Four

“Not the primrose!” Cocoa froze, mouth open, about to bite down on a particularly juicy and well-tended bud. She rolled her eyes up at Charley, who said, sternly, “Leave it be. We don’t want to make enemies already.” Main Street was still quiet, but it would be just her luck if someone spotted them. Cocoa loved gardening and had gotten her into trouble before.

The dog heaved a sigh and left the flower.

Wandering down the sidewalk, Charley peeked through paneled windows at racks of vintage clothing in the Blast From The Past Boutique, then lingered over the display of handcrafted beeswax candles and bright pottery at Wicks ’N’ More.

Just a few years ago, Oakcrest’s claim to fame had been a farm supply business and a cheese shop that sold bags of fresh curd and served up giant scoops of Kawartha Dairy ice cream. Now she strolled past a chalkboard sign announcing live music at The Three-Corner Pub on Saturdays.

On the doors of the next building, the peeling red paint looked like a relic of the 1900s, but the old hardware store that once occupied it was long gone. A television costume designer with an eclectic taste in Canadian-made goods had taken over the space and transformed it. Now, you’d have better luck finding Hudson’s Bay blankets, small batch bitters, and postal code T-shirts in the Old General than nails and screws. Proving that the first step to success was a leap of faith.

Watching Cocoa zigzag over the sidewalk, tail wagging, happiness spread through Charley. Quitting her marketing job to spend the summer in Oakcrest was the best decision she’d ever made. She’d enjoy the fresh air and all those little things she hadn’t had time for before.

For good or bad, this summer would change everything.

Cocoa was first up the two steps and onto the wooden deck that formed a courtyard in front of the cluster of buildings, complete with gazebo and outdoor fireplace. The Oakcrest Mews. One of those storefronts, the smallest one tucked behind the kitchenware shop, was hers. Temporarily, at least. It was both thrilling and utterly terrifying.

“Who’s the pup?”

She whirled around. But, in the glare of the sun, she could only just make out the shape of the woman sitting in the shadows of the gazebo.

Cocoa moved toward the stranger, pulling on the leash. Charley followed.

The air cooled and the light dimmed as they joined the woman. “This is Cocoa,” she said.

At the introduction, she plunked herself on the ground and grinned up at the new person.

Dark hair, tinged with grey, escaped from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, placed at a jaunty angle on the woman’s head. She wore an over-sized cardigan in a soft shade of moss green. Binoculars hung around her neck. She leaned down and rubbed Cocoa’s ears. The dog soaked up the attention. “You’re a cute one.” She straightened, then frowned in the direction of the sidewalk. “Well, what do you know. He’s out walking around, as innocent as can be.”

“Who?” Charley turned to look.

Striding down the street was the man she’d seen yesterday. Andrew. Did he have any friends in town?

“The traitor.” The verdict was bitter and heartfelt. The stern expression gone in a blink as though the woman realized who she’d spoken to. “Never mind. Just the usual small-town misunderstanding.” Sharp eyes peered at Charley from above a defined nose. Despite the strong and weathered features, she must have been beautiful in her youth. “Have a seat and keep an old woman company for a minute.” She gestured at the empty space on the bench beside her.

Intrigued by this eccentric woman, Charley took her up on the offer. “You can’t be a day past thirty,” she teased.

Fine lines — the kind earned from a life well lived — spread around green eyes as she chuckled. “Don’t I wish that were true. At seventy-two I’m afraid one is considered — how did little Max Harrows put it? ‘Ancient as dirt.’”

She laughed and leaned back. “I wouldn’t say that.”

The view of the street really was great from here. The intersection within sight provided first-hand information on any new cars turning onto Main Street. She could see the storefronts and customers. The people coming and going from the bank, the grocery store. And in the second-story apartments, above hanging baskets overflowing with bright blooms, the occasional shadow moving behind dormer windows.

