Murder of a Hermit, page 7
‘I don’t know if I mentioned this yesterday, but I like the way that you’ve decorated your store. It has a certain charm.’
Hope gave a little start, not having realized that Gina was standing beside her. ‘Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.’
‘Are there more rooms in the back?’ Gina asked, motioning toward the doorway at the rear of the shop and simultaneously taking a step in that direction.
‘No, the entire boutique is here before you. That door leads to the living quarters of the brownstone.’
Gina’s gaze remained on the doorway for a moment, then she took a sip from the cup that she was holding. ‘This tea is interesting.’
‘Thank you,’ Hope said again, although she wasn’t entirely sure that the remark had been intended as a compliment. There was an ambiguousness to Gina’s tone. There was an ambiguousness about her generally.
She took another drink, this one longer and more contemplative. ‘I’m curious to know what sort of tea it is.’
‘It’s a proprietary blend of Summer’s.’
Gina raised a sculpted eyebrow. ‘I didn’t realize that it was such a great secret.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,’ Hope responded hastily. ‘I honestly don’t know what the specific ingredients are. The boutique’s teas are Summer’s area of expertise. Some of her blends are intended for health and medicinal purposes, while others’ – she gestured toward Gina’s cup – ‘are purely for taste and enjoyment. But Summer isn’t at all cagey or secretive about it. She’ll tell you exactly what’s in them – and in her tinctures, too. She wants people to have confidence in her preparations, so she’s completely open about their ingredients, their benefits, and also their limitations.’
‘Except there are no limitations,’ Rosemarie said, joining the conversation while munching on a handful of rye crackers. ‘Not in my experience, at least. The tincture that Summer gave me last month for my ear stopped the ringing entirely. There hasn’t been a bell, buzz, or whistle since. And Percy got one from her to help with his atrocious breath. Isn’t that right, Percy? Aren’t you as fresh as a daisy now?’
Percy neither confirmed nor denied his ostensible freshness. Having finished his cookie, he had curled up in a ball beneath the table for a peaceable snooze.
‘He’s as fresh as a daisy,’ Rosemarie insisted. ‘Even his veterinarian complimented him on it at his last appointment. She wanted to know what I had used that worked so well, and I told her about Summer’s tincture. She was very impressed. I’ve often thought that Summer must have been an esteemed medicine woman in a former life.’
‘That depends,’ Gina replied. ‘At some places and times in history, traditional healers were highly regarded, revered even. And at other times and locations, they were declared to be witches or sorcerers and strung up from trees or burned at the stake.’
Rosemarie choked on a cracker. ‘Good heavens! Burned at the stake for providing tinctures and teas? That can’t be right.’
Hope was also somewhat taken aback, but for a different reason than Rosemarie. She didn’t doubt the veracity of Gina’s statements; she and Summer were well familiar with the long and incendiary history of witches and sorcery. It was the little smirk that accompanied her words, as though Gina found a morbid delight in the grisly tales of the past. It was especially odd coming from someone who claimed to hold séances and could therefore potentially have been declared a witch herself.
‘I assure you that it’s true,’ Gina told Rosemarie. ‘The use of potions and herbs has led to the death of many a wise woman. Numerous scholars have studied the subject and written books on it.’
‘What gruesome bedtime reading that would be!’ Rosemarie exclaimed. ‘The whole thing is too horrible to even contemplate.’ She coughed to clear the crumbs from her throat. ‘Let’s talk about something happier. It’s the boutique’s first tea of the season, and that means there should be only cheerful thoughts.’
‘Indeed!’ Hope swiftly agreed. ‘It may be gray and gloomy outside, but that’s no reason for us to be gloomy in here, too.’
