Chapter 23
I don’t scream, but I do make an unflattering eep noise and jump backward, directly into Hunter’s chest. He immediately moves so that we’re not touching.
“Is that what I think it is?” I ask.
“It’s a skeleton,” he confirms. “But I don’t think it’s real. If it were real, wouldn’t there be junk on it? Or at least a puddle of gunk underneath it? Or a stain on the carpet?”
I take another step back.
We’re not touching, but…we’re almost touching. His body is warm and solid behind me.
I do not mind it.
And he’s right.
If there had been a dead body in here, it would be gooey. Chunky. Probably clothed, as most people don’t die naked in the office.
Probably not sitting in a rolling chair, coated in dust.
With one leg crossed over the other like we’re about to have a performance review.
And there would definitely be a smell.
I step forward and prod the skull. It’s obviously plastic.
“…Why?” is all I can say, looking at the mess.
“Your grandmother was a weird bird.”
Still is, I almost say. More than you know.
I will be asking her about this later.
“I guess she thought it was a funny joke, or maybe it was left over from Halloween?”
“Your grandmother never struck me as a prankster, but I would imagine that if she had a place hidden and locked up to keep folks out, she’d enjoy the thought of scaring anyone rude enough to sneak in.”
Hunter joins me in the small room and reaches for the skeleton’s arm bones.
From up close, it’s pretty clear that this particular skeleton is on a smaller scale than an average human, like a Hobbit skeleton, and I can see the plastic seams. I can’t believe I spent a solid minute thinking I’d just discovered another corpse.
I guess when you learn that magic is real, you assume lots of other improbable things are real, too.
The door slams with such suddenness and ferocity that I jump.
We both stare at it, and Hunter walks over and opens it.
“Well, that was weird,” I say. I suddenly want to get out of this room, but I don’t want to seem like I’m freaked out by a slamming door.
Hunter looks toward the back of the store, his brow drawn adorably down. “Must be some sort of suction caused by the AC. At least the lock isn’t sticky.”
He’s right. The AC is definitely on. I’m freezing.
And I want to know more about this office.
I am desperate to get out of it and go upstairs and ask my grandmother a million questions, but being alone with Hunter is a lot more fun, even if the vibes are off and he’s currently not my biggest fan.
Plus, he’s here to give me an estimate, not sit around while I interrogate a cockatoo about a Hobbit skeleton.
“Shouldn’t be too hard to get all this cleaned out,” Hunter says, still standing in the door.
“The dumpster is right out the back, and since there are only two active businesses on the alley, there’s always plenty of room for trash.
I can bring a dolly, and we can get it done in an afternoon.
And I’ve got a door stopper in the truck. Don’t want you startled again.”
I’m excited to get things cleaned out until I remember that I have to pay this guy. “So do you have an hourly rate, or do you give me an estimate? I don’t want to waste your time rolling boxes of dusty paper out to the dumpster when you could be building the bookshelves of my dreams.”
A raised eyebrow. I didn’t know he could do that.
“You dream about bookshelves?”
“You don’t?”
That gets a chuckle.
“I already built the bookshelves I wanted for my own house,” he says.
“But I see your point.” He turns back to the store and looks around, hands on his hips as he considers it.
“My typical rate is forty an hour plus materials, but I do thirty for downtown businesses not owned by the Coves. Now, that rate is for incidentals, for your honey-do list. For the shelving project, let me measure out and give you a solid estimate. That way, you don’t see me taking the time to drink some water and think you’re paying for it. ”
“I wouldn’t—”
A wry grin. “Plenty of people do.” He pulls out his notebook again, takes it over to the counter, and draws as he talks.
“So I’m going to show you a sketch of what I would do, given my druthers—what I think would be the most useful to you and the most beautiful.
Then you can tell me if you love it, if you hate it, if you envision something else.
Once we have a design we both like, I’ll take the measurements and price out the wood.
” He looks up, meets my eyes. “This is going to be the most expensive part of this endeavor. Wood ain’t cheap. ”
I nod. “Which is ironic, as it grows on trees.”
He pins his lips to avoid smiling; he can’t seem to stay annoyed with me for very long, as much as he’d like to.
“But there are options. There are cheaper ways to start, just to get the doors open, and then, if you’re successful, I can make improvements.
