Chapter 13
As Luna met Mr. Grimm’s timid smile, the first flush of success still warm in her heart, she thought: See? What were you so worried about? Just look at this man! There’s no way he’s the murdering-people-with-garden-trowels type.
Not that she was clear what a homicidal wielder of garden implements would be like, exactly.
Whatever they were, however, they couldn’t boast such sad blue eyes, such floppy pale hair, or smile with such a whipped-puppy winsomeness.
It simply wasn’t possible. Which meant all her tossing and turning of last night, wondering if she dared accept the job offer she so desperately needed, was for nothing.
Truth be told, even if Mr. Grimm did prove to be of a violent bent, it wasn’t as though she had much choice in the matter. She needed the job if she was going to make next week’s rent. If she didn’t take it, she would be out on the street by Monday morning.
Besides, it’s not like she was the woman glimpsed in that vision—floating in a space of strange darkness, her eyes like gimlets. Grabbed, kissed, and subsequently stabbed.
Her mind was still tumbling through these thoughts, when a voice called out unexpectedly from the back of the building. “Yoohoo! Mr. Grimm! Breakfast!”
Luna startled, backing away from the shop counter. The image of the floating woman was still in her brain, and while such a woman was not what one would associate with the words yoohoo or breakfast, if Luna had learned nothing else over the last two years, it was to be on her guard.
Mr. Grimm set aside a twist of floral wire with a little, “Ah!” He swung open the hinged portion of the counter and stepped out from behind it. “That would be my landlady. I’ll introduce you.” Beckoning, he led the way to the passage at the back of the building.
Luna, her heart beating a little faster than she liked, cast a quick glance back at the display floor.
“Is it all right to leave all this unattended?” While the shop itself might be conspicuously empty, the street outside was busier by the moment.
No doubt customers, glad to escape their gloomy houses after yesterday’s storm, would be drawn in by the happy blossoms on the step in no time.
“I wouldn’t be too concerned about it, Miss Talbot,” Mr. Grimm answered, looking rather dour. “This way, please.”
So Luna, swallowing her trepidation, followed her employer into the dimly-lit passage.
A thaumatic light bulb hung from the ceiling, but Mr. Grimm didn’t bother to flip the switch.
Nevertheless, Luna could just discern two doors on the lefthand wall, another at the very end of the passage, and a single door on the right.
“Storage,” Mr. Grimm said, passing the first door on the left.
He pointed to the next. “Erh, water closet.” He did not offer an explanation for the door at the far end of the passage, but turned to the slightly-ajar door on the right. “And this is the kitchen.”
He stepped inside, immediately greeted by a loud, fruity voice exclaiming, “Top of the morning to you, Mr. Grimm! I’ve got your favorite today, just what you need to put a little meat on those sorry bones of yours!”
Luna, still in the passage, smiled. Certainly no gimlet-eyed floating woman would ever deign use the phrase, “top of the morning.” Feeling bolstered, she moved to follow Mr. Grimm into the kitchen, but paused.
A strange scent tickled at her nose. Subtle but strong enough that it turned her head quite sharply to one side.
She stared in the passage dimness at the final door .
. . could it be said to be lurking in the shadows?
No, surely not. It was far too innocuous a door to lurk, exactly.
It simply stood there, looking just like the storage room door and the water closet door, with the same brass doorknob and slatted paneling.
She frowned. While she wasn’t absolutely certain, if she understood the layout of the building correctly, there was no way this door could lead anywhere except into a boiler room or some shared passage with the next shop over.
So why did she just get such a strong whiff of meadow grass, blowing through those slots?
And was that a gleam of daylight eking across the narrow threshold crack?
“Miss Talbot?”
Luna jumped and turned to see Mr. Grimm standing in the kitchen, holding the door open for her.
She swallowed, pulled a smile into place, and hastily stepped through.
It was a pleasant enough space, boasting an oven that looked like the older, uglier sister of the squat little stove in the front nook.
But there was a stainless steel sink, not as large as the trimming sink out in the shop, but serviceable, not to mention a long work table and three tall iceboxes.
One for foodstuffs, Luna guessed, two more for shop purposes.
A round, pleasant little person stood at the work table, a covered platter in front of her. She was a woman of comfortable age, sporting a lace cap over her gray pin curls. Her cherry mouth screwed up in a suspicious pout at the sight of Luna, and the wrinkles around her eyes narrowed.