Gina responded with another little smirk. It was clear that she thought Hope’s remark to be insipidly trivial. Except that was exactly Hope’s intent. She was even more eager to move off the topic than Rosemarie, but – again – for a different reason. A slight rumbling had commenced above them. Although thankfully not as loud or conspicuous as the previous cannon boom, it was nonetheless a marked sign of discontent from the occupants of the attic. Summer was correct: the spirits were not fond of Gina. Or, at the very least, the spirits were not fond of Gina’s commentary on potions and wise women. In any case, the sooner the conversation shifted to a lighter, less mystical subject, the better and safer for all present.
‘A wonderful idea just occurred to me—’ Rosemarie began.
‘That’s a strange noise,’ Gina interrupted her. ‘Where is it coming from?’
Hope feigned ignorance. ‘Which noise do you mean?’
‘That sort of rumbling. It sounds like a train in the distance.’
‘I don’t think that there are any train tracks near here,’ Rosemarie said. ‘Oh but Percy loves to ride the train! Did I ever tell you about the trip that I took with him and my cousin Anastasia and her wire-haired dachshund Bella to—’
‘I didn’t say that it was a train,’ Gina cut her off unceremoniously. ‘I said that it sounded like a train.’
Rosemarie blinked and chewed on a rye cracker.
Gina cocked her head to listen. ‘It’s inside, isn’t it?’
‘There are so many voices and noises,’ Hope murmured vaguely.
‘Upstairs,’ Gina determined. ‘Toward the back.’
Just as she had earlier, Gina took a step in the direction of the doorway at the rear of the shop. Hope was no more inviting than previously.
‘That area – the living quarters of the brownstone – isn’t open to customers.’
Still chewing, Rosemarie said, ‘I’ve been inside several times, and I’ve always admired how you and Summer and your grandmother have maintained the interior so beautifully. I’d like to see it again.’
Encouraged, Gina took another step toward the doorway. Hope was quick to nip the idea in the bud.
‘That’s awfully sweet of you, Rosemarie. Another day perhaps, but not now during the tea.’ She added to herself, And certainly not while the occupants of the attic are active and expressing an aversion toward Gina.
‘You have such marvelous antique furniture and paintings,’ Rosemarie continued. ‘And I love that big globe, together with all the old books in the library. It makes me feel as though I’ve walked into a museum.’
Gina advanced several more steps. Hope frowned.
‘The place is filled with so much history. The positive energy radiates in every direction.’ Rosemarie bobbed her head enthusiastically. ‘And that brings me back to the wonderful idea I had a minute ago. Gina, I was going to suggest that you invite Hope and Summer to your next séance—’
Hope’s jaw sagged. Gina froze in place.
‘But instead of having it at your house as usual’ – Rosemarie bobbed her head some more – ‘you should have it here. The séance could be in the brownstone!’
‘No!’
The declination came from Hope and Gina simultaneously, with nearly equal volume and vigor. It startled several of the ladies, as well as Summer. A cup clattered against one of the platters on the palm-and-Tarot-reading table. The teapot slipped from Summer’s hands on to the herb-and-tea counter. Fortunately, the cup was almost empty, and the ceramic teapot didn’t shatter.
The formerly mild rumbling above them strengthened to a degree that it became patently audible to everyone. Hope and Summer exchanged a pained look. What should they do? They could no longer simply ignore it.
A crease formed in Rosemarie’s brow. ‘Is that Percy snoring? He does tend to get congested.’
Despite her anxiety, Hope almost smiled. Leave it to Rosemarie to come up with the most innocent explanation for restless ghosts in the attic.
Gina did not share Rosemarie’s naivety. ‘I doubt that your dog’s wheezing is enough to shake the walls of the store.’
‘Is he wheezing?’ Rosemarie exclaimed, the crease deepening to a worried furrow. ‘Does he seem to be having difficulty breathing? I’ve been afraid since yesterday that he might have caught a cold from that chilly water in the pool.’
‘Percy isn’t wheezing,’ Megan reassured her, while at the same time dabbing at the few spilt drops of tea on the table with a cocktail napkin. ‘I’m standing right beside him, and I promise you that his breathing is absolutely fine.’ She glanced at Gina with disdain. ‘There’s no need to be dramatic and make people fret unnecessarily.’
