When people show you who they are, believe them.
—Dr. Maya Angelou (attributed)
I GAVE UP on my fourth attempt to reach Clifford Conway and hung up. “My call’s not even going to voice mail. I think Conway’s blocked us.”
I fell into a helpless silence, while my aunt, who blamed herself for being “easily swayed by a sweet-talking fraudster,” worriedly paced the bookstore aisle.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “We both trusted him.”
“Then we were both fools. Tell the truth, Pen, didn’t your stomach turn a little when he started describing how he was going to tape his infomercial here? Using paid actors instead of a real audience. Coaching them to be ‘suitably enthusiastic.’ Shooting staged reactions of attractive faces before his talk even began. That man was a sham from the beginning. He told us who he was. But we didn’t want to hear it. Instead we swallowed his fish story, hook, line, and sinker.”
“Calm down. I’m sure I can fix this. If he would just pick up his phone, I’ll do my best to reason with him—”
“He’s not a reasonable man! He’s a con artist who is going to use that contract I signed as an excuse to extort money. And if we don’t fight this, if we give in to him and let him use our store, it will ruin our reputation!”
“First of all, we are not going to cave and allow that man to use our store in an infomercial. That’s off the table and out of the question. Second: Contracts can be legally challenged, not that I like the idea of throwing away our hard-earned money on a legal defense—”
“Mom?” Spencer tugged the sleeve of my sweater. “We’re not going to lose our home, are we?”
My son’s face was etched with a weight of worry and fear I never wanted him to bear—and it was my own stupid fault. I was wrong to let him listen in on the conversation between Conway and Sadie. I never imagined the man would make threats that a boy might take even more seriously than Sadie and I did.
I bent down to meet my son’s anxious gaze.
“We’re not going to lose anything, Spencer. You know Sadie and I would never let that happen.”
Spencer nodded, but I knew my son wasn’t sure he could believe me. With a sinking heart, I sent him upstairs to finish his homework. Then I went back to work.
While Sadie remained in the stockroom to box returns, I sent Bonnie home and took her place at the register, though it didn’t stop my worrying—which is why I was glad I still had someone with me to talk things over.
Jack, I have to do something about Conway. But I don’t know what. He won’t take my calls.
You’ll figure it out, Penny. A smart doll like you always finds a way. You’ll see.
I felt like Jack was blowing sunshine someplace where it didn’t belong. But I also appreciated the ghost for trying to lift my spirits (pardon the pun).
As the evening wore on, a passing rain shower swept through. The faux-Victorian lamps along Cranberry Street bathed the puddled sidewalks in a yellow glow. People headed for home, umbrellas raised, and our shop emptied out.
When my phone rang, I welcomed the distraction.
“Pen? It’s Seymour.” I could barely make out my friend’s words over a cacophony of laughing, shouting children.
“What’s going on?”
“My ice cream truck is catering a kid’s birthday party that’s gone into extra innings—”
The rest of his sentence was drowned out by preadolescent sugar-fueled screams, followed by Seymour’s shouted command for everyone to “Pipe the hell down!”
“I just checked my e-mail, and I’ve got nothing from Conway. When we left your store, I went to his van and signed all his legal paperwork, but he has yet to send me those promised digital copies of the pictures he took of my Harriet.”
Sounds fishy, the ghost said.
“Seymour, do you think the e-mail delay was a Wi-Fi issue?” I reasoned with hope. “Because it could mean Conway is staying right here in town at the Finch Inn. Fiona Finch told me Barney installed a new Wi-Fi system himself to save money, and ever since, the signal’s been buggy—”
“Conway isn’t staying at the Finch Inn, Pen. He’s at the Comfy-Time Motel.”
“The chain that promises to keep the light on for you?”
“Nope. Comfy-Time guarantees their ‘Wi-Fi is free for the whole fam-a-lee.’ With a motto like that, their stuff shouldn’t be buggy, right?”
“Okay, Seymour, you blinded me with science. Now I’ve got some news for you . . .”
I told Seymour about our run-in with Conway and the bad reputation we uncovered. I then texted him the phone number Conway gave us, and Seymour said he’d try to reach the jerk.
A moment later the phone rang again.
“The SOB won’t pick up my call, either,” Seymour said without even a hello.
“You know what?” I said. “There’s safety in numbers. Conway’s at the Comfy-Time, right? How about you meet me there, and we’ll talk to him together?”
“I’m in! The rain’s shutting this party down anyway. I’m across town, so give me twenty minutes. I’ll help you make an honest guy out of him—at least where you and I are concerned.”
Sadie emerged from the storeroom just as I hung up the phone. She was doing her best to buck up and put on a happy face.
“The returns are done,” she said. “I called Dependable Delivery, too. Vinny Nardini will be picking up those boxes tomorrow.”
“That’s great. May I ask a favor? Seymour needs help dealing with . . . something. So I’m going to pop out. I probably won’t get back in time to close the shop.”
Sadie was happy to cover for me, so I grabbed my purse and jacket from the stockroom. Then I pushed through the back door and into the damp night. Clouds were piling up, and the air was heavy with the threat of another downpour. It was a treacherous evening for a drive, but at least I wasn’t alone.
Where are we headed, honey? And what’s the hurry?