Page 34 of The Familiar Stranger

I glanced at the sign, then at Maddie, who said, “Thanks for letting us know. Is she sick or just taking a vacation maybe?”

“Oh, no, no, never takes the vacation. She sick, yes.”

“We’re old friends,” I said. “Do you know where we can find her?”

“The darkness made her sick. And it’s still hera, you see. It ain’t leaved.” He was looking past us now, one of those faraway looks in his rheumy eyes. Then he snapped to and pointed a crooked finger at me. “D’ya feel it?”

I didn’t know how to respond.

Something in my eyes must have given me away because he wagged his finger, adding, “Ya do.”

“What are you taking about?”

He turned to Maddie. “Take yo friend and go before the darkness get you too.”

Before we could say another word, he wobbled away, leaving me with a series of unanswered questions.

“Should we go after him?” I asked Maddie.

“No way. I mean, the man was spooked. Are you okay?”

I jerked back my chin. “I’m fine.”

She inspected me. “No darkness or whatever he was talking about?”

“The only darkness around here is that we’re getting nowhere. Someone in this place must know something.”

I began to walk—with purpose—back the way we’d come.

Maddie shuffled up next to me. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know yet … I’m looking.”

We passed all the usual shops and restaurants along River Street until I reached what used to be the Happy Beatnik, a place that was key to our Savannah case years ago. It was now called Shaggy Shack—basically another version of the same thing. A place to hang out, drink kombucha and the like, eat healthy snacks, and relax. I didn’t see anything about poetry readings, which was a big draw for the Happy Beatnik back in the day.

“Maybe someone in here knows something or even remembers us,” I said, opening the door.

The bell at the top of the door chimed, and though it was a soft, delicate sound, it was enough to announce our entrance to patrons and staffers. All eyes turned in our direction.

I acted like I didn’t notice and instead looked at Maddie, who was smiling and waving to no one in particular.

“Hi, y’all,” she said.

I was surprised at the number of people who smiled and waved back. Maddie had that “thing.” It was charming, to be sure, and had helped move my investigations along in the past.

I let my gaze flow around the shop, focusing on décor as much as the people. The shop had changed, not just in name, but also in style. It now was all neutrals and pastels, and the cloud-like seating matched the vibe. All floofy and poofy with mounds of those squishy stuffies scattered everywhere.

“I don’t recognize a soul,” I whispered.

“Me either,” she agreed. “But come on. Someone has to know something about a fellow River Street shop owner.”

She led the way toward a young woman about to step out from behind the counter. She wore an apron and had a tray of drinks in her hand.

The woman blew a stray hair out of her eyes and looked our way. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. Well, maybe,” Maddie began.

I cut in with, “Do you know anything about Dr. Beetle down the street? We heard her shop has been closed for a week or so, and there’s no information as to what’s going on.”

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