‘I wasn’t being dramatic,’ Gina argued. ‘I want to know where that noise is coming from, what is causing it, and why it’s making the walls shake.’
Megan rolled her eyes. ‘Nothing is shaking. You make it sound as though it’s some gaudy mystery. It isn’t the least bit mysterious; it’s merely the construction going on next door at the Larsons’. We already discussed that earlier. There’s no need to be dramatic,’ she repeated sharply.
The sisters’ pained expression melted into one of relief. Megan spoke with such confidence and purported authority that it succeeded in convincing the other ladies of the insignificance of the noise, and they promptly returned to their eating, drinking, and general chit-chatting. A pair of large red spots appeared on Gina’s cheeks. She was clearly piqued by Megan’s high-handedness toward her, but at that moment, Hope was far more concerned with keeping the group distracted from the ongoing activities in the attic than soothing Gina’s wounded pride.
The chit-chat grew livelier. Fresh tea was poured. Additional snacks were sampled. Gina, however, did not participate in any of it. She stood alone to one side of the boutique, alternately studying the doorway at the rear of the shop and the ceiling, her interest in the continuing noises visibly undiminished. The rumbling subsided and was replaced by an intermittent clicking that resembled a loud clock ticking every few seconds. Hope also began to study the ceiling, trying to understand the meaning behind the change. She had the feeling that instead of being angry or irritated, the occupants of the attic wanted to tell her something. They had helped her on more than one occasion previously by finding things that she had been searching for and cautioning her about people. What message were they sending her now? She wished that she could pull out her Tarot cards and throw a quick spread. It might not have given her an exact answer, but at least it would have shown her the direction that the spirits were pointing toward.
All of the lights in the shop dimmed slightly. It was barely perceptible, and when Hope looked around, it didn’t appear that any of the ladies or even Summer had noticed it. The lights dimmed again. Was it from the spirits, or due to the electrical problems at the Larsons’? The clicking overhead abruptly ceased, and to Hope’s surprise, no new noise replaced it. Instead of being relieved at the sudden stillness, an apprehensive shiver crept along her spine. Something wasn’t right. She looked around once more and, this time, she saw Gina looking around, too. How much did Gina understand or guess regarding the attic? Hope was beginning to wonder – and worry – what exactly she was able to sense. Madam Gina’s séances couldn’t actually be real, could they?
The lights flickered several times in swift succession, as though someone was flipping the power switch off and on repeatedly for fun – or in warning. The wind chimes banged as the front door of the boutique slammed open. A man burst inside, perspiring heavily and swearing.
‘There you are!’ he shouted. ‘You witch!’
EIGHT
There wasn’t a sound in the brownstone, including from the attic. Although the man had bellowed the words at such a volume that it was impossible for anybody inside the shop not to have heard them, no one spoke, and the ladies all looked around in confusion as though they must have misunderstood.
The man broke the silence by panting for air after having apparently run – or at least walked with considerable speed – to the boutique. Aside from his profuse sweating, he was unremarkably average: middle height, middle weight, and youngish middle age, with the early stages of a receding hairline and slightly hunched shoulders. Hope had never seen the man before, and based on her sister’s perplexed frown, Summer didn’t appear to recognize him, either.
‘You bloody witch!’ the man hollered, still huffing from his exertions.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hope saw Gina flinch. It lasted only for an instant. When Hope turned to look at her more closely, Gina’s face betrayed nothing. There were no red spots on her cheeks as when Megan had chastised her a few minutes prior, and her expression was placid. But the tiny wince that Hope had caught was enough to make her suspect that Gina might know the man.
‘You bloody witch!’ he cried again.