Cocoa turned twice and lay down at Charley’s feet, pink tongue flashing as she panted. She was probably thirsty after the walk. It was a good thing Charley had tossed the water bottle into her tote bag on the way out. She poured some water into the plastic dish attached to the bottle and offered it to Cocoa, who eagerly lapped it up.

“You, dear,” the woman said, “I have pegged as a romantic. No.” She held up a hand, before Charley could respond. “That wasn’t a question. Hmm?” she murmured, eyes fixed on the Village Grocer across the street. Raising the binoculars, she peered through them and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “That Stevenson fellow has been after her all week. Look at that! He’s practically begging. Silly creature, doesn’t he know how to woo a girl? He’ll never win her heart like that.”

Charley leaned forward to get a better look at the couple inside the grocery store, but she could only make out two silhouettes. “Who does he want to ask out?”

“Jennifer. She’s a single mother and won’t make that move if she doesn’t think he’s good enough for her and her little girl. Oh, he’s doing it all wrong!” The woman slapped a hand against her knee. She seemed to notice Charley still sat beside her. Reaching into the cloth sack at her feet, she pulled out a plastic bag of sweets. “Chocolate-coated raisin?”

She studied them for a second and breathed in the roasted, earthy scent, that undertone of sweetness. Oh, why not. Already gooey and stuck to the plastic, the chocolate smudged her fingertips as she chose one. “Thanks.” Milky and decadent, the flavours melted on her tongue. It might be the most delicious chocolate she had ever tasted. No way this came from a grocery store.

“Chocoholic.”

Aghast, she swallowed. “Excuse me?”

“The local confectionary, it’s called Chocoholic’s. Here, have some more. Slender as a reed of grass, you could use some meat on your bones.”

It didn’t sound like a compliment. “They’re very good.” Incredible, in fact. Sweet but not too sweet, the raisin was plump and fruity, with just the right amount of chocolate coating. “There’s a confectionary here in town?” Why hadn’t Meghan mentioned it? She’d have some explaining to do when she got home.

“The shop opened six months ago.” The woman looked at her, a thoughtful gleam in her eye. Then she gave a decisive nod and said briskly, “If you go down Main Street and turn left onto Union Street, you can’t miss it.”

“And just when I thought Oakcrest couldn’t get any better.” Although the place was alive with summer memories, it felt like she was discovering it all over again. Taking another chocolate from the bag, she glanced at the woman’s binoculars. “Could I take a look?”

The woman’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the brim of her hat. “Certainly not!” Placing a hand over the object in question, she glared at Charley. “They’re mine.”

“All right. I’m sorry I asked.” In silence they watched the figures move behind the glass. “I’m Charley, by the way. Charley Scott.”

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Goosebumps rose on her arms. She turned to face her. “What?”

“Your sister always has that impish look about her, like she knows something you don’t know and she’s not going to tell.”

“That’s her all right.” The description was spot-on. “Why were you waiting for me?”

She patted Charley on the knee. “I’m the owner.”

This was Sarah Felles? The woman who had sent those clear, precise emails, with an attention to detail that had both impressed her and helped seal the deal at a distance. It wasn’t often that someone surprised her. “I thought we were meeting later this afternoon.”

Sarah brushed that aside with a cryptic wave of her hand and reached into the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out a set of keys and shook them, making them jingle enticingly. “You’ll need these.”

The keys fell into her palm with a chink, the weight heavy with promise. Her fingers closed over them. “I can’t wait to take a look around.”

“Drat!” Picking up the binoculars again, Sarah trained them on the grocery store’s window. “He’s leaving. Idiot.” Disgusted, she leaned back.

“Do you people-watch often?”

Sarah sat up straight, gaining height and authority in one move. “I am a bird watcher. That is what I do.”

“A bird watcher?” She quirked an eyebrow.

Sarah returned her gaze, an enigmatic smile curving her lips. “Shall we go inside?”

