Chapter 33 #3
An old couple passed the church walking their small dog in the direction of the village center.
The school had infused energy into this place the priest had said, and Frankie believed it.
Was this what would happen to Aspen Creek if she wasn’t able to save Starview?
A decline into lassitude? No doubt the median age had gone up by about forty years here in the near decade since the school had been gone.
Frankie had a feeling this was now the kind of place where people remained into old age.
In the midst of the absolute knowledge that she didn’t want such a shift on her shoulders, the thought sparked something else. If Estelle had spent time here, someone in the village could remember her. It was a weak lead, but the best she had.
Can you check and see if Mom’s church had any ties to St. George’s Academy in Aftbury? she texted Owen while she walked. Best to cross all the Ts.
The village center was made up of a cluster of shops surrounding a triangular, grass-covered town square.
There was a small chain-store grocer, a florist, a realtor, a pub, two cafés, a souvenir shop slash craft gallery, and two clothing stores.
Hanging planters adorned every entry, and the shop signs displayed the kind of charm reserved for places with a history going back more than a couple hundred years.
People were moving about, but as it wasn’t yet tourist season, their pace was unhurried and focused on meeting neighbors rather than seeing the sights.
That meant locals and exactly the people she wanted to talk to.
Within an hour, she’d all but exhausted her sources.
Yes, most people she met had lived there when the school was operating.
No, no one recognized Estelle’s name or picture.
She didn’t even meet a single person who’d been a student at the school, and most of the shopkeepers were too young to have worked there for more than ten years.
The pub owner was an exception, and he’d known most of the teachers at the academy, but beyond that he was no help.
“You’ve been talking to a lot of people,” the woman running the souvenir shop said when Frankie entered her store. “I’ve seen you through the window. Are you a journalist?” She was dressed in linen overalls with her graying hair up in a messy bun.
“No, just curious about the school that used to be here,” Frankie said, looking around at the keychains, soaps, and quirky pottery that lined the shelves inside.
“A shame I can’t help you with that,” the woman said. “We opened two years ago. Moved down from the city to get some peace.”
Which meant this woman would be of no help to her either.
“It is peaceful,” Frankie agreed, offering a brief smile before picking up a pair of novelty socks with red phone booths on them—not because she needed socks but to give her hands something to do while she dealt with the ramifications of the constant squashing of her hopes.
No one knew Estelle. No one had first-hand experience of the school. No one.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the woman asked. “You’re American, right? Perhaps some treats for your loved ones back home. The fudge is always popular.”
“Just browsing for now,” Frankie said, moving away from the register to give herself space.
Her fingers trailed a tabletop with folded scarves, her eyes sweeping over the silk creations and accompanying novelty earrings on stands.
A counter full of crystals was next, then a shelf with handmade ceramic incense stands and packs of fragrant sticks.
“Are you on a solo vacation then?” the woman asked, coming up behind Frankie. “We typically don’t get a lot of tourists until late June here.
Frankie knew she should leave. She wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat, but as soon as she stepped back outside, she’d have to admit defeat. “Something like that,” she said, picking up a tester of hand cream and smelling it, then another.
“Sounds mysterious,” the woman said. “Oh, those creams are bestsellers. Locally made. We had a cinnamon and vanilla one that was all the rage over Christmas, but I fancy the floral ones myself.” She handed Frankie a tube adorned with roses and waited expectantly while Frankie tried it on the back of her hand.
“It’s a little strong for me,” Frankie said. “But thank you.”
She continued her cursory perusal of the wares, building up to the moment she’d have to confront reality again.
She was almost there, almost ready, when she spotted a pair of dangling earrings in the shape of ballet slippers on the table by the window.
Those would be perfect for Kayla. “I’ll take these,” Frankie said, glad to have bought herself another few minutes’ respite.
“A fine choice,” the woman said. “I’ll wrap them up for you, shall I?”
