Garrett pulled his phone from his pocket and typed out a note. “Come to think of it, it’s been a long time since I took out an ad in theBeacon.” He returned his attention to Xander. “So, the lady needs your story to save her newspaper.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“And she won’t date you as long as she can milk a story out of your business.”
“Seems so.”
“And your business is the biggest news in town.” Garret scratched the back of his close-cropped head. “That’s a puzzler. Have you talked to Zora?”
“Not since the memorial service. Why?”
“She’s pretty good at untangling dilemmas like this. Helped me see my way through something even more complicated.” Planting his broad hands on his knees, he pushed to his feet. “Might help you with your ghost situation too.”
Shit on a stick.He hadn’t mentioned those toppling shelves and flickering lights to anyone but Hannah. “What makes you think I’ve got a ghost?”
Garrett chuckled. “Where do you think your reno crews come for their coffee breaks? One of those drywall guys very nearly didn’t go back to work after lunch today. I sent him to Zora’s for a charm to keep the ghosties away.” He rubbed his palms together. “So you’re welcome. Now, I’ve got bread dough to knead. Hope you figure it out.”
Xander sipped his rapidly cooling coffee and stared out the window at Souvenir Planet, soon to be renamed God knows what. “Give me a break, Gus,” he muttered. “You’re chasing off my workers and the woman I want. Can’t you just rest in peace like a normal dead person?”
Three weeks ago, if anyone had told Xander he’d be turning to an old hippie mama for guidance, he’d have laughed in their face. But here he stood outside Zora’s squat brick building at the north end of Main Street, inspecting her spring display: tarot-card butterflies dangling from fishing line above pots of crystal flowers. It’d be pretty if it weren’t for the stone skulls grinning from beneath plastic foliage like freaky Easter eggs.
Was this complete insanity? His siblings would razz him mercilessly for consulting a psychic.
Hannah’s voice echoed in his head.Why is such a smart, capable guy so hung up on what other people think?That still stung.
Perhaps there really was something to this woo-woo stuff. Maybe this weird little beach town held a lesson he needed to learn—a lesson Gus’s ghost was trying to convey by pushing things off shelves and messing with light switches like a mischievous cat.
He shook his head. “I am well and truly losing it. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
The door opened, and an attractive woman with light brown hair stood framed in the entrance, arms crossed over her hippie-dippy homespun sweater. “Hi, Xander. Zora’s going on her coffee break soon. Are you looking for a reading?”
He stammered, unnerved at being recognized by a stranger.
“I’m Gemma, Zora’s niece. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at Gus’s service. So sorry for your loss.” She inclined her head toward the shop. “No need to be embarrassed. Everyone in Trappers Cove ends up here, eventually. Your uncle was a regular customer.”
No big surprise there. Why wouldn’t a UFO nut put his faith in crystal balls and tarot cards? Still, the old soothsayer had been very kind during Gus’s memorial service.
He shrugged and forced a grin. “Might as well.”
“Excellent.” Beaming, Gemma welcomed him into the shop with a sweep of her hand.
No need to consider stocking fancy rocks in his new store because Zora had that market sewn up tight. Rainbow-hued crystals from huge to tiny twinkled from shelves and display cases, sharing space with carvings of fairies, skulls, dragons, Buddhas, and Ganeshas, not to mention enough hippie-dippy ponchos, patchwork pants, and tie-dyed T-shirts to clothe the whole town.
Some kind of native flute tootled softly from hidden speakers, and ferns dangling from macramé holders added a homey note. Zora got points for solid branding, even if the heavy incense made his nose itch.
Gemma beckoned toward a carved wooden screen at the rear of the shop. “Zora will see you now.”
Why did his heart thump like that? She was just a sweet old lady in weird clothes. Nothing to be nervous about.
Zora stood with her back to him, filling a mug from an antique-looking silver urn. Dressed in a riot of colors and sparkly sneakers, she hummed and swayed her wide hips to the music. Her dangly earrings added a tinkling counterpoint. Turning, she beamed and pressed a rustic ceramic mug into his hand. “Here you go, darling. This will warm you right up and soothe those nerves.”
Suspicious, he peered into the brew.
Zora’s laugh rang warm and merry. “Don’t worry, dear, it’s just tea. My own blend—chamomile, lavender, spearmint, and ashwagandha root.” When he didn’t immediately take a sip, she added, “Gemma drinks it all day, and she’s perfectly fine.”
Playing along, Gemma grunted and shuffled zombie-like back to the register, one foot dragging behind her.
“Gotcha.” Zora cackled and lowered herself into an ornately carved armchair beside a table covered in purple velvet. “Have a seat, Alexandros.”