“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Ms. Reedy,” said Vaz, stacking the microfilm on the counter in front of the librarian. “But these reels are blank. Mostly. And one of them was…messed up a little.”
The frown lines around Ms. Reedy’s mouth deepened. “What do you mean, blank? Messed up?”
“There isn’t anything on them,” said Lily.
“That’s impossible,” said Ms. Reedy.
“You can check for yourself,” said Vaz.
Ms. Reedy’s mouth got so tight her lips vanished. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I don’t know how many times I tell people that they must treat library materials respectfully, but do they listen? No…they just do whatever they please, with no regard for—”
“Ms. Reedy, um, excuse me, but do you have any other copies of these newspapers anywhere? Maybe in the back room?”
Ms. Reedy opened each reel of microfilm and peered into the case. “I’m afraid to say that I do not have other copies of these materials.”
Vaz tapped the counter lightly with a pencil. “Do you know where else we can find newspapers like these? In another branch of the library, maybe?”
“There is a branch in Cape May Court House. About twelve miles up Route nine. I’m not sure if there’s bus service. Perhaps one of your parents can take you?”
Vaz put his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “There’s nowhere else you can look? No secret papers in the basement that only you know about?”
Ms. Reedy drew back. “Secret papers? Vasilios, I think you’ve been watching too many movies!”
“Reading too many books, you mean,” Vaz said, and pulled his elbows from the counter. “Thanks anyway, Ms. Reedy.”
Vaz and Lily were almost out the door when Ms. Reedy said, “Wait a moment!”
They walked back to the counter. “I suppose I do have some books that might be helpful.”
“That would be great, Ms. Reedy.
“And, and…” Ms. Reedy tugged on the ends of her scarf. “You could contact Bailey Burton at the Historical Association. I’m sure its library is well stocked with books and papers you can use.” She sniffed. “The Historical Association has many generous benefactors.
“Where is the Historical Association, Mrs. Reedy?” Lily asked.
The librarian looked at Lily. “Bailey Burton runs the Historical Association from his home. On Perry Street. Number 204.”
* * *
“That’s right next door to your house,” Vaz said as they walked out of the building.
“Yeah, I know. And I think my uncle knows that Burton guy, too. We had to get the house key from him when we first got here.”
“He probably knows all about the house, then,” said Vaz. We won’t have to read any more microfilm.”
“Maybe,” said Lily, thinking about Bailey Burton, aka, Angry Baby Man. “He wasn’t all that friendly.”
Vaz handed Lily the three books on Cape May they had taken out and looked at his watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. We probably won’t have time to go to talk to that Historical Association guy today, but maybe we can go tomorrow? I can come over after school.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Vaz walking alongside her, his stride long and confident. She liked him, but what did she know about him? What about super-blond, super-cute, super cool Kami? Would he change his mind if Kami wanted him to come over?
“Hello?” Vaz poked her in the arm. “Is tomorrow okay or not?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking. Yeah, tomorrow’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure,” Lily said, not sure at all.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Vaz asked.
“Like what?”
“Like I have some kind of gunk caught in my teeth and you don’t want to tell me.”
Skin hot, Lily turned her face away. “I was just thinking that I should go to meet my mom at the store. It’s in the mall. I don’t want something I can’t see breathing on me again.”
They took the long way from the library to the mall, weaving through the city, meandering past rows and rows of elaborately painted houses even larger and fancier than Uncle Wes’s. A few had placards hanging from their mailboxes with names like “The Jeremiah Hand House” and “The Abbey” in curlicues and flowers. Vaz saw her staring.
“There are plenty of regular houses in this town that don’t look like that,” he said. “All you have to do is work your way back from the shore, go north a little bit, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Where do you live?” Lily asked.
“North,” he said, one corner of his mouth turned up. “In a little house, about, um, ten blocks that way. Pretty far.”
“I used to walk thirty or forty blocks sometimes, when I lived in New York City.”
His eyes widened at the words New York. “I’ve never been to New York City. What was it like to live there?”
“Okay. Lots of cool museums. But my mom had to work a lot. New York is expensive.”
“And it was just you and your mom?”
“When we first moved there, there was a guy. Some political activist or something. He was nice, but kinda dull, always going on and on about the government and the capitalists. My mom thought they would move in together and maybe get married someday. But that guy decided he didn’t want to be so active anymore and moved to Seattle to open up a coffee shop. So it was just us. And Julep. My cat.”
“So where else have you lived?”
“Well, I was born in California. We lived there until I was five. Then we moved to Chicago. Then it was Indianapolis, then Cleveland Heights in Ohio; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; and then New York City. After that, New Jersey — Hoboken, Jersey City, Wayne. We ended up in Montclair. And now, here.”
“You moved ten times in eight years?”
“Three of those were in the same year.”
Vaz whistled. “You guys really get around.”
“It’s not like I wanted to,” Lily said.
“Maybe not, but it sounds kind of cool to me.” Vaz glanced down at her. “How long do you think you’ll stay here?”
“I don’t know. Summertime, probably. Or until my mom meets another one of her frogs— oh, I mean Prince Charmings.”
Vaz smiled but didn’t comment. “Here’s the mall,” he said. “Looks weird in the winter. Nobody here. You should see how packed this place gets in the summer. Shoobies everywhere.”
“Shoobies? What’s a shoobie?”
“Tourists.”
“Why do you call them shoobies?”
“I figured you’d ask that,” Vaz said. “Back in the 1800s, poor people who came to the shore just for the day would bring their lunches in shoeboxes. The rich people got annoyed that their fancy hotels were being overrun with “those kinds of people,” and called them shoobies. It kind of stuck. Now that you live here, you’ll have to start using the correct terminology.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
He gave her a long look. “Did you know that your eyes look exactly like green olives?” he asked. “Without the pimientos, of course.”