The ladies’ initial bewilderment was becoming uneasiness. They shifted in place uncomfortably. Half-full cups of tea had been set down. The previously mobbed snack platters were now ignored. Even Percy was no longer enjoying his tranquil nap. After a yawn and a stretch, the pug had started to emerge from beneath the palm-and-Tarot-reading table, no doubt with the hope that a treat or two would be forthcoming. But he also must have sensed the sudden tension in the shop, because after only a few tentative paces, he swiftly returned to the safety of the table legs.
‘If you thought that I wouldn’t find you,’ the man yelled, having at last fully regained his breath, ‘you were wrong!’
Oddly, he didn’t appear to be yelling at anyone in particular. Although it sounded as though he was referring to a specific person, his gaze moved around the group generally and wasn’t focused on a single individual. It made Hope wonder whether the man himself might be confused. Perhaps he was in the wrong location or had received some sort of incorrect information.
‘There must be a misunderstanding—’ she began mildly.
‘Hell, no!’ the man cut her off. ‘There is no misunderstanding, or mistake, or misinterpretation.’
There was so much fury and derision in his tone that it startled Hope. She and Summer had certainly dealt with their share of difficult and disgruntled customers over the years. Experience had taught her that in most instances, a client’s anger or unhappiness had very little to do with the boutique and was instead related to a problem in their personal or professional life. But Hope could see that this man was different. He wasn’t incensed by something outside the shop; the object of his rage was directly in front of him. Except she still couldn’t tell who it was. She looked at Gina again for a possible signal or hint, but her expression remained phlegmatic. The earlier flinch did not repeat itself. If Gina was acquainted with the man, she kept it well concealed.
‘You can pretend that you have no idea what I’m talking about,’ the man seethed, ‘but it’s a lie. A damn filthy lie!’ A string of profanities followed.
More than one lady gasped. Several murmured something about heading to the powder room. And quite a few sets of eyes began to glance toward the front door as a means to exit from the increasingly awkward and unpleasant situation. Up until that point, Summer had appeared too puzzled by the man and his unaccountable behavior to react, but the moment that it became clear that her first Wednesday afternoon tea of the season was being brought to an abrupt conclusion because of him, her own temper flared.
‘Leave,’ Summer demanded curtly.
The man snarled at her. ‘Who are you to tell me to leave?’
She didn’t shrink at his open hostility. ‘I am Summer Bailey. Co-owner of this boutique. Who are you?’
‘Austin Berg.’
He didn’t elaborate, as though he fully expected the name to mean something to her. Hope thought that it sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place it. There was a slight hesitation before Summer responded, indicating that she was struggling to connect the name also.
‘Thank you for visiting our shop, Mr Berg,’ she said with stiff politeness. ‘Now kindly get out.’
Austin didn’t budge an inch. He folded his arms defiantly across his chest and locked his knees.
Summer’s lips tightened. ‘I won’t ask you again—’
‘Or what?’ he challenged her in a mocking tone. ‘What are you going to do? Beg? Plead? Cry?’
Although her lips tightened further, Summer managed to keep her cool. ‘I will call the police.’
‘I’ve done that already,’ Megan informed them.
They turned toward her in surprise. Megan’s energy had evidently been exhausted after standing for so long on her wounded leg in her self-appointed role as snack-platter hostess, because she was now half sitting, half reclining between two chairs at the palm-and-Tarot-reading table. Percy had jumped up to the seat of one of the chairs and was snuggled against the side of her elevated cast.
Megan waved the phone that she was holding to prove the truth of what she said. ‘I’ve been talking to Detective Nate Phillips from the Asheville Police Department, and he is extremely concerned by what I’ve told him. He’s coming to the boutique right now, so unless you’ – she inclined her head at Austin – ‘want to continue this discussion with a member of law enforcement, I suggest that you depart lickety-split.’
Rosemarie – who at the first sign of trouble had moved toward the table and her darling Percy – nodded in agreement. Several of the ladies took the opportunity to depart lickety-split themselves.
Austin still didn’t move. ‘I’ll clear out of here as soon as you tell me where the other one is.’
Summer frowned, not understanding. ‘The other one?’
