goodbye.
I hadn’t realized I’d gasped until Connie came, took the sewing table out of my hands, placed it on the floor, and hugged me.
“There’s nothing to be frightened about,” she said. “Would you like me to cleanse your shop now?”
Grandpa said, “I’m sure she would as soon as we get this furniture moved in. Smoke bothers my sinuses.”
It didn’t really, but he knew me well enough to realize I was concerned about Max, and the smoke provided a good excuse for Connie not to burn sage in my shop just yet.
“All right.” Connie smiled. “I haven’t got any customers yet—people might even think we’re closed today—so I’ll be able to help with the furniture.”
“Me too,” said Ford.
“I can run upstairs and cleanse your shop while you men are grabbing some of the heavier items,” Connie said.
“I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I have some sage. I’ll take care of my shop and Mark’s office...if it’s open.”
“Aw, that’s great. Ella, would you and Frank like me to cleanse Everything Paper before I help with the furniture?”
“Nope,” said Frank firmly. “I don’t go in for that mumbo jumbo. But I’ll help with the furniture.”
“Thank you all for being so generous.” I took my keys from my pocket and unlocked the door to my shop. I carried the sewing table inside, and Connie took the other one from Grandpa so the men could go on back out to the parking lot.
I glanced around the shop but didn’t see Max. Was she still here? Or had Connie saged her away?
Forty minutes later—and still no sign of Max—everyone else had gone back to their shops, and Grandpa Dave and I were arranging the furniture. I had a small writing desk and chair, two sewing machines on sewing tables, chairs to be placed in front of each of those machines, two navy blue wingback chairs to be placed on either side of the front window with a small round marble table between them, two dress forms, two full mannequins, a three-way, full-length mirror, and an Oriental privacy screen for measurements and fittings.
Grandpa was standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips surveying the room.
“Do you think she’s gone?” I asked quietly.
“Hmm?” He was distracted. “Would Mrs. Meacham let me build some shelves in here, or does everything have to be removable?”
“I don’t know. We can ask.” I turned in a full circle, not appreciating the beauty of my new shop as Grandpa apparently thought, but still looking for Max.
He came over and put an arm around my neck. “It’s looking good, Pup. I’m proud of you.”
“Me too!”
I gasped and spun around to see Max standing behind us. I put my arms out to hug her, remembered that I couldn’t, and hugged Grandpa instead. “She’s still here!”
“Did you think I wasn’t?” she asked.
“I was afraid Connie saged you away,” I said softly. “She’s been burning the stuff all throughout the building.”
Max shrugged. “Didn’t bother me.”
“Well, we’re glad it didn’t,” Grandpa said. “So...you like what we’ve done with the place? I know we still have a lot to do, but—”
“I love it.” Max smiled at me. “You’ve outdone yourself. Both of you.” She tilted her head at the mannequins. “I will be glad when you put some clothes on those poor things, though.”
“That’s the next trip. I’ve got samples to put on the mannequins, and I’m working on a dress for the prête-a-porter line.”
“Fantastic!” She turned to Grandpa. “And what’s this about you building shelves, Silver Fox? Are you a carpenter?”
“I piddle,” he said.
“He builds some of the most beautiful things ever,” I told her.
“What did you learn from spying on the police?” he asked Max.
“Well, the detectives were extremely interested in Mark’s client files and his ledgers. It makes sense that it might be a disgruntled customer. Mrs. Meacham told them that Mark had been having trouble paying his rent and that he was leaving at the end of this month.”
“That’s right,” I said. “She mentioned that to me too. Do you think it’s possible Mark was killed because of his debts?”
“I doubt it, Pup. That sort of thing happens on television and in the movies, but I don’t think it happens that often in real life. Dead men don’t pay their debts.”
“Excellent point,” Max said. “After Mrs. Meacham left, the detectives speculated about where all Mark’s money could be going, if indeed he had any. Either business was bad, or else there was something else Mark was spending all his money on—a girlfriend, drugs, something like that.”
“Was Mark married?” I asked.
“I don’t believe so,” Max said. “He didn’t keep any photographs on his desk.”
“Did you see a lot of customers visiting him here?” Grandpa Dave asked.
“No...but then I didn’t give it much thought. I wasn’t very interested in his work.”
“At least, at this point, it doesn’t appear the police think this murder was random,” Grandpa said. “That’s a relief. It’s bad enough to know there’s a killer out there. Much worse to think he’s targeting anyone and everyone.”
I took my tablet from my purse and sat on one of the wingback chairs. “Let’s take a break before we move the rest of this furniture into place.”
“All right.” Grandpa pulled the other navy chair beside me and sat down. “This is more comfortable that I thought it would be.”
After turning on the tablet, I pulled up the first of the photos I’d gotten from the Abingdon Virginian. It was the one of Max standing outside the salon. “Remember this?”
Max laughed. “I do! Mother was scandalized that I’d had my hair bobbed. I was the first gal in town to do it. Oh, look at how disgusted she was.” She laughed again. “I miss that old grouch.”