Basically, you can have your Beast library, but it might be on layaway. ”
As he sketches, I look around the store before decisively tromping over to the front window and plucking up the cardboard displays one by one, tossing them in a pile on the ground.
“That Terminator stand-up is probably worth five hundred dollars,” Hunter calls.
I stare down at Arnold’s sun-faded face. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. Before you throw them out, check eBay. That’s all I’m saying. If you can find buyers for all those displays, that money can go toward wood for the bookshelves.”
I was going to drop all this junk in the dumpster, but if he’s right, this pile of supposed tinder could be worth a few thousand dollars.
The vintage posters on the walls, maybe, too.
But I have a sense of energy right this moment.
I want to start making visible changes here.
I head back to the office and open the first box I find.
It’s nothing but empty VHS boxes, and now I’m wondering if they have any resell value.
I’d love any way to squeeze more money out of this monstrosity, but I’m also desperate to clear out the musty space and make it my own.
The next box is receipts, and then tax documents and forms from the late eighties.
I methodically go through all the boxes looking for anything that can get tossed without too much thought, but…
everything requires thought. Hunter isn’t around when I head up the newly cleared stairwell to my apartment.
The pile of crusty blankets is gone. He must’ve moved them while I was in the office.
It’s so gentlemanly and thoughtful I could just melt into the floor.
I add Febreze to the grocery list on my phone.
Upstairs, Maggie, still in the cage, tugs at the door with her beak, angrily growling, “You’d better let me out of here, so help me God!”
I unlatch the cage door, and she flutters through it and shakes herself. “I have the strangest urge to sing ‘How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria,’ ” she says. “Or just scream a lot. But then I also want to consult my lawyer.”
“If you’re done pondering the intricacies of bird law, I’ve got questions.”
“Seems to be all you have,” she grumbles.
“First of all: Why is there a skeleton in the office, and why is the office hidden?”
She cackles. “Found that, did you? Just a fun little surprise for whoever went poking around in my things. Left over from the Halloween scarecrow contest one year. That’s my personal space, and I don’t want anyone in there.”
“Thanks for the heart attack. But it’s my space now, and I plan to use it.”
“Can’t you just leave well enough alone? Is nothing sacred?”
“Sacred? No. Not the janky little office in a defunct video store and not Bilbo Bagbones. Next question: Is there anything in the office that needs to be kept, or can I toss it all in the dumpster?”
Maggie paces around the kitchen, chirping her frustration. “It should all be kept and left just like it is. It’s none of your damn business!”
“It is absolutely my business.” She’s got me mad now, too. “Because you’re either a ghost or a parrot, and neither of those things is a taxpaying entity.”
“It’s all important. Tina McGowan does all my accounting and taxes—”
I snort. “If Tina McGowan still hasn’t done your taxes from 1988, she’s a pretty bad accountant.”
“She’s an amazing accountant! I set up that business in 1987, and every year I pay Tina to just do whatever needs doing.
The store made good money back in the day.
And then it faded out and became more like a bad habit I couldn’t quit.
People seemed to need it. Uncle Abraham needed it. And as I got older, I got tired.”
“But it’s still legally a business and all that?”
Maggie fluffs herself. “Yeah, but I don’t know much about the paperwork, honestly. Don’t trust Joyce, but Tina and Colonel will take care of you.”
I huff a sigh. All this sounds great, but the paperwork will have to wait. I want to get to work now, want to feel the satisfaction of a clean room and knowing I’ve made my mark. I want to Marie Kondo some shit, get that Hoarders satisfaction of scraping up the flat cats and putting down new rugs.
“So can I toss the junk that’s in the office or not? I want that room cleaned out. Today.”
Maggie looks up at me, cocking her head side to side.
“It’s done just fine locked up for ten years, but if you’ve got that much of a bug up your behind, put the boxes in the storage room.
You know, the one between the video store and the hardware store?
All that’s your space. Why worry about something today if you can worry about it later? ”
Yeah, that feels about right.
“Now just take me downstairs—”
I bark a laugh. “No way. I can’t think with you shouting in my head.” I go to scoop her up—
“Not the cage!”
She sounds so desperate that I stop.
“You don’t know what it’s like, being an animal.”
She’s panting, so I stop and stroke her head, trying to calm her.