“Then what will we put under the stairs?” There’s a bathroom there—well, a toilet and sink. And piles of junk. When you sit on the john, you’re staring at boxes and bins of our out-of-season decorations. Christmas lights, Halloween ghosts and goblins, Easter bunnies, stuff like that. “Most of our customers don’t use that bathroom,” I pointed out. “They use the restroom off the tearoom.”
“Yes, but sometimes people have to wait.” Ruby twiddled a frizzy lock of her red-orange hair. “There are times we could use a second bathroom. If we move the holiday decorations to the storeroom upstairs, we can put in a new vinyl floor and paint the walls. Maybe add a cabinet under the sink and some decent lighting, so it doesn’t look quite so much like a toidy in the Pecan Springs jail.”
“How do you know what a toidy in the Pecan Springs jail looks like?” I asked, interested.
Ruby rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, China. Our customers will appreciate another bathroom. We’ll be killing two birds with one stone.”
It sounded to me like a whole flock of birds and a big basket of stones. Not to mention a lot of work. “Well, maybe,” I conceded. “But we don’t have the money to fix up the bathroom right now. And while the loft is air-conditioned, that storeroom isn’t. It’ll be an oven up there today. We’ll roast.”
Ruby pulled her gingery brows together. “China,” she said seriously, “that little voice is telling me that we ought to do this today. Lori doesn’t have classes on Monday, so we can haul that stuff out and not worry about getting in her way.” She bent over and planted a kiss between Khat’s charcoal ears. “You know what Benjamin Franklin said. Never put off to tomorrow what you can do today.”
“I’m more familiar with Mark Twain,” I countered. “Never put off to tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow.” I thought for a moment. “Or was it Oscar Wilde?”
The Victorian-style shopkeeper’s bell mounted to my front door tinkled pleasantly, and both of us turned around to look. But the door was locked and I had hung up the Closed sign to deter prospective customers. Nobody was there.
Khat arched his back, hissed, and jumped off the counter. Ruby frowned. “What’s wrong with him? And why is your bell ringing?”
“Dunno.” I shrugged. “Vibrations or something, I guess.” I waggled my eyebrows. “And maybe Khat is telling us that today isn’t a good day to clean out the storeroom.”
“Maybe he’s telling us that it is,” Ruby said decidedly. “Come on, China. Let’s do it.”
I pressed my lips together. When Ruby has an idea, I can either stand back and watch or be a good sport and join the party. After a moment’s reflection, I joined the party.
“If you insist.” I closed the menu file and shut down my laptop. I glanced down at Khat, who was sitting on the floor, gazing fixedly at the bell. “Come on, Khat,” I said. “You may find a mouse or two up there.”
The bell tinkled again, affirmatively.
“You see?” Ruby said in a meaningful tone. “It’s telling us that we’re supposed to do this.”
Looking back now with the wisdom of hindsight (funny how that works, isn’t it?), I wonder what would have happened if Ruby hadn’t listened to that little voice telling her that today was a good day to clean out that storeroom.
Or if I had said, Sorry, Ruby, but I absolutely positively have to get these menus uploaded today? How long would it have been before we discovered the wooden chest and the carton of old photographs? Maybe we wouldn’t have discovered them, ever. How would that have changed what happened?
Or if I had removed that bell.
We’ll never know, of course, because Ruby did hear that voice, and when she asked me to help, I did say yes. We did discover that chest, and after that, the photos. And the bell continued to ring.
And thereby hangs a tale.
• • •
BUT before I tell you what happened when Ruby and I went upstairs, it might be helpful if we took a few moments for introductions. If you’re a regular visitor to Thyme and Seasons, you know who we are and what we’re all about, so you have my permission to skip the next dozen or so paragraphs. If you’re new to Pecan Springs or just want to see if anything’s changed since the last time you were here, you’re invited to read on.
My name is China Bayles. In a previous incarnation, I was a criminal defense attorney with a large Houston law firm that catered to big bad guys with bottomless pockets who could hire our top-dollar dream-team defense. There were a lot of things I enjoyed about being a lawyer—and yes, money was certainly one of them. In those days, I was as ambitious and greedy as anyone else and willing to fight for my place on the ladder with whatever weapons it took. But after spending a decade of my life in that knock-down, drag-out environment, I began to wonder whether the justice I was engaged in seeking was the kind of justice we needed in this world—and whether Houston was the place I wanted to live for the rest of my days.
When the answers to both of these urgent questions finally came up no, I turned in my resignation, cashed in my retirement account, and bailed out. I landed in Pecan Springs, a small, friendly town just off I-35, halfway between Austin and San Antonio, at the eastern edge of the Texas Hill Country. I bought a building on Crockett Street and opened an herb shop I called Thyme and Seasons. When people ask me “Why herbs?” I give them the short answer: “Because plants don’t talk back.” When they ask “Why Pecan Springs?” I reply, “Because it seemed so crime-free and peaceful.”
And then I
