So a little later, when Ruby came into the shop to remind me that the Library Reading Circle was coming to lunch and we needed to take turns hosting the tearoom, I asked her about the photo.
“Wasn’t me,” she said. “And I don’t know when Lori could have done it. It was on your bulletin board when I opened up this morning. I noticed it because of the lavender. It smelled very fresh, like it had just been picked.”
Before I could answer, the bell over my front door gave a silvery, half-amused tinkle. Khat, who had been sound asleep on the windowsill, suddenly woke, gave a gruff mrrrow! and jumped to the floor. In an instant, he had darted out of the room.
Ruby looked at me and raised her eyebrows.
I shrugged helplessly. “I’ll ask McQuaid to take a look at the bell. Maybe it’s loose, and a vibration . . .” I let my voice trail off. She wasn’t believing me anyway.
Ruby cast a pointed look at the bulletin board. “There’s another explanation. But you’re not going to like it.”
That’s when she told me about a few “little things” she had been noticing in the past couple weeks. A book left open, found closed. A chair moved, an arrangement of crystals scrambled, incense set burning on a high shelf. A shimmer, like the skirt of a long white dress, barely glimpsed. Little things, but inexplicable.
“You’re saying we have a ghost?” I asked. I tried to make my question neutral, but I must not have succeeded.
Ruby pulled down the corners of her mouth. “Please don’t make fun, China. The spirits don’t like it when we laugh at them.”
I wasn’t laughing. I was thinking of the woman I’d heard humming in the darkness of the empty storeroom. “Why don’t you consult your Ouija board?” I asked crossly. “And you didn’t mention any of this to me.”
“I haven’t asked Ouija because we’re not living in a Ghostbusters movie,” Ruby said patiently. “In my experience, it’s not a good idea to pry, or ask a lot of questions. Be patient, and if a spirit wants to get in touch, he—or she—will find a way to do it. And I didn’t mention it to you because . . . well, you know. You’re skeptical. I thought I’d keep it to myself until something happened—to you. And now it has. That photograph. And the bell.”
Yes, of course I’m skeptical. I’m suspicious by nature, and as a lawyer, I have been trained to examine every statement, question every claim, find a rational explanation, construct a logical theory, and stick to it.
But there was that bell chiming. And Khat, normally the most self-possessed of creatures, suddenly spitting and darting out of the room. The ghostly humming I had heard yesterday, and the sudden drop in temperature in the storeroom. And now the photograph, and the fresh sprig of lavender.
In the cold light of day, of course, the idea of a ghost defied logic. And even granting that implausible possibility, there was the timing. Ruby and I had occupied this building for years with no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Why this, why now?
I was about to ask Ruby that question, but at that moment the bell rang again, authoritatively. This time it announced an actual customer—Geraldine Castleman. She’s a chatty lady who loves to discuss the properties of relatively unknown herbs, and our conversations can easily stretch to a half hour or more. This visit wasn’t quite that long, but by the time Geraldine finished her shopping and left, Ruby had gone back to her shop to wait on someone. And when she popped her head in a half hour later, she had something else on her mind.
“Have you had any news about Sheila?” she asked.
I had, via a flurry of phone calls. Blackie had phoned to get my firsthand report of what had happened and tell me that he was on his way back from Lubbock and would get to Pecan Springs early in the evening. McQuaid called to let me know that Blackie’s insurance scam investigation was something they couldn’t put on hold, so he was driving up to Lubbock to pick up where Blackie had left off. He likely wouldn’t be back until early the next week.
“Caitie will be disappointed,” I said. “You’ll miss the poultry show.”
“I’ve already told her I’m sorry.” McQuaid paused. “Listen, I’ve just dropped her off for orchestra rehearsal. Afterward, she’s going to Karen’s house. She wanted to stay all night, and after I talked to Karen’s mom, I said okay. That way, you won’t have to pick her up tonight and take her to rehearsal again in the morning. But I’m afraid you’ll have to handle the chicken check-in at the fairground on Thursday morning. Sorry.”
He didn’t sound terribly sorry about the chickens, but it was no big deal. “We do what have to do,” I said. “Drive carefully, sweetie. And call me when you get to Lubbock.”
I had just hung up when Helen Berger called to say that Sheila didn’t have a skull fracture—which was a huge relief—and her baby seemed okay. But her concussion had been diagnosed as moderate to severe and she had to stay quiet for a few days. She added that Jessica Nelson had showed up at the hospital to find out what was going on. Helen had sent her away empty-handed, but she didn’t think that was the end of it.
“Ms. Nelson is a persistent young woman, isn’t she?” she remarked dryly.
“Persistence is her middle name.” I paused. “How’s Kevin, Helen? Is he feeling better?”
Kevin is Helen’s grandson. Just as importantly, he is Caitie’s first boyfriend. Caitie and Kevin, who are both exceptional young violinists, compete for the position of concertmaster in the local kids’ orchestra. The concertmaster is the player who occupies the first chair in the violin section, helps everybody tune up, and plays the solo parts. Caitie had that place until Kevin moved to Pecan Springs a few months
