“Dead people have the best books.”
I looked down at the newspaper that had been placed in front of me, then up at the woman who had put it there. Imogen Prater, the only other full-time employee who worked at the little bookstore–slash–tea shop that I owned, was staring down at me expectantly, her brown eyes gleaming.
Imogen was usually pretty stoic, rarely wearing her expressions so keenly on her face, so I leaned back on my stool and picked up the newspaper she had slapped down.
“I’m sorry, did you say dead people?”
She nodded eagerly, reaching over the top of the page to tap an area of specific interest. “Look, there’s going to be a massive estate sale at the old Weatherly mansion in Barneswood. The former owner was apparently a massive bibliophile. Phoebe, I bet there are thousands of books in the library.”
I read the item she was pointing to, which did indeed advertise a large estate sale and auction happening the next day. I then glanced past Imogen to the bookstore behind her. While the shelves still appeared to be full and we had several boxes of extra stock in the basement we could use to top them off—not to mention the new releases that arrived weekly—I had to admit that our bargain bin was looking a little barren. And the idea of going to an estate sale to scout for books was pretty enticing.
It had been about seven months since I’d inherited the Earl’s Study from my aunt Eudora and moved to the small town of Raven Creek to take over the business and start my life from scratch. Divorced, without a home or a sense of direction, I had mourned my aunt’s passing, but was also grateful to her for the opportunity she’d given me.
I had a new home—a beautiful Victorian mansion, no less—and a thriving business to run. Between that and Bob, the fat orange tabby cat she’d left behind, Eudora had given me everything I needed to start fresh and feel fulfilled. Of course, my introduction to life in Raven Creek hadn’t gone totally smoothly.
My first week in town, someone had ended up dead behind my shop, and I’d gotten myself on the wrong side of the town busybody, Dierdre Miller. Seven months later, no one else had died, thankfully, but Dierdre still wasn’t terribly fond of me.
Being more settled into my place in the little town also meant I no longer felt too guilty about taking a day off work at the shop or making big decisions on behalf of the business. It was my business, after all.
“It says here it starts at eleven. I’m supposed to work the morning shift tomorrow …” I worked the morning shift almost every day, as Imogen wasn’t an early bird, and Eudora had always been the one to open the shop. I wasn’t much of a morning person either, but I’d learned to enjoy the quiet time the mornings offered me. I would go for a run, weather permitting, then load Bob up into the most ludicrous cat backpack I’d ever seen, and we would bike over to the shop together.
Charlie Bravebird at the pet store had sold me on the backpack when I’d admitted that I wanted to keep bringing Bob to work with me but hated wasting gas and hurting the environment by driving such a short distance. I didn’t want to walk with Bob’s carrier, though, even if we lived fairly close. The backpack looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, with little bubble windows Bob could see out of and breathing holes to give him air. And much to my surprise, he loved it.
Every morning, once he finished scarfing down breakfast, he would go to the front door and sit next to the backpack, letting out a plaintive “Mrow?” as he waited for me to get ready.
Over the winter we’d eschewed the bike in favor of a warm car, but now that spring was turning into summer and the weather was delightful when it wasn’t raining, we biked.
Currently, Bob was curled up in one of the big leather armchairs next to the fireplace, dozing. In the other chair was old Mr. Loughery, who came in every day for tea and to read his latest used-book purchase. When he finished the book—he was currently reading a Laura Lippman mystery—he’d trade it back in for store credit and start the process all over again. He had done this pretty much since Eudora opened the shop. I liked the comfort of the routine. Plus Mr. Loughery gave good feedback about new test recipes from my little kitchen.
We didn’t make a lot of food at the Earl’s Study, as it wasn’t a restaurant, but we liked to supplement the pastries we brought in daily from the Sugarplum Fairy next door with ones we made ourselves. Our Earl Grey Tea Shortbread was hugely popular, and I’d started adding homemade sourdough toasts to the menu a few times a week. Sometimes we did avocado toast with eggs on top; other times I’d do a ricotta toast with figs and honey. No matter what was on the menu, it always disappeared by the time the lunch rush died down.
