Good Buy Girls 05 - All Sales Final (10 page)

“Fine, 70%,” Maggie said to her sister. “Mom, relax. Sissy is kidding. We’re not eloping.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” her mother sighed. Then she frowned at Sissy. “That was not nice.”

Sissy winked at Maggie, and Maggie couldn’t help but smile. Sissy was always the prankster. It was good to have her here for the wedding.

“When is Laura arriving?” Maggie’s mother asked.

“A few days before the wedding,” Maggie said.

“Does she have her maid of honor dress?”

“I think so,” Maggie said. “She was deciding between two different ones.”

“What did they look like? What colors are they?” Mrs. O’Brien asked.

“Uh.” Maggie turned to Sissy for help but Sissy held up her hands.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “I was your maid of honor last time. Since you’re just having Laura, I am out of the informational loop.”

“I think one was green and one was blue,” Maggie said.

“Well, that narrows it,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “I’m going to call Laura and get more specifics. Gracious, it’s a good thing we got here a few weeks early. Clearly, you need all the help you can get.”

She left the room, waving her hands in the air like she was about to call in a fire.

“Oh my god,” Maggie said.

“Did I mention your wedding was all she talked about for the whole ride?” Sissy asked. “You’d think it was your first wedding.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said and bit her lip.

“Forget about it,” Sissy said.

“Where are the kids?” Maggie asked.

“Josh and Sandy went for a walk to the park,” Sissy said. “And Jake is at work.”

“Oh,” Maggie said.

Sissy grinned. “You’re sorry you missed seeing the boy.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “My house is so quiet since they bought this place.”

Maggie glanced around the modest home that was so like her own. Her niece Sandy had done an amazing job of decorating it. She and Jake had waited a long time to be able to have a home of their own, since he had been away on a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Maggie was happy for them even though she missed the commotion of having Josh and Sandy living with her.

“I’m just glad Sandy had you while she finished nursing school and waited for Jake to come home,” Sissy said. “I owe you for that.”

“Nah, that’s what family is for,” Maggie said. “Besides you took Mom to live with you in Florida. I’d say I got the better end of the bargain.”

Sissy nodded. “There are days. Want some lemonade? I want to hear more about this house you and Sam have bought.”

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to go and open up the shop,” Maggie said as she backed to the door. “And I have some errands to run. I will tell you about the house later, though, I promise.”

“You do not fool me one little bit, Magpie,” Sissy chided her. “You’re avoiding Mom and her wedding talk.”

“Me?” Maggie asked as she slipped through the screen door. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

She heard Sissy laugh as the door swung shut behind her. With a wave, she climbed into her car and headed into town. She had dropped off Marshall Dillon at Sam’s house before she’d headed home to shower and change. The quick pop in at Sandy’s to see her mother had gone more smoothly than she’d anticipated, mostly because she
had thrown her daughter’s dress dilemma at her like a bone to a dog. But she could live with that.

She glanced at the clock on her dashboard: She had just enough time to stop by the historical society before opening her shop for the day. She wasn’t really sure of what she was looking for but anything about the Dixons or the house seemed like a good place to start.

The St. Stanley Historical Society was housed in an old wooden building in the center of town. The small structure had once been a telegraph office but had been abandoned and stayed empty for a decade before someone on the ladies’ auxiliary got the bright idea to turn it into the town’s historical society. It sat on the corner of the town green tucked behind the new addition to the library.

The historical society kept bankers’ hours, open from nine to five during the week and nine to noon on Saturdays. Maggie generally opened her store at ten, so she had just enough time to pop in and get some books about the Dixon house and any other information she could find before she had to hustle over to her store.

Maggie pulled open the green door with the large glass pane in its center. The smell of aged paper and peaches scented the air with a pleasant bouquet that reminded her of summer afternoons spent in her grandmother’s attic with Sissy, playing dress up in their grandmother’s old clothes. It was one of those happy memories that filled her up on the inside and made her smile.

She glanced at the desk in the center of the room. It was vacant. The building consisted of two small rooms
on the first floor and an upstairs office. The wooden floorboards creaked when she stepped across them and Maggie thought someone must have heard her come in. No one came out front, however.

She cleared her throat and called, “Hello! Is anyone here?”

She waited a moment and then heard the sound of footsteps lightly moving across the floor above. Maggie glanced up, wondering if whoever was up there had heard her.

A tiny woman with the fragile build of a sparrow peeked around the doorframe at the top of the stairs. Seeing Maggie, her eyes went wide behind her large-framed glasses and she hurried down the steps.

“I wondered when you’d stop by,” Ruth Crenshaw said.

Ruth Crenshaw, self-appointed town historian, was an original. She wore her long gray hair in a braid that hung halfway down her back. Her fashion sense was sensible brown shoes, thick stockings, flouncy skirts with big, bold flowers on them and puffy-sleeved blouses that she wore buttoned up to her throat. Her makeup consisted of two dots of blush on her gaunt cheeks and a brightly painted mouth. Occasionally she busted out the blue eye shadow but that was mostly for special occasions.

“Hi, Ruth,” Maggie said. “What made you think I would be stopping in?”

Maggie wondered if Sam had already spoken to Ruth and, if so, how much he had told her.

“Well, you bought the Dixon house, so I knew it was just a matter of time.”

“‘Matter of time’?” Maggie repeated her, feeling as if she had walked into the middle of the conversation.

“Yes,” Ruth said. She sucked on her teeth and studied Maggie from behind the big lenses of her glasses. “You know, until you learned the house’s secret.”

Chapter 10

Maggie felt her eyebrows shoot up. Did Ruth know about the skeleton? Or did she know about the ghost and, if so, how?