I swiped that photo away, and the image of the ratification rally came up.
“How’d you do that?” she asked.
I moved my finger across the screen, and the salon photo returned.
“May I try it?” After my nod, Max waved her hand over the screen, and the rally photo filled the screen. She squealed in delight. “I did it! I turned the pages of the photo album.”
“How did you get away with drinking champagne during Prohibition?” Grandpa asked.
“Oh, darling, it wasn’t illegal to drink during Prohibition...just to make, sell, or transport the stuff.”
“I remember your saying that you loved to read,” I murmured.
“I do...did.” She shrugged.
I opened the e-reader application and opened Speedy Death by Gladys Mitchell. “This one was originally published in 1929. I downloaded it for you last night. I thought—”
“A book? You got me a book? And I can read it on there? This is wonderful! Thank you!”
“Since you’re able to swipe the pages, you can read while Grandpa and I move furniture.”
She merely nodded, eager to begin. I placed the book on the small marble table and then moved the table near the window.
“Is that okay? Or does it cause a glare?” I asked.
“It’s fine.” She was already devouring the book.
Grandpa and I shared a smile. I felt slightly selfish about it, but I was glad Max was still here. And she must be happy about it too, or else, she’d have left.
BY THE TIME MAX WAS halfway through her book, Grandpa Dave and I had turned the shop into Designs on You.
I beamed at him. “It’s beautiful!”
The two wingback chairs were angled toward the small marble table that sat in front of the window. My writing desk was directly across the room from the door, so it—and, most likely I—would be the first thing clients would see when they walked into the shop. A dress form with the first completed royal blue dress with the black-and-white polka dot accent from my prete-a-porter line stood in one corner, and a mannequin wearing the custom 1930s-style red evening gown stood in the other.
The Oriental privacy screen stood just inside the workshop, or the atelier. This was where I’d put the shelving Grandpa Dave was going to make for my fabric. Mrs. Meacham had told him he couldn’t anchor anything to the walls but that he could make as many free-standing shelves as he’d like. I knew he’d make something sturdy but also lovely. The atelier was also where I’d placed my sewing machines, a long white table for cutting fabric, a tall metal filing cabinet to house my patterns, a full-length three-way mirror, and the two other mannequins.
Grandpa surveyed both rooms, and I could tell he was happy with our handiwork. “I do see one thing you’re missing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“A rolling clothes rack. You’re going to need one—maybe two—for that porta-potty line.”
I laughed. “Prête-a-porter. Let’s just call it ready-to-wear. And, you’re right. I entirely forgot about that.”
“Why don’t I run out and see what I can find and grab us a bite of lunch?”
“I can go too,” I said.
“Nonsense. Stay here and talk books with Max...that is, if you can tear her away from the one she’s reading.”
“I heard that,” she said dryly. “Forgive me for tuning you out, darlings. It’s just been so very long since I’ve had any good books to read.”
Grandpa kissed my cheek. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“Thank you.”
He left, closing the door behind him, but I could hear him asking Connie, Ella, and Frank if they’d like him to pick them up anything while he was out.
Max tilted her head. She was listening as well...and obviously had excellent hearing.
“Hmm...Frank’s going with him,” she said.
“Frank’s going with Grandpa Dave?”
She nodded. “I suppose he’s delighted to have some male company. He’s the sore thumb down here, and the men upstairs have always kept to themselves.”
“Doesn’t he need to stay here and help Ella watch the store?”
“No. From the way she acts, he’s usually just in her way.”
“Aw...that’s sad.”
Max shrugged. “I’m not saying she’s a harpy or anything...only that she’s a perfectionist—at least, where that shop is concerned—and she wants everything done a certain way. It’s usually best for Frank if he sits back and lets her do it all.”
“And then does she complain about having to do everything?” I asked.
“Of course.”
We laughed.
“It’s wonderful having you here,” Max said. “And thank you for showing me how to use your book computer.”
“I’ll have you watching videos next.”
“Videos? You mean, like the movies?”
Before I could answer, there was an uproar out in the hallway. I raced to the door and flung it open. There was a tall, gaunt woman with long black hair standing in the foyer weeping.
Connie had gotten to the woman already and was soothing her. Ella was standing nearby wringing her hands and looking from side to side. Mrs. Meacham was hurrying down the steps.
“Mrs. Meacham, this is Lorinda, Mark’s mother,” Connie said.
“Oh...” Mrs. Meacham went to Lorinda’s side and patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Oh...we’re...we’re all so sorry for your loss, Ms. Tinsley.”
Tinsley...I hadn’t known Mark’s surname until now.
“Why don’t you come on into my shop and have a seat?” Connie suggested.
“No. No...” She gazed around the foyer. “I need to be right here. I feel a supernatural presence here.”
Max, who’d come to stand beside me, raised a hand and wiggled her fingers in greeting. I looked wide-eyed from her to Lorinda Tinsley and back again.
