Page 93 of The Shop on Royal Street
“Is everything else okay? Are you staying—?”
“I’ve got to go—Jolene and I have a big night planned, going through old hatboxes and drinking hot cocoa. I’ll call you back tomorrow, all right?”
She’d barely said good-bye before I disconnected the call. I looked down at my screen. Still no texts from Michael, or Beau. Not that I’d really been expecting to hear from either one of them. For a split second, I considered calling Beau. But I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I opened the text screen and began to type.
Call me.
Right before I hit thesendarrow, I added one more word.
Please.
Then I shoved the phone back in my pocket and began hoping that Beau would call almost as much as I hoped that he wouldn’t.
CHAPTER 29
Less than an hour later, Jolene and I had opened six hatboxes and tried on eight dresses, mixing and matching to see which ones we liked best. The women’s hats were mostly variations of the pillbox, along with one feathered cloche and a flower-petal capulet. After the first hats were tried on, we both agreed that neither one of us had correctly shaped heads for vintage hats, each selection more hilariously awful than the last.
I did, however, love the pale blue two-piece wool suit—very Jackie O according to Jolene—and had decided to keep it even though I had no idea where or when I’d wear it. But when Jolene plopped a flower-shaped beret on top of my head, the entire look was too ridiculous not to laugh.
Despite the trauma of the day, and the pangs I felt whenever I let my thoughts drift to Michael, the laughter—although a bit forced and a bit too loud—felt good. So good that after religiously checking my phone every five minutes to see if either Michael or Beau had responded, I’d flipped it over and put it on mute so I didn’t have to think about it at all.
I picked up another hatbox. It was heavier than the others, andwhen I shook it something shifted from side to side, accompanied by an uneven roll of two separate objects. “I don’t think this is a hat.”
Jolene cleared the coffee table and I placed the box on top of it before lifting the lid. The odor of old cardboard and leather wafted toward us. I pulled back, aware of an odd mingling of tobacco and another scent. Floral. Something that smelled a lot like... hair spray.
“Look.” Jolene reached inside.
“It’s a pipe.” I lifted it from her palm, feeling the smooth burled wood of the bowl, its size almost filling my palm, and I was surprised at the heft of it. But not by the particular scent of the tobacco that had once been smoked in this very pipe.
“You’re looking at it like it’s familiar.”
“It is,” I said, my finger slowly tracing the rim of the bowl. “I keep smelling a pipe when I’m at the house. And a few times I think I’ve seen... someone smoking one.”
She leaned close enough that I could probably have counted the freckles on her nose. “Do you mean aghost?” The last word was whispered loudly.
“I thought you were raised to not believe in ghosts.”
“I was. But I’m not the one seeing them, so it’s okay.” She rubbed her lips together as if she were smoothing her lipstick. “I’ve smelled the smoke, too. I figured the house has a lot of memories, so I wasn’t all that surprised.”
“Yeah, well, that particular memory isn’t by himself. There’s a woman, too. One of them pushed me off the stairs.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s horrifying. Maybe we should ask Jorge to find us a priest.”
“Not yet. From what I’ve learned, lingering spirits won’t go away until we can figure out why they’re still here and then send them on their way.”
“You learned that from Melanie, didn’t you?”
I turned to her with surprise.
Jolene shrugged. “I watched that episode ofPsychic Detectivesa while back that featured her work on that cold case about the missing familyin Charleston. I recognized her as your stepmother. It must have been really cool living with her.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I said. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready to.” She smiled brightly. “So, are you going to have her come here to help?”
I looked down, studying the pipe. “No. She said to ask Beau.” My eyes met hers. “She believes he can communicate with the dead, too.”
“Well, then. That makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it? It’s always those people who are most vocal with their denials who turn out to be the ones with the biggest reason to deny it, right?”