I looked from Mr. Loughery, who was currently asleep, snoring softly, back to Imogen. “If I open up shop tomorrow, do you think you could come in for nine instead of ten? That would give me enough time to get to Barneswood before the sale starts.”
“Bless you for not asking me to get here for seven,” Imogen laughed, brushing her long black braids over her shoulder. She changed the color in them on a semiregular basis, augmenting the black hair of the braids with fun statement pieces. Right now she was sporting electric blue, which managed to give her dark skin an almost golden undertone. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Obviously, I’ll give you overtime for the extra hour,” I added, as if she still might need convincing.
Imogen scoffed. “Thank you, but it’s not exactly a hardship to come in for an extra hour.”
“We can call Daphne to help you for the lunch rush. I know she’s always looking for more hours than just her weekend shifts.” I wished I could give the girl more time on a regular basis, but the shop was rarely busy enough to justify the added wages, and while we were doing well, we weren’t doing so well that I could manage another full-time staffer.
It was a small town, after all, and while tourist traffic was beginning to pick up now that winter was over, I still liked to keep the budget tight to balance out the off-season slow times where it was mostly just locals coming in to collect special orders or stock up in case they got snowed in.
Being “snowed in” in the Pacific Northwest didn’t look the way it did in the Midwest, by any means, but it rankled me sometimes that people made fun of our responses to ice storms. I’m sorry, but have you ever tried driving a car up a sharply inclined hill when the road is a literal sheet of ice? Try walking up it. Impossible.
I cut out the notice from the paper and went to the office to slip it into my wallet. I had a relatively decent idea of where the sale was, and I’d driven to Barneswood a few times since I’d moved to Raven Creek, but just in case I got lost, I wanted to have the details handy.
Looked like I was going on a store-sponsored shopping spree. I had to admit I was more than a little excited.
The next day dawned bright and cheerful. After the long winter with its gloomy mornings, it was such a relief in May to have the sun come up before I did. I turned on the coffeemaker and fed Bob his favorite wet food before lacing up my running shoes and heading out the door for my morning jog.
It was just before six, and I went only about three miles, which gave me enough time to run home and have a quick shower before meeting Amy at the Sugarplum Fairy around seven. She was there a lot earlier than that prepping breads and pastries for the day, but seven was plenty early enough for me.
The morning run had become a part of my ritual, and while it had often been too cold or otherwise difficult to do it over the winter, I tried to get one in whenever I could. The morning air today was crisp, still holding the tiniest hints of winter’s chill, and I was glad I’d decided to wear my long-sleeved running jacket.
While the forecast for the rest of the day was sunny and warm, we weren’t quite at that point yet, and I didn’t want to catch a cold. My long, nearly black hair swayed back and forth in its high ponytail as I ran, and my running playlist pounded out a beat that matched my footfalls. There’s nothing quite like a little Destiny’s Child on a spring morning to put some extra bounce in your step.
I completed my short loop, waving to early-morning dog parents who had to let their fur-children out before the workday began. I remembered the dogs’ names but rarely the people’s. Eugene was the little corgi whose owner was a middle-aged woman with a graying pixie cut, and Goliath was the towering Great Dane who belonged to a tall, slender man with thick black glasses and a neatly trimmed goatee. I saw them both like clockwork every morning, and we waved in mutual early-bird greeting but rarely stopped to chat.
There were a handful of other regulars I sometimes saw: a Chihuahua named Tank, and three golden retrievers named Sandra, Ruth, and Sonia, which made me chuckle every time their owner called them inside. Naming your dogs after female Supreme Court justices was absolutely fabulous, and I often wondered what the older woman with her coiled gray perm had done for a living, because she certainly appeared to be retired now.
After my three-mile loop was complete, I jogged back up my front steps and paused on the top board as it let out a loud creak.
