Pumpkins & Poltergeists, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 1 Page 11

  “Oh, thanks, but I’m not really into hot stuff.”

  A silly grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Funny, I was thinking you needed a little more spice in your life.”

  His eyes are so blue, and that smile…

  Everything I’m worried about flies out of my head. The sun is sinking, shooting beautiful peachy rays of light over our portion of the parking lot. He jiggles the candies in the bag between us, “Come on, Ava, take a risk. Try a candy.”

  I waver.

  He sees it. “I’ve never known you to chicken out of a challenge.”

  A spark of competition usually reserved for Prissy Barnes ignites. Holding out my hand, I accept one of the tiny red candies from him and pop it in my mouth.

  The taste of cinnamon explodes in my mouth, a sharp tang of heat hitting the back of my throat. It’s as if the rest of the group around us disappears, and it’s only Logan and me.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  I think I’m still falling down that rabbit hole. I start to answer then accidentally suck the cinnamon down my throat.

  Oh ack! I gag, I cough, and then I whirl away, embarrassment hitting my cheeks. The candy is stuck, my throat on fire.

  “Are you okay?” Logan asks.

  My face flames anew with self-consciousness, and I try to answer, resulting in a fresh coughing attack.

  Logan gently whacks me on the back. Miracle of miracles, the stuck candy dislodges and flies out of my mouth. It hits the ground, and I continue to cough raggedly, my throat spasming.

  A group of gawkers has gathered. Queenie hands me a cup of water, but attempting to drink only makes the coughing worse.

  I walk away, trying to get away from Logan, but he follows.

  Tears run from my eyes, and he continues to gently pat me between the shoulder blades. As the worst subsides, his pats become a gentle rub, and I feel a different kind of heat flood my face.

  Get it together, Ava! I can handle just about anything, but some cute guy with blue eyes offers me a piece of candy and I become a hot mess.

  I hesitantly sip some water and try not to look at him, and he’s polite enough to close the bag of candies and put them away inside his jacket. “What exactly happened at the country club today? Were you in the restroom when those toilets exploded?”

  Great, we’re going from one embarrassing situation to another. There’s no way I’m going to tell him that I ended up showered in toilet water, so I wave a hand dismissively. “Already gone when it happened,” I manage to get out.

  Thankfully, he lets it drop, and the onlookers begin to mill around again, some giving me smiles.

  We walk back over and I resume helping Queenie sell more products, speaking to a bunch of the volunteers and those in charge of the floats.

  Mr. Uphill buys a cupcake and tells me he has that book for me at his place, I should come by later and get it. Walker Lee, the editor of the Tribune, offers his condolences and asks me about writing up Aunt Willa’s obituary. We agree to talk the next day.

  Winona Redfern, who runs the thrift store, appears in a long skirt, heavy sweater, and wool scarf. Her long, wavy red hair and bright earrings blow in the gentle breeze, and she gives me a hug, along with telling me a funny story about some silverware Aunt Willa donated to the store.

  Edith Warhol from the dress shop places a catering order with Queenie while I man the table. During a small rush, Logan steps in to help.

  We’ve pretty much run out of food by the time Mama shows up, in full mayoral mode, and begins handing out maps. Her sprayed hair doesn’t move in the breeze, and while she’s wearing what she considers comfortable clothing, she still looks like a prominent business woman in her gray suit and a matching trench coat.

  The parade goes approximately seven blocks, it’s not like people will get lost. Still, the map seems to be a popular thing, and people crowd around her to make sure they get one. Logan, next to me, watches with an amused look on his face. “Have you practiced your parade wave yet?”

  I snort. “I think I can handle it.”

  He points in the direction of the far corner of the lot. “Did you see the sign?”

  I follow where he points and see his red car, top down, shining in the last of the sun’s setting rays. On the passenger side is a magnetic sign that reads “Thornhollow Grand Marshall.”

  “You’re driving me?”

  The grin makes an appearance again and I feel a slight flush rise up my cheeks. “At your service.”

  Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mama calls everybody to gather around and quiet down. For the next hour, she lines us up and sends us on the parade route. People come out from their businesses and homes to wave and cheer us on, even though this isn’t the official event.