Picking up on that hint of adventure in the woman’s voice, Cocoa leaped to her feet. Charley didn’t need to be asked twice either.

Large front windows threw their reflection back at them. The gabled roof gave the building the feel of a cottage. The wooden siding glowed.

This was it, the moment she’d been waiting for.

The key fit perfectly. With one quick twist, the lock tumbled, and they stepped inside, Cocoa in the lead, like always.

Sarah paused to enter a combination into the keypad by the door. “The code is set to default at the moment, but you can program it however you like. I’ll leave instructions with you.”

That was one of the plus points. Security, already installed. Along with the open floor plan, wood-paneled walls and whitewashed floors. She’d seen the pictures and fallen hard. Hook, line, and sinker. But it was so much better in person.

Of course, now that she was inside, she could see the imperfections here and there. Some water marks around the window frames, and was that a dip in the floor? But it only added character.

Sarah moved on, to the door in the back. The tour was speedy and efficient, accompanied by a whirlwind of instructions. By the end of it, Charley had seen the bathroom, the earth cellar, the rooms above — meant as living quarters, but they’d need the extra space. She knew where the fuse box was and how to adjust the thermostat, although apparently this was best left untouched.

Back on the ground floor, Sarah said, “Kayla and Thomas are displaying their work, too.”

It wasn’t a question. “Yes, they are.” News travelled fast.

“And contributing to the rent, I assume.”

Shrewd woman. “They’ve offered to help out, but I can pay it on my own, if need be.”

Cocoa roamed the room, nose down. Taking time to sniff each corner.

“And what is the theme of your pop-up exhibition?”

Charley shot Sarah a glance. No, the woman didn’t miss any details.

Sarah said, “Don’t look so surprised, my dear. I know all about these short-term venues, displaying the work of local artists. They’re very trendy, these days.”

That’s what she was counting on. “The theme is Cover Art.”

“As in, deception?” Sarah slid her hands into the pockets of her cardigan and looked intrigued.

“Pulp fiction, in my case.”

“Thomas does those colourful paintings.” For those who damn with faint praise, ‘colourful’ might have meant ‘gaudy’ but, the way Sarah said it, the word held no hidden meanings. It was simply an adjective. “Mostly musicians, if I remember,” she said. “He has a few pieces on consignment in the café.”

“That’s right.” Thomas’s bold and bright pieces replicated the style of vintage jazz album covers. As the only more established artist, they were lucky he’d joined them.

“Jennifer, the woman from the grocery store, is his daughter. There’s quite a story there. Have you met him yet?”

“Not in person.” Soon, though, they’d be hanging their art on these walls together.

Doubt churned within her. What if her work wasn’t good enough? She banished the thought before it could take root.

She said, “I heard there’s a ghost in the Mews.” The ghost had been on her mind last night, when she couldn’t sleep. The haunted gallery — it had great marketing potential. She’d created a blog for the exhibit, intending to post interviews with artists and images of their work. But what better way to draw a crowd than a resident ghost? She only hoped it was just that, a story she could use and not a real spectre.

“Oh, no. Not in the Mews. Right here, above us.” Sarah pointed up and the gesture had a shiver running down Charley’s spine. “Some claim they’ve heard mysterious sounds coming from the second floor, but I’ve never seen or heard her myself.”

Her. She tucked that piece of information away.

“But,” Sarah continued, “I always say, let the dead rest in peace. The living are so much more interesting. Well, that’s that.” She clapped her hands and bent to pat Cocoa. “It’s yours now, for the time being.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“Yes, you will.” It sounded only slightly threatening. “Just remember, leave her alone and you’ll be fine.”

“Leave who alone?”

“Lizzie, our ghost.” She placed a hand on her arm, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Best not to stir up old hurt.”

On her own with Cocoa, Charley glanced up uneasily. Marketing potential, she reminded herself. A ghost was a good thing.

And she could always hum to fill the silence.