“Don’t look so surprised,” Ruth chided her. “All houses have secrets.”

“I suppose,” Maggie said. “Mostly, I was just looking for any history about the residents of the house. You know, the Dixon family.”

“Why?” Ruth asked. She stared at Maggie with the unnerving unblinking stare of an owl watching a fat rat in a wood pile. It was not a pleasant look to be receiving, especially after a night of little sleep and lots of worry.

“Since we’re buying it, I thought I’d like to know more about the family who lived there before.”

Ruth blinked.

Maggie had an urge to keep talking to fill in the awkward silence that was as uncomfortable as a cramp but she kept her mouth shut, knowing that babbling was only going to make Ruth’s gaze sharpen.

The silence stretched uncomfortably to the point where it was another presence in the room. Maggie dug in her heels, however. She was not going to crack. The silence could pull up a chair and have a seat for all she cared. She was not going to speak first.

Ruth blinked at her again from behind her spectacles. “If it’s the people you’re interested in, you might want to talk to Blue Dixon since he is the owner of the house and the last living Dixon.”

“I did,” Maggie said. “He recommended that I talk to you.”

Ruth considered her for a long moment, and Maggie had a new appreciation for the term
pregnant pause
. She half expected Ruth to have a litter of kittens with the way her face was twitching.

Maggie felt as if Ruth were trying to see way down deep into her soul, and she didn’t think she was up for that sort of scrutiny before noon. She had no idea how to convince Ruth to help her. She tried smiling but Ruth just stared unblinking.

“My interest is more in the Dixon house itself,” Ruth said. “I don’t much care about the family, but the house is one of the original homes in St. Stanley and maintaining it should be a top priority for the owners.”

“I agree,” Maggie said. She knew Ruth had something
on her mind but she was darned if she could figure it out. She decided her best recourse was to just agree with her.

“What’s your plan for it?” Ruth asked.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Maggie stalled.

“You’re not going to renovate it, are you? You know, knock down walls and change the layout.”

“We haven’t talked about that, no.”

“Because you can’t,” Ruth said. She crossed her skinny little arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at Maggie.

“Excuse me?” Maggie felt herself getting irritated.

Maggie had known Ruth Crenshaw her entire life. No, not closely, but in a town the size of St. Stanley everyone knew everyone else even if they rarely spoke to one another.

Ruth was from one of the original families. She prided herself on that. It was undoubtedly why she was the head of the historical society. She even lived in her family’s original home, which was coincidentally right down the street from the Dixon house. But perhaps that was why she was concerned that Maggie and Sam planned to change the Dixon house. It would affect her home’s value.

Ruth was one of the town eccentrics and was known for being a bit socially defective. At the moment, she was being overly bossy, and Maggie found it was scraping on her last nerve.

“To maintain the historical integrity of the Dixon home, you can’t change anything,” Ruth said. She bobbed her head while she spoke and Maggie thought she looked like a chicken pecking relentlessly in the dirt. Then she leaned
close into Maggie’s personal space and her eyes went wide behind her spectacles. “You can’t change
anything
.”

“Okay,” Maggie said.

She was now at the point where it was a matter of pacifying the crazy person. She knew Sam would be in to talk to Ruth later and, although she had agreed to tell Ruth he was coming, now she wasn’t so sure. Ruth’s obsession with the integrity of their house was making her edgy.

“I have some books that might help you appreciate your new home,” Ruth said.

She turned and walked over to one of the bookshelves against the wall. She ran her hand lovingly over the books and pulled three off the shelf. When she held them out to Maggie it was with obvious reluctance.

“You can take these since they are recent histories and we have multiple copies; for anything else you need to come in to use inside the building.”

Maggie glanced at the titles. One was about the early families of St. Stanley, another was historic homes and the third was a handbook about the requirements for historical designation for properties in St. Stanley. Subtle, Ruth was not.

“Thanks,” Maggie said. “I really appreciate it.”

Ruth bobbed her head and Maggie beat a hasty retreat before Ruth changed her mind and snatched the books out of Maggie’s hands.

“I’ll return these very soon,” Maggie said. “I promise.”

“I’m sure you will,” Ruth said.

Maggie hurried out the door with Ruth still watching her with an intensity that made her skin itch.

As she pushed open the door, she ran into Mary Lou Sutton, who was on her way in.

“Sorry,” Maggie said. She dodged to the side to keep from knocking Mary Lou down.

“It’s all right,” Mary Lou said. She was a sturdy middle-aged woman who wore her short brown hair in a mop of large curls and always had a pair of reading glasses perched on her head. “Don’t tell me, let me guess: Ruth is in rare form today.”

Maggie smiled in relief. Mary Lou understood.

“A bit,” she said.

“I’ve been here for several months now and every time I walk through the door I wonder if it’s a bad day or a good day,” Mary Lou said. “Well, at least today I’m prepared. Thanks, Maggie.”

“You’re welcome,” Maggie said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Mary Lou said. She pulled open the door and called, “Mornin’, Ruth.”

*   *   *

Maggie hurried down the steps, hopped into her car and drove to her shop. She could feel the pressure of a headache building at the base of her skull. She needed a steaming cup of java and how.

She parked down the street from her shop in a side lot, leaving the spots in front of the store for customers. She took her books and unlocked the front door of her shop, flipping the
CLOSED
sign to
OPEN
.

She stored the books and her handbag in the break room and then fired up the coffee pot. She stood beside the pot, tapping her fingers on the counter and staring at it as if that would make it brew any faster.

When she heard the jangle of bells on the front door, she sighed. Then she shook it off. Customers were always a good thing, even precaffeine. She put on her brightest smile and left the break room to greet the person out front.