“Thank you.” Frankie watched as her gift was rung up and bagged.
“And just because,” the woman said, tucking a small tube of hand cream into the bag. “On the house. It has calming properties.”
Was it so obvious she needed it? Frankie smiled as she handed over her card. “Thank you so much.” And then she was outside again on the wrong side of the possibility Aftbury had presented.
Frankie dragged her feet back to her car, her movements slow and heavy as she unlocked the doors and got in. She tipped her head back against the headrest, wishing Owen would appear in the passenger seat, his unending optimism bolstering her.
No, she hadn’t found answers here either, but she was a pair of earrings and—she reached into the bag—a tube of lavender hand cream richer.
She opened it and rubbed it into her skin, wishing whatever magical calm it possessed would imbue her.
It smelled much better than the rose one, that was for sure, its sweet herbal fragrance filling the small space.
“So you paid the school for fifteen years,” Frankie recapped under her breath. “Then ten years ago the payments stopped, but not because the school closed since that happened later.” It struck her that the made-up cancer had also taken place ten years ago. A coincidence?
She took a deep breath of the fragrant air, something else tugging at her subconscious that she couldn’t place.
It wasn’t to do with the cancer. The boarding school payments then?
Were they connected to the situation Starview was in?
It seemed unlikely since so many years had passed, but perhaps it would be unwise to dismiss the possibility.
Frankie still didn’t know if something Estelle had done had caused Starview’s predicament.
As far as Frankie could tell, the school’s accounting books hadn’t looked doctored, and the only regular expenses Estelle had had were daily life upkeep ones.
Plus, the weird collection of tea and candles of course.
No sooner had Frankie recalled the guest-room discovery than the scent of lavender around her intensified, bringing with it the echo of Kayla’s voice telling her that the oldest products in the suitcase were about ten years old.
“Something happened ten years ago,” she mumbled to herself. Estelle had sent money to the school, then stopped only to start buying lavender products. Almost as if one replaced the other.
Frankie pulled the hand cream tube out of the bag and squinted at the fine print beneath the product name.
Like the shopkeeper had said, it was locally made, the name of the company in swirly italics next to the listed ingredients.
Frankie tried to recall the packaging of the teas and candles in her mom’s stash, but at the time, she’d been more focused on the strangeness of the collection than such details.
The packaging had been different for the different products, but she couldn’t remember if they’d been from multiple sellers or only one.
Frankie fumbled with the zipper of her bag to get to her phone, her fingers clumsy and slow as she dialed Kayla’s number.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said when her friend picked up. “I have a favor to ask.”
The minutes elongated into an excruciating wait while Frankie pictured Kayla driving to Estelle’s, unlocking the door, walking upstairs, pulling out the trunk and guitar case, and opening them.
She stared at her phone as if that would make it go faster. Any minute now.
When Kayla finally called, Frankie picked up before the first ring had finished playing.
“Different or the same?” she asked.
“They’re all the same,” Kayla said. “The logo seems to have been redesigned maybe three years ago, but it’s all from the same place—Midsomer Lavender Farm.”
Frankie’s pulse kicked into high gear. This was important. She didn’t yet know exactly how it fit together with everything else, only that it mattered. “Can you look it up for me? My internet sucks here.”
“Sure, one second.”
Frankie drummed an uneven rhythm against her thighs while she waited.
“Looks like it’s not too far from where you are now. A couple of hours west, south of Bath.”
“Phone number?”
Kayla gave it to her. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll call them—ask if they knew Estelle. She didn’t buy all that stuff to use it, so she must have had another reason. If we figure that out, maybe we’ll figure out why she paid the school too.”
They hung up after Frankie promised to keep Kayla posted, and Frankie immediately dialed the phone number Kayla had given her. Several seconds of silence went by, but then it finally connected. One beep, two, three.
“Midsomer Lavender,” a woman answered. “This is Amber speaking. How may I help you?”