Chapter 35 #2
It’s a peace offering, but it’s not nearly enough.
Fortunately, she has accidentally confirmed that her grimoire still exists.
That just means I need to find it. I’ve torn this apartment apart, and the old video store has been stripped to the bone, but that still leaves the hardware store, the theater, the antiques market, and the spaces above them.
Plus the storage area, which is currently ghost country.
Oh! And the candy store. Maggie told me the owner’s name once, but I’ve forgotten it.
He must’ve known Maggie, and she must’ve trusted him, if she sold property to him when she won’t sell it to anyone else.
The fact that there’s candy involved only makes it sweeter.
“I’ll definitely take you up on that later, but I’ve got some errands to run. You should have everything you need here. You want me to put on a movie for you?”
Maggie happily fluffs her crest. “Finally you’re talking sense. That is very thoughtful. Please put in 9 to 5. It’s in the VHS stack.”
I get her movie going and move the bird backpack directly in front of her old, cubical TV so she can sit on the perch if she likes. She has food and water and 109 minutes of Dolly, so it’s time for my next fact-finding mission.
The candy store is just a few doors down from the bookstore.
I haven’t stopped in here before and don’t know much about it, other than the fact that the owner probably loves the Grateful Dead.
Most of the downtown businesses have a homey mountain vibe, brick and burgundy and gingham and bear paw prints, but this place looks like fairy folk raving at Woodstock.
There are brightly painted concrete statues outside, bearded gnomes with sunglasses and frogs on red mushrooms with white spots, and the windows are nicely painted with spring flowers.
Big Rock Candy Mountain, the sign reads.
As I get up my gumption, Shelby appears as if by magic. “You got a hankering for candy, girl? Was my mama’s chocolate pie not enough?”
“More like a hankering for information. What’s up?”
She holds out a white paper bag. “I was bringing you goodies to apologize for my mama’s deviant behavior. So, you know, more sugar.”
“Apology unnecessary but happily accepted.” My eyes rove over the candy store’s magenta walls painted with rainbows. “Do you know who owns this place? Are they in the Chamber?”
Shelby rolls her eyes. “A crusty old hippie guy named Smokey. He’s from here but not magic—I’ve known him all my life, and I don’t even know his last name. He doesn’t believe in government or taxes or civic responsibility, so he won’t pay Chamber dues.”
“So he’s pretty chill?”
“Not when you want him to stop playing the damn drums at three in the morning. Seriously, everyone on the square hates it. What kind of information are you looking for?”
I’m not sure how much to tell her. “Oh, just more questions about Maggie.”
She shakes her head in sympathy. “She sure left things a mess, huh?”
“Understatement of the year.”
I push open the door with a jangle of bells, and the dreamy scent of chocolate and caramel envelops me.
“Welcome to Big Rock Candy Mountain!” calls a big guy who looks like Santa Claus on an acid trip. His tie-dye shirt is printed with the shop’s gnome logo, and his eyes are red and jolly.
“Hey, Smokey!” Shelby says. “This is your new neighbor, Rhea Wolfe. Rhea Kirkwood Wolfe.”
At that second part, his eyes twinkle. “Maggie’s kin?”
“Her granddaughter. Hi.” I hold out my hand to shake, and he squeezes around the counter and pulls me into a patchouli-fueled hug that reminds me why deodorant exists.
“Welcome to town, honeypot,” he booms. “Your granny was a pistol, I tell you what.”
I extricate myself gently. “So they say.”
“Now, Rhea, are you interested in selling? Because I would love to expand. Start an ice cream shop next door, maybe.” He gazes past me to the wall like he can see through it. Which, judging by the scent of skunk on him, maybe he can.
“My grandmother’s trust won’t let me sell, I’m afraid, but renting is always an option.”
Smokey grimaces. “I bow to no landlord. Rent’s due, blah blah blah. Let me know if you can get out of it.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say. “But until then, I hear your caramel apples are to die for.”
He turns, throwing out an arm like Willy Wonka. “Come with me and you’ll see—”
“A world of pure imagination?” I ask.
“That, and fudge, thirty-two flavors! Nora, sugarplum, it’s on the house for our new neighbor.”
I step up to the counter, and the college-aged woman at the cash register smiles at me politely. She’s wearing a much smaller version of Smokey’s tie-dye gnome shirt and has glass gauges in her ears and a silver hoop in her nose. Her pixie has grown out to an uneven shag.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
I point to a huge apple rolled in caramel, chocolate, nuts, and God only knows what else. “Just one of those, please.”
“And you’ve got to try some fudge,” Smokey says. “I’ll fix you up a box. Good fudges make good neighbors!” He starts plucking up pieces of fudge with waxed paper, singing, “Here comes the fudge…”
“Nora, how’ve you been?” Shelby asks.