Since I knew I hadn’t suddenly put on any extra weight, I didn’t think the board was protesting that. I stepped backward, then onto the board again, and sure enough, it groaned and sagged under me.
I let out a loud sigh. Auntie Eudora’s house was glorious, truly a beautiful thing to behold, looking for all the world like somewhere the Addams family would feel at home if they decided to go on vacation. But it was also very old, and in my aunt’s later years, she hadn’t been able to do as much maintenance on it as she had when she was young and spry.
I’d been trying to ignore a lot of the necessary upkeep over the winter, but evidently the months of wet snow and ice had taken a bit of a toll on the front porch and steps.
Cautiously I moved around the porch, testing out several of the graying boards, and found quite a few places that bowed under my weight.
Replacing them was going to have to go to the top of my to-do list.
I wondered vaguely
if I might be able to bribe Rich and Leo—with a case of good local craft beer and some delicious pizza from Tony’s Pizzeria—into providing a little elbow grease and getting the job done.
When I’d visited Raven Creek as a kid and stayed with Eudora, I’d befriended two local boys, Leo and Ricky, and we’d been fast friends for about as long as it was cool for boys and girls to be buddies at that age, and then as teens we’d drifted apart. My family moved to Chicago, and I’d stopped coming to visit as frequently. But Leo and Rich had remained close to Eudora, and she had put them to work quite often in their teen years helping with upkeep on the old house. Maybe it was time to get them back into the habit.
After I’d come back to town, I’d reconnected with the boys, who were now fully grown men, obviously, and while it had initially felt as if something might be blossoming between me and Rich, we’d put things on an extended hold almost immediately. We were both freshly divorced, and starting a new romance seemed like a recipe for disaster.
Leo, I suspected, might like to ask me out, but he was shy and hadn’t taken the plunge yet. While he wasn’t my normal type—he was a big bear of a man, tall and heavy, with a big beard—I thought I would say yes.
Well, I’d give them a call when I got back from Barneswood to see what their weekend plans were. Didn’t make sense to put off the inevitable with the porch, and I could probably pick up some lumber on my way home today. Raven Creek had only a small hardware store, but Barneswood had a proper lumberyard.
I checked my watch, then ducked into the house quickly to grab a tape measure from the kitchen junk drawer. I couldn’t exactly buy lumber if I didn’t know what I needed. Back out on the porch, I realized just how major of a job it would be to get the whole porch completed and decided beer and pizza wouldn’t cut it for something of that scale. But we could probably get the entrance boards replaced over the weekend so I didn’t accidentally put my foot through them coming home after a run.
I did a quick measurement of the area I thought was most vital to tackle, including the front steps themselves, and jotted the numbers down on my phone. By the time I finished, I had only about five minutes for a quick shower, which wasn’t nearly enough for the water to heat up properly, and I was grateful to my past self for setting out my clothes the day before so I didn’t need to think about it.
While the weather was turning toward summery, it was still cool enough in the mornings and evenings to justify long sleeves. But in the Earl’s Study, we had the fireplace going, and the heat from the ovens as I baked bread and cookies also kept me pretty toasty. I opted for a pair of nice jeans, my comfiest black loafers—standing all day meant smart footwear ruled over cute, and who knew what the estate sale situation would be like—a light-gray T-shirt with an Alphonse Mucha art print on the front with shiny gold highlights accenting it in places so I glittered in the right light, and a cinnamon-colored long cardigan that fell to my knees. The cardigan had actually belonged to Eudora and was one of several items of her clothing I had salvaged from
her closets to keep for myself. The rest had been donated to a local thrift store, but I was impressed by some of Eudora’s clothing choices and loved that she had favored high-quality wardrobe staples that felt timeless enough to easily blend into my existing wardrobe. Between the cardigan and the T, I was set for any kind of weather that might come my way.
Bob was waiting for me at the front door when I finished getting dressed, his orange tail swishing back and forth and his big yellow-green eyes watching me carefully. He had noticed that his backpack wasn’t at the door waiting, and the judgment in his expression was as clear as day.