“I have a strong sixth sense,” Ms. Tinsley continued, “and I feel Mark’s presence here.” She looked toward the ceiling. “Mark, my sweet, I’m here for you.”
Connie also looked around above all our heads and offered, “We’re all here, Mark. We’re so terribly sorry for what happened to you.”
“We’re going to see that you get justice, son.” Ms. Tinsley turned to Connie. “We need to have a séance here so that Mark may reveal to us the identity of his killer.”
“I’m afraid we...” It was obvious—to me, at least—that Mrs. Meacham was grappling for a plausible excuse. “We aren’t zoned for...for séances. And, besides, Ms. Tinsley, I must appeal to your sense of privacy. Would you really want rubberneckers coming here to see where Mark... well, you know?”
“I want to bring my son’s killer to justice, no matter what it takes.”
“You could have the séance at my house,” Connie said. “The children will be at school tomorrow from eight a.m. until two-thirty p.m. I’ll close the shop for an hour and meet you at my house for the...the ceremony...if you think it would help.”
Ms. Tinsley sighed. “It would be better to do it here—in Mark’s office even.” She turned a bitter glare in Mrs. Meacham’s direction. “But if that’s not possible, then, yes, I’d appreciate that.”
“Any of you who’d like to participate are welcome to join us,” Connie said.
“I appreciate the offer, but I need to be here running the shop,” Ella said. “In fact, I’d better get back.” She quickly hurried into the haven of Everything Paper.
“I’ll come,” I said.
“Fantastic.” Connie smiled. “I’ll give you the address later. Ms. Tinsley, if you’ll come with me, I’ll give you directions to my house.”
As Connie and Ms. Tinsley walked into Delightful Home, Mrs. Meacham shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d be getting involved with that, if I were you.”
“I’d just like to be helpful...if possible. Everyone has been so kind to me.”
“Yes, well... That woman should allow her son to rest in peace.” She trudged back up the stairs.
I walked back into Designs on You and realized Max was already there. “But what if he can’t?”
“Can’t what?” she asked.
“What if Mark can’t rest in peace?”
“I think he is.” She shrugged. “His spirit didn’t hang around here.”
“Really?”
“Really. Or, at least, I haven’t seen him. I’m not sure how this ghost thing works for everyone else, but I’ve never seen another one. And, I’ve been in this house when other people died, but I’ve never encountered the deceased person’s spirit.”
“Why do you think it is that you haven’t moved on, Max?”
“I don’t know that either.” She grinned. “Maybe I’ve been hanging around here waiting to meet you and the silver fox.”
When Grandpa and Frank returned with lunch, we went into the kitchen to eat. Ella and Frank sat on one side of the Formica table, and Grandpa and I sat on the other. The chairs were red vinyl, and I wondered if the set had been here for ages or if someone had bought them and refinished them recently.
“This retro dining set is in excellent shape,” I observed.
Grandpa was agreeing with me, but Ella didn’t have time to extol the virtues of a table and chairs. She flew right in to telling Frank—and thus, Grandpa and me, who already knew everything and was planning on telling Grandpa privately—about Mark’s mother’s visit.
“The woman wanted to have a séance! Can you believe that, Frank? A séance—right here in this very house...more precisely, in Mark’s old office. She wants to conjure him up and ask who killed him.”
“That’s kind of gruesome, if you ask me,” Frank said. “Is she really going to do it?”
“Not here. Mrs. Meacham put her foot down and said no indeedy.” Ella gave a nod to punctuate her fictional word. “But, you know Connie. She’s into all of that weird stuff, and she told Mark’s mother that she could have the séance at her place while her kids were in school.”
Grandpa’s eyes shifted to me, and I raised and lowered one shoulder. Hopefully, I conveyed to him that I didn’t want to discuss Mark’s mother or séances right now but preferred eating my lunch.
“Connie asked if I’d like to come, and I told her I needed to stay here and watch the shop,” Ella continued. “She was able to rope poor Amanda into it, though.”
“Honey, you don’t have to do everything these people tell you to do,” Frank said to me. “Connie is a nice woman and all, but she has some peculiar notions.”
I studied on my answer. I didn’t want to alienate the Petermans when I was just getting to know them. But I also didn’t want to be unfriendly to Connie. I had nothing pressing to do tomorrow since my shop didn’t actually open until Monday, and I wanted to attend this séance. I’d never tried to communicate with the dead—well, other than Max, and I felt she was exceptional—and I’d like to see what it was all about. Besides, if I could help catch Mark’s killer, that would be wonderful...and we’d all rest easier.
Frank apparently took my silence as shyness and changed the subject to something he’d seen in the hardware store.
Once Grandpa Dave and I were alone in Designs on You, I mentioned to him that Max didn’t think Mark’s spirit was here.
“I agree with Frank about your not going along with whatever these people suggest, Pup. Not because you’re going to this séance, but because one of the people at Shops on Main might have killed Mark Tinsley.”
{ }
