Chapter Seven
Sadie
I packed the root chakra singing bowl into its padded case and nested the sacral and throat ones inside it.
I’d been lucky to find a used set of seven, pure-white, crystal, chakra singing bowls that were in perfect condition at an antique shop in Maplehaven, a neighboring town.
They’d been expensive, but I’d sold a few pieces of royal jewelry I’d brought along on my adventure and they were worth more than I’d expected.
I’d been able to fund my new mindfulness wardrobe, keep the cabin stocked with food, and put gas in the car Hank had allowed me to use.
Driving, however, had taken some re-learning.
Although I had been given lessons back home, I hadn’t actually been behind the wheel of a vehicle in years.
I’d gotten in the swing of it again after a few days, and getting around Greenridge and the neighboring towns wasn’t all that hard with so little traffic.
I was doing my best to blend in here and had big hopes about this business venture of mine. Especially now that Beckett had agreed to help me. If he was as skilled as his sister claimed, he’d be just the thing I needed to get my services out to the people.
That interaction with Beckett at the clothing store had been something that kept cycling through my mind as I outlined the offerings I wanted to include in my business.
I’d been surprised to find him sitting in the ladies dressing room area.
I’d been even more surprised to discover how much I liked seeing him again.
He’d looked fetching in a pair of those rough fabric pants I’d come to learn were called jeans here in the States.
A plaid shirt in harvest tones under a soft, brown vest paired nicely with the jeans, and stylish brown boots finished off the outfit.
His hair and beard were tidy also. He was clearly an attractive man. One I didn’t mind looking at.
But that aura . . . I couldn’t wait to help him with that.
I zipped the singing bowl case and gently patted the top. “Hopefully, a sound bath will brighten Beckett’s aura and improve his energy.”
I had been practicing with the bowls for a few days and was ready for that sound bath with Beckett today at Hartley’s Nest. I’d given him my phone number when Vanessa asked for it and I’d been forced to fiddle with the phone Orla had given me so I could make arrangements with Beckett.
At first, a chiming sound had come from my suitcase after I’d returned home from my shopping excursion.
It had taken me a while to discover the phone was the source of the noise.
When I’d tapped the screen, I’d seen Beckett’s name and a little jolt of excitement had rippled through me.
He’d actually reached out. He’d said he would, but I’d felt his reluctance in the store.
I probably shouldn’t have commented on his aura.
Twice since I’d met him.
The message he’d sent offered a time to meet the following week and the address of Hartley’s Nest. I’d figured out how to reply and told him I’d be there.
And now it was time to follow through.
Technically, Beckett would be my very first customer.
I believed in sound baths and the healing they could provide, but would Beckett’s negative attitude toward the practice interrupt the flow of the benefits?
I’d have to make sure he felt better after the sound bath or he might not agree to help me set up my business.
Who would get involved in something they didn’t think actually worked?
I drew in a deep breath, held it for a few moments, then slowly sifted it out in an attempt to center myself.
A mindfulness practitioner had to be . .
. well, mindful. I couldn’t let my fears sabotage me before I even got started.
So far, I loved it here in Greenridge. I had a nice cabin as shelter, a car to drive, check-ins from Hank, and the potential for a flourishing career that was something of my own creating.
None of this would be possible if I’d stayed in Verdalach and married Cian.
After another few deep breaths, I shouldered a tote bag stuffed with notes I’d made about the business I wanted to build and picked up the two cases full of singing bowls. I left the cabin, loaded the car, and set off to Hartley’s Nest.
When I reached the mailbox labeled Slater, however, a man was struggling to lift a block of hay into the bed of his truck. I pulled over and hopped out.
“Need a hand?” I asked as I jogged over to him, the hay block on the ground between us.
The man had gray hair peeking from under a John Deere hat.
I’d learned from Hank that John Deere was a brand of equipment that many people had here in these parts and had since seen many green tractors with the same name and logo on them.
He also wore a green, plaid coat with a fleece lining and pair of gray pants with brown boots.
A pair of work gloves, stained with something brownish-red, were on his hands as he gazed down at the hay block.
“Normally, I don’t need a hand,” he said, drawing my attention away from the gloves and up to his face, “but my elbow’s sore today. A touch of arthritis, you know?” He shook his head as he rubbed his left elbow. “Don’t get old.”
“I’ll try my best.” I pointed to the hay. “I’ll try my best to help you with that too.”
Together, we lifted the hay block and got it into the truck bed.
“Thanks.” The man leaned against the truck. “I’m Jimmy Slater. Did you move in around here somewhere?”
“I’m staying at Hank Faraday’s cabin,” I said. “My name’s Sadie Rodgers.”
“Well, thanks, Sadie Rodgers, for loaning me your muscles.” Jimmy smiled, his kind blue eyes crinkling at the corners. How could anyone believe the rumors Hank had warned me about concerning this man?
A serial killer? Unlikely.
Unless his kind demeanor was a trick.
“No problem,” I said, backing away toward the car. “Nice meeting you.” And maybe forget you met me. I certainly didn’t want to be on his next victim list. It would be a shame to have successfully escaped the life I hadn’t wanted in Verdalach only to be killed here in America.
I climbed back into the car and continued on my way.
Only Jimmy’s pickup followed me.
Took all the rights I took.
Took all the lefts I took.
Tracked me all the way to Hartley’s Nest.
I considered driving past the sign at the entrance to the wildlife rehabilitation center, but I didn’t know where else to go. At least I knew Beckett would be at Hartley’s Nest.
When I reached a fork in the dirt roadway, I went left as Beckett’s directions had instructed, but Jimmy went right. Was it possible the man also had business to attend to at Hartley’s Nest? Had he not been following me at all?
I kept an eye on the rearview mirror, half expecting Jimmy’s truck to make a reappearance, but it didn’t.