“Mreow,” he trilled.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re still coming; we’re just taking the car today. Though I probably should leave you at home rather than force poor Imogen to deal with that stare all day.”
He slow-blinked at me and made a little mrr sound, which I knew meant he didn’t believe I’d leave him behind and that Imogen loved spending time in his company because he was a perfect gentleman with her.
When I’d first taken ownership of Eudora’s estate, no one had told me there was a cat involved in the package. He’d just been waiting on the porch for me when I arrived. Leo told me later that Eudora had asked him to come by periodically to feed the cat before I arrived, and Leo had been very generous with Bob at mealtimes. The ginger menace had been quite the chonk when I’d met him. He was still a big boy but definitely a bit healthier now.
He didn’t appreciate the little diet I’d put him on, but the vet had insisted he could stand to lose about five pounds for his long-term health. I’d heard the same thing from my own doctor a time or two, especially right after my divorce when my diet had consisted largely of my good friends Ben, Jerry, and Tim.
Since we weren’t biking to the store today, a carrier felt unnecessary. Bob wasn’t the type of cat to make a break for it the second I opened the door, so I slung my purse over my shoulder, made sure my keys were in hand, and hefted him up.
“Mrrroowwww,” he said dramatically, tail swishing a bit harder now.
“It’s this or the travel cage, so the choice is yours, pal.”
He started to purr.
“That’s what I thought.”
Less than ten minutes later we were unlocking the back door to the Earl’s Study, and Bob made a beeline for his favorite chair, leaving Mr. Loughery’s vacant as always. He gave a huge stretch, then curled himself into a tight orange ball.
Typical.
I stashed my purse in the office and headed for the front door. It was a delightful treat to have the Sugarplum Fairy right next door. It was a charming little bakery with pink and white accents and adorable Parisian café tables outside, and her customers almost always found their way
into my own store or vice versa.
Who didn’t love books and lattes together, or tea and pastries? While our offerings did overlap with those of the bakery, there was no rivalry. Amy didn’t do a lunch special and we did, and we mostly served her pastries at our shop, while she carried a selection of our most popular loose-leaf teas at her place. It was a symbiotic relationship that seemed to work well for everyone.
And I loved to have an excuse to visit her every morning for a perfect chocolate hazelnut latte. She offered other flavors on a seasonal rotating basis, but I was a sucker for that sweet morning treat and rarely changed my standing order.
Before I headed into Amy’s shop, I took a moment to soak in the peaceful morning stillness on Main Street. While Raven Creek wasn’t a bustling metropolis by any means, the main streets would certainly get busier as the day wore on. Between locals and an ever-present supply of tourists, we saw a lot of foot traffic around town.
For months it had been dark when I got to work, so I rarely got to appreciate the beauty of my new hometown, and this was going to be my first time experiencing spring and summer here as an adult.
The sun was rising through the tall pines and turning the mountains in the background a gray-pink hue that made the whole thing look like a fake Hollywood backdrop. Birds sang merrily, and the smell of fresh bread wafted out from Amy’s place.
I smiled to myself and gave a contented sigh, feeling a sense of calm that one can experience only when they know they’re home. And that’s what Raven Creek felt like to me now. Maybe more than anywhere else I’d lived since I was a child.
Though it was only seven in the morning, Amy’s OPEN sign was on, and the lights blazed inside. Bakeries needed to keep early hours, and Amy closed when she sold out. She arrived every day at about three to start the loaves baking for her morning pickups and deliveries, and by six thirty she was open for walk-in traffic.
Not that there was a heck of a lot of it at this hour.
I was the only person in the shop, and she emerged from the back with a big smile. My white order boxes were already neatly stacked on the counter behind her, waiting for my arrival.
“The usual?” she grinned, plucking an empty pink coffee cup from the stack.