“And what is this then?” she demanded, giving Luna a quick once-over before casting a stern glance her tenant’s way. “You know, Mr. Grimm, I expects certain Moral Character from my lodgers.” Luna distinctly heard the capitals enunciated.
“Oh, of course, Mrs. Goddard!” A red stain sprang to Mr. Grimm’s cheeks, and he took a hasty step away from Luna that would almost be insulting were it not so comical. “This is my . . . my new assistant. For the shop, you know. Miss Luna Talbot.”
“A shop assistant?” Mrs. Goddard echoed, her narrow gaze taking in Luna once more. “You never mentioned a word.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Goddard,” Luna said, remembering all the manners her aunties had long sought to instill in her very bones.
She even dropped a neat curtsy, feeling very old-fashioned about it.
This seemed to mollify the landlady somewhat.
Her face unscrewed slightly, and a slight twinkle revealed the possibility of a good-humored individual behind the Moral Reservations.
“And however did you two meet?” Mrs. Goddard asked.
You’d think he’d just introduced me as his sweetheart! Luna thought, and flushed, surprised at herself for even momentarily entertaining such a silly thought. “I, um . . . I happened to drop in. Yesterday,” she fumbled.
Another narrowing of the eyes. “You were out in that storm?”
“I was looking for work. Mr. Grimm kindly offered me a position.”
“Did he now?” Mrs. Goddard glanced from Luna to Mr. Grimm and back again. Her little mouth quirked slightly to one side. “How very courteous of him.” She gave Luna another considering look and nodded. “Why yes. Yes, I think you’ll do rather nicely.”
Uncertain how she was meant to answer such a statement, Luna offered another bob of the knees. “I hope so, Mrs. Goddard.”
A sudden smile transformed the good woman’s face into sunbeams. She laughed, a little trilling sound, and lifted the cover of the tray before her.
Luna’s nose was assaulted with the robust bouquet of beans and eggs and toast and sausage.
She felt as though a cavern had opened up suddenly in the pit of her stomach and hastily pressed both hands to her gut in an effort to stifle any audible groans.
“Eat up then, Mr. Grimm,” Mrs. Goddard said, and bustled across the kitchen, the laces of her little cap trailing behind her. “I’ll fetch the tray back at dinner. In the meanwhile, toodles!”
“Good morning, Mrs. Goddard,” Mr. Grimm answered rather stiffly, seeing her out the back door.
He paused to fetch a bottle of milk, which he slipped into one of the three iceboxes.
Then, reaching up to straighten a tie which was not present, he grimaced when he found instead only his unfastened collar.
He turned to Luna, who met his gaze determinedly, refusing to let herself eye the breakfast tray. But something must have given her away.
“Are you hungry, Miss Talbot?” Mr. Grimm asked.
“Oh, no, not at all!” she lied hastily. “Mrs. Boggs serves breakfast, you know.” No point in mentioning that Mrs. Boggs’s breakfasts consisted mostly of a wish and a prayer.
Mr. Grimm’s gaze flicked from her to the tray again. “I confess,” he said, “I really can’t stand beans and toast. I don’t suppose . . .” He hesitated, his brow puckering slightly. “I couldn’t possibly eat all that this morning. Would you be willing to . . . assist me?”
Luna knew he was being nice. She knew it. And knew as well that she ought to cling to both her pride and her manners and refuse him.
But in that moment, her stomach uttered a tremendous growl. She hastily cleared her throat and spoke loudly, trying to cover for it. “Of course, we wouldn’t want Mrs. Goddard’s feelings to be hurt.”
“Certainly not.” Mr. Grimm pushed the tray across the table toward her. Then he looked down at himself and his mismatched waistcoat buttons and his lack of tie. “I will, erm, just slip upstairs and finish my toilette. When you’ve dined, we’ll continue the tour, shall we?”
He slipped from the kitchen, and Luna pretended for as long as she could that she wasn’t going to fall ravenously on that platter.
She lasted all of five seconds before plunking down on the embroidered cushion of a kitchen chair, catching up fork and spoon, and practically inhaling every last bite.
Mrs. Goddard’s cooking, while perhaps not the stuff of legends, was an absolute miracle compared to anything Mrs. Boggs ever managed to produce.
In fact, Luna was convinced she’d never tasted anything finer than beans on dry toast and suspicious sausage.