A few moments later, I found myself in front of a sleek house with a gray exterior and many windows that looked a little too fancy for the woodland setting around it.
I pulled into the driveway next to a shiny vehicle that was much bigger than the little car I drove.
Clearly, Beckett liked innovation though his work involved supporting nature. An intriguing juxtaposition.
I got out of the car and as I was checking out Beckett’s vehicle, he suddenly appeared.
“It’s a hybrid,” he said.
“A what?”
“A hybrid.” He came to stand beside me, looking handsome in jeans again but with a blue and green plaid shirt—Hank had called the material flannel—over a green T-shirt. “It’s both electric and gas-powered.”
“Oh, I see.” Though I didn’t really understand, he seemed proud of the vehicle.
“I considered the fully electric, but I’m not satisfied with the technology yet and there aren’t enough charging stations around these parts.” He turned to look at the car I drove. “This is a dinosaur.”
“It’s borrowed,” I said. “For now.”
“Until your business gets going.”
“Exactly.” I opened the back door and pulled out the singing bowl cases.
“Let me take those for you.” Beckett held out his hands.
I let him grab the handles of each case. “Be careful. They’re fragile.” I didn’t have the money to buy a new set and it was unlikely I would have the good fortune of finding a used set again.
“Got it.” He angled his head toward his house. “This way.”
Hefting the tote bag, I followed him, not sure what his no-nonsense tone meant. Was he eager to get this over with? Was he just focused on the business we were here to conduct? Did he regret agreeing to a sound bath in exchange for his skills?
Was he nervous?
My own hands were a little sweaty and I wiped them on the long cream sweater I wore over my burgundy leggings and matching T-shirt.
A rumbling sounded on the other side of a grove of trees and I hurried to catch up to Beckett.
“That’s Jimmy Slater’s truck.” Beckett set one of the singing bowls cases down in front of his front door.
“I know.” I peeked over my shoulder, but I didn’t see his actual truck, which was good. “I think he followed me here.”
Beckett let out a little chuckle. “Nah. Jimmy’s here quite a bit.” He opened his door and motioned for me to enter. “He’s dating my mom.”
I paused right in front of Beckett. “You’re mom is dating a . . . a . . .”
“Possible serial killer?”
I nodded.
“I see that rumor reached you, huh?” Beckett took a step deeper into the house so we were no longer both in the doorway together.
He set the singing bowls down on the tiled floor then closed his front door.
“From what we’ve seen since Jimmy and our mom have gotten involved, the man either has given up on being a serial killer, was never a serial killer, or is patiently waiting for us all to become so comfortable with him that we won’t see him coming when he finally decides to kill us all.
” Beckett widened his eyes as if in horror, but then his lips tilted up in a smile to illustrate he was joking.
“I helped him with loading hay into his truck and he seemed nice,” I said. “But then I got anxious when I thought he was following me here.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Beckett said. “Besides, weren’t you able to read his aura?”
I clasped my hands in front of me. “I see you haven’t forgotten my assessment of your aura, have you?”
Becket shrugged, suggesting he didn’t care about his aura either way, but I saw through that.
“Let’s get right to the sound bath.” I headed for the cases. “That way you’ll be all refreshed for when we talk business.”
“Fine.” Beckett waved a hand toward a living room filled with black leather couches and wooden tables with rich, dark stain.
A simply obscene-sized television was mounted on a wall above a glass-enclosed fireplace that had logs arranged in it.
As I studied the details, a fire flared to life behind the glass, making me jump a bit.
“What magic is this?” I asked as I slowly approached the fireplace.
“Gas insert.” Beckett wiggled his phone. “I can control it from here.”
“Oh.” I’d watched Fionn build a fire in the palace hearths on many occasions. He didn’t fancy the chore. He’d love to be able to tap a screen and have the fires ignite themselves.
Not that my parents would approve of such technology in their palace. Too modern for Verdalach.
“Is there enough room in here for you set up in front of the fireplace?” Beckett asked.
I eyed the stretch of space between the fireplace and a wooden table in front of the couch then scanned the entire room.
Rather cavernous, it didn’t exactly exude coziness, but I wasn’t about to get picky.
I had the sense Beckett was only one step away from telling me to forget our deal.
He’d agreed in the store with his sister pressuring him, but perhaps actually having me here now was making him change his mind.
“This space will do nicely.” I offered him what I hoped would be interpreted as a friendly smile then proceeded deeper into the room. “I need a few minutes to set up the singing bowls.”
“Okay. Do you want something to drink?” Beckett asked.
“A water would be lovely.”
Nodding, Beckett walked off and I set to work on laying out a semi-circular rug in front of the fireplace and unpacking the singing bowls. I carefully arranged them in an arc with a spot for me to sit among them and pulled out a pair of mallets for striking the bowls.
Beckett returned with a bottle of water which he held out to me. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” I took the bottle, uncapped it, and took a long drink from it.
He eyed the singing bowls. “Wow, those really do look delicate. I probably shouldn’t have offered to carry them for you. I feel as if I could break them just by looking at them.”
“They do require a light touch.” When I finished making minor adjustments to the positioning of the singing bowls, I looked up at Beckett. “Are you ready for your sound bath?”
“What does one need to do to be ready for a sound bath?” He set his own water bottle on a coaster he’d placed on the table in front of the couch and I did the same.
“Nothing really,” I said. “Maybe lie on that couch, on your back, and I’ll lead you in a breathing exercise to relax you.”
He peered at me for a moment, and I got the sense he thought breathing exercises—like sound baths and auras—were nothing more than malarkey.
I prepared to convince him otherwise, but he went to the couch of his own free will and reclined.
And a curious thing happened when I saw him in that position.
I wanted to join him.