I held out a reusable mug I’d brought from home. “Imogen keeps lecturing me on my carbon footprint, so I ordered these.” I showed the mug to her. It was mint green, and in bronze script it showed off the Earl’s Study logo, the same one as on the big wooden sign hanging over our door. “I’m getting some frosted ones for summer that are a bit bigger so people can see the pretty colors of the iced tea. What do you think?”
Amy took the lightweight plastic cup, which looked identical to a paper one except that it could be washed and reused over and over. “This is really cool, Phoebe. Do you mind sending me the information on where you ordered from? I’d love to get some of these for the shop.”
“Of course.” I grabbed the notepad that sat on her counter and jotted down the name of the website I’d used. “They do great deals for bulk orders, and you can get samples first so you know it looks good. I’m going to offer a discount to anyone who brings their own cup in.”
“I love that.” She went to the sink next to the coffeemaker and gave my cup a quick swish in the hot water, then started to make my usual latte.
I scanned the jars of loose-leaf tea on top of her pastry cabinets. “You’re looking a bit low on the Lemon Meringue Pie blend. Do you want me to pop by a bit later with some more?”
“That would be awesome. Thank you.” Amy and I didn’t have a traditional customer relationship. We swapped goods back and forth; I gave her whatever tea she wanted, and she gave me her pastries so cheap they were basically free. It had worked for her and Eudora and continued to work now.
What Amy didn’t know, and I often wanted to tell her, was that she was also actually my tenant. Shortly after arriving in Raven Creek, thanks to the dead man who had unexpectedly shown up behind my shop, I had learned that I didn’t own just the Earl’s Study. Eudora had owned the deeds to half the businesses on Main Street.
Rather than using the rental income for her own benefit, she’d promised the previous owner to use the money only for the betterment of the town. I let things stay much the same now that I was the owner. I hadn’t told anyone the truth about my landlord status, because I suspected they would treat me differently if they knew I was an on-paper millionaire.
The money wasn’t really mine, though. I ran it through a secondary business with the help of some lawyers, and they would just come to me when something in town needed attention. The properties were kept pristine, rent was never raised, and over Christmas we had better decorations than any larger city in a fifty-mile radius.
It was weird to technically own the Sugarplum Fairy, but I was glad to know I had the power to keep Amy and other business owners from ever needing to worry about being able to keep their businesses open.
Raven Creek was small, and it needed the cute little boutique shops all around town to draw tourist attention. We were known for our great hiking and bird-watching, not to mention the charming European vibes the local architecture radiated, but it was the people and businesses that made visitors keep coming back.
Plus, Amy already knew my other biggest secret, and that was more than enough. If someone could call it a secret.
The bookstore and the fat cat weren’t the only things that had been part of my inheritance.
After Eudora died, I’d also learned that she was a witch.
And so was I.
There had been a long-standing joke in Raven Creek about Eudora being a witch. Even when I’d visited as a child, other kids had treated Lane End House like the home of a wicked witch.
They’d challenge each other to go knock on the door and run away, something I had learned to my annoyance was still happening after Eudora died, and it freaked me out every single time someone did it.
I’d written off those rumors as silly childish nonsense, but what I couldn’t have known at the time was that while the children were scaring each other with stories of the house and the witch who lived within, their parents were turning up at her shop to buy her special tea blends. The ones we kept in the back rather than out on display.
Eudora had a special gift for spells of intention, I’d learned from my friend Honey, who owned the shop New Moon. Her special magical gift was being able to help others get what they most wanted. It was a uniquely selfless gift, because it worked only to benefit others and not Eudora herself.
She took that gift and poured it, metaphorically, into the teas she made. People who drank her love teas, her money teas, or any of the other special blends she put together were sure to have positive results. She really wanted what was best for people.
I could do the same, but with less potency. I’d learned, thanks to unexpected trial and error, that I was especially gifted in probability magic. Meaning in certain situations I could literally stop time and change the course of things already set in motion. It wasn’t exactly something I could control, ...
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