“No, I guess I didn’t.” Lily said. Did Vaz like olives? “Um…” she stammered, “here’s my mom’s store. I mean, I hope this is it. I don’t think there are two stores named Something Fishy.” Lily caught her tongue between her teeth to stop herself from babbling.
The door to the jewelry shop flew open, and Lily’s mother peeked out. “I thought I saw you through the window,” Lily’s mother said. “What are you doing out in the cold?” She grinned at Vaz, who smiled back.
Lily had no choice but to introduce him. “Mom, this is Vaz. Vaz, this is my mom.”
“Hello, Mrs. Crabtree. Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Ms. It’s Ms. Crabtree. And it’s wonderful to meet you!” she said, and winked.
Lily shoved her hands into her pockets. Lily hated when her mother winked.
“So, Lily, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Vaz said.
“Yeah, OK,” she mumbled.
“Bye,” he said.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Lily’s mother said, “Where’d you find the hot taco?”
Lily pushed her mother into the store. “The hot what?”
Lily’s mother backed up and shut the door, the bells that hung from it rattling. “Hot taco. He looks like a spicy one. Don’t you think so?”
Any guy her mother liked was guaranteed to be a complete fraud. Lily’s heart thumped. “I don’t think of guys as food products, Mom.” Lily dropped the books on the floor and unzipped her coat, almost ripping off her fingernail in the process. “And you shouldn’t talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“About hot tacos. It’s not normal.”
Lily’s mother’s hiked up her acid green skirt around her pink-stockinged calves like a flamenco dancer. “You were expecting normal? Since when?”
“Never mind.”
Lily’s mother dropped her skirt. “Are you wearing lipstick?”
Lily wiped a hand across her lips. “It’s juice.”
“Juice?”
“Juice,” Lily said. “So are you going to show me around or not?”
“Are you going to tell me about Dark and Handsome?”
“Nope.”
“So I might as well show you around.”
True to its name, the store was packed with jewelry and gifts inspired by the ocean and its residents. Lots of shell brooches and necklaces, vases encrusted with coral, lamp shades made of beach glass. Lily poked at a pair of earrings shaped like tiny little women in bikinis. The polka-dotted bottoms were loose and wriggled if you flicked them.
Lily’s mother wrinkled her nose. “I refuse to take responsibility for that. Not my work.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Lily. “You’re usually not this cheesy.”
“Usually?” Lily’s mother said. “I seem to remember a certain little girl who loved my work. You even wanted to make jewelry yourself, remember?”
“Not really.”
“Oh, sure you do. You were always stealing my pliers. Do you want to see what I’m working on now?”
Lily sighed. “All right.”
Lily’s mother circled the glass counter, packed with bracelets, rings and watches, and slipped into the back room. She returned with a little blue velvet pouch, which she handed to Lily.
“What’s this?” Lily asked.
“Open it.”
Lily slipped a pinkie into the top of the pouch, loosening the drawstring. She turned the open pouch and a thin silver chain with a round pendant slid into her waiting palm.
“Wow, Mom,” said Lily, inspecting the battered silver pendant.
“This is what Julep was whacking around the night that Uncle Wes came over. I found it under the couch. I had to solder a link for the chain, but other than that, it was perfect the way I found it.”
The light winked off the pendant’s funky raised markings. “What are these symbols?”
“I don’t know. You can’t really make them out, can you?”
“I like how it’s all beaten up.” Lily held the necklace out to her mother. “Really nice work. How much are you going to charge for it?”
“Nothing,” Lily’s mother said. “It’s a gift. For you.”
“Mom, you can get at least a hundred dollars for this, I know it.” But, as she spoke, Lily turned to the mirror sitting on the countertop to see what the necklace would look like hanging from her neck. The pendant fit perfectly in the hollow between her collarbones.
Her mother appeared in the mirror behind her. “How can I sell it after I’ve seen how gorgeous it looks on you?”
“But Mom—”
“Really, Lily, I made it for you. I want you to have it. Please.” Her mother put both hands on Lily’s shoulders and squeezed.
Lily was about to argue some more, but saw the pleading look on her mother’s face. She fingered the pendant. “It is pretty cool.”
Her mother beamed. “I knew you’d like it.” She kissed Lily’s cheek. “I’m starved. What do you say we pick up some things for dinner and go home?”
Lily helped her mother put her tools away in the back room. They put on their scarves and coats and turned off all the lights. They were locking up the store when Lily’s mother leaned over and whispered in Lily’s ear. “Don’t look now, but that odd woman from across the street is spying on us. I said don’t look!”
But Lily had already turned and caught the woman staring out at them from her store window. She looked like a badly drawn stick figure in a gray fur hat. She immediately ducked out of sight behind a heavy black drape.
“The Good Fortunes Shoppe,” said Lily, pronouncing the last word shoppy.
“I think it’s pronounced shop, Lily,” her mother told her.
“Shop, shoppy, whatever.” Lily read the list of services soaped onto the glass in the door. TAROT, PALM, AND PSYCHIC READINGS. MEDIUM SERVICES AVAILABLE BY APPOINTMENT. “What’s a medium?”
“Somebody who thinks they can talk to ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Lily said, biting her lip.
“Yup.”
They walked for a few minutes in silence.
“Do you believe in them, Mom?”
“Do I believe in what?”
“Ghosts.”
Her mother’s face was suddenly grim as a headstone. “Only the live ones.”