And that’s when I remember—this must be Nora Cove, the daughter of the awful Coves who were jerks at Chamber and wouldn’t let us in when the turkeys attacked.
“Not bad,” Nora says, but she sure doesn’t look thrilled about it.
“Say, Smokey,” I ask. “Did you know Maggie well?”
“Not in a biblical way, but we were neighbors for a long time, and she sold me the shop. Got along pretty well, although she sure could shout louder than anybody I ever knew. Didn’t like drums. Wicked fast arm with an egg, too. Hit me right in the back of the head once.”
“I heard that was because you threw too much chocolate in the dumpster and it made the raccoons go nuts,” Shelby says.
Smokey throws back his head and laughs. “I didn’t mean to start a raccoon orgy, but life finds a way.”
“Did she ever give you something to hold for her?” I ask.
His red eyes blink in confusion. “Was I holding? For your grandma?”
I put up my hands. “No. Just…I’m looking for something that’s missing from her apartment. A book. It was important. I think maybe she hid it somewhere to keep it safe.”
He shakes his head. “Little mama, nobody who wants to keep track of something gives it to ol’ Smokey.” He knocks his knuckles against his head. “I got the memory of a goldfish.”
Nora hands over a white paper bag with the apple and more fudge than I’ll be able to eat in a month. “Hey, Smokey, can I take my break?” she asks.
He nods and points at her with a nicotine-stained finger. “Ten minutes. Candy doesn’t wait.”
It sure seems like it does to me, but that’s not my problem.
Shelby and I give our thanks and goodbyes, and Nora comes out from behind the counter and follows us outside, immediately looking around like the turkeys might arrive en masse and trample us to death. She walks around the corner to the back door of the candy store, and we follow.
“What’s up?” Shelby says. “Is it your folks—”
Nora grimaces and looks away. Her parents are obviously a sore spot.
“No. I mean, yeah, always, but it’s just…
Smokey doesn’t want anybody to know, but when we had a leak last year, he had to pull up the floor, and he found a hidden cellar below the candy store.
It wasn’t in the survey or whatever when he bought it, and he doesn’t want to pay taxes on it or have the survey redrawn or tell the health inspector, because he’s Smokey.
Anyway, if you’re looking around these properties for something hidden, I think you should know that they might have basements. ”
It hits me like a ton of bricks—or a ton of fudge.
A basement.
Below.
The way the poltergeist kept stomping on the floor in the office and moving chairs around. The ice-cold fishbowl sitting in the middle of the carpet. The fact that Maggie told me to stay out of the office and took great pains to hide it for years.
“Nora, you’re a genius,” I say. “I really owe you one.”
She beams and nervously tucks her hair behind her ears. “Then maybe you’ll consider hiring me, when your bookstore gets going?”
I’m not going to have money to pay for an employee for a while. But I’m suddenly forced to face the fact that yes, even in a small town, one person cannot run a bookstore alone.
“Well, I mean, do you like books?”
Her face lights up. “Omigod, are you kidding? I love books. Especially comics and graphic novels. And kids’ books. And poetry. My parents threw away all my comics. Said they were sinful. But a whole bookstore…” When she smiles—when it’s genuine—Nora Cove looks like an entirely different person.
“Then I’ll think about it, but honestly, I don’t even know if I’m going to make any money opening a bookstore. So it’s not like I can offer you full-time with benefits.”
Nora narrows her eyes in the direction of the candy store.
“I am currently making under minimum wage paid in fudge-stained cash from a guy who calls me Nora Bora and needs at least five hugs a day. Actual minimum wage and no sexual harassment is fine.” Her phone buzzes, and she checks it and frowns.
“Break’s over. Smokey does not know the meaning of time unless it belongs to someone else.
Will you think about it? Please? It’s my dream job. ”
“She was great at the toy store,” Shelby assures me excitedly. “So good with kids, she knows about inventory, POS systems, helping customers, accounting, all that. And she painted Christmas murals on the glass, too!”
“I did the flowers. I can paint anything on glass.”
I can’t help smiling. “Then I will definitely think about it.”
As we wave goodbye to Nora, Shelby says, “That went well. Plus, free candy!”
She’s right. I’ve got a caramel apple and five pounds of fudge in one hand and a bag of baked goods in the other. I’m already hoping Arcadia Falls has a good dentist. But sugar aside, now I have to do three things that scare me:
Get rid of that pesky poltergeist with a spell from a near stranger when everyone is telling me not to trust other witches or their spells.
Figure out how to get into the basement that I’m now certain is lurking under my bookstore.
And scariest of all, figure out how to navigate the hiring process.