  For the first time since I’ve been here, I actually feel like I’m home.

  * * *

  After practice I’m helping Queenie clean up and enjoying the last of the apple cider when Rosie rushes over. “Oh, Ava. What are we going to do? The ballroom at the country club is ruined!”

  I set down the cider. “What?”

  She swallows hard and nods. “The water flooded the entire first floor and destroyed the flooring.” She heaves a shaky breath, panic in her eyes. “We can’t hold the wedding there.”

  Her panic seeps into my own system, but I force myself to remain calm. Queenie, Logan, and several other folks in the nearby vicinity shoot distressed looks at me.

  Could anything else go crazy? “Then I guess we’ll move the wedding somewhere else,” I state calmly.

  Four hundred plus guests, two days until the wedding, how hard can that be?

  Rosie steps closer, lowering her voice. “There isn’t any other place else we can rent for a party of that size.”

  “There’s gotta be,” I argue.

  She shakes her head, the growing twilight closing in around us. “I’m afraid Miranda and Ty have to call off the wedding.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rosie, Logan, Queenie and I gather at Aunt Willa’s kitchen table. There’s an assortment of food laid out, but none of us are eating.

  “There has to be something,” I state for the dozenth time. “If we can land the space, I can tweak the decorations and get everything back on track.”

  “What about the food?” Rosie asks. “The Country Club was providing a complete dinner, alcohol, the whole shebang for the reception afterward.”

  That is a problem. I look at Queenie. “Can you cater it?”

  She sits back, her face surprised. “Honey, I’m a home cooking kinda gal, not some fancy country club chef. Besides, the wedding’s in two days. I couldn’t come up with enough food for that many people in such a short time.”

  “The country club must have already ordered the bulk of the food.” I fiddle with the corner of a casserole dish. “If we could get their chef to help you create appetizers and finger food in your kitchen…?”

  I leave the opportunity hanging, knowing Queenie loves a challenge.

  She makes a face, but I see the wheels turning in her head. “I don’t know, Ava. For you, I’d do anything, but this might be a bit of a stretch.”

  “It would be the absolute best advertising for the diner and your new catering business,” I insist. “The country club should have all the ingredients for the food, all you’d have to do is put it together.”

  Frowning, she stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

  “Just think about it, okay?” I beg.

  She heaves a sigh, and I can see she’s already thinking about recipes and dishes, her mind combing through details.

  “Back to the venue.” I get up and put the tea kettle on to heat. Tabitha meanders in and winds herself around my feet when I return to my seat. “Let’s throw out any possibilities, no matter how crazy.”

  “If the weather would hold there are plenty of options.” Logan ticks them off on his fingers. “You could hold the service and reception here, at the park, or in the church. You co
uld use the church’s kitchen for the food prep for the reception. The tables and DJ could all go outside in the parking lot.”

  “No bar at the church for the reception,” Queenie offers. “The Burnetts and Durhams won’t go for that.”

  Alcohol, everyone’s got to have it.

  “We can’t host four hundred people here.” Rosie glances around as if trying to imagine it. “The most we’ve done is a hundred and fifty. Colin and Lola Larimar’s wedding. And that was wall to wall people. The bathroom had a constant line. It was mayhem. Fun, but… phew.” She makes a dramatic face. “No way we can accommodate four hundred.”

  “But you could open up the yards—yours and Preston’s.” Logan motions toward Mr. Uphill’s. “That would give you double the outdoor space and people can use my restroom at the law office, if that’s an issue.”

  Rosie taps a well-manicured nail on the table. “Mr. Uphill won’t go for it. He’s far too uptight to have that many people tramping through his backyard, and with his extra guests this weekend he won’t appreciate a party with loud music going into the wee hours of the morning.”

  My phone rings and I don’t recognize the number. I send it to voicemail. The front door opens and closes and Mama calls, “Ava?”

  “In the kitchen, Mama.”

  She hustles in and pulls up short when she sees the gathering. “Oh, hello everyone.” To me she pointedly says, “I thought we were going to talk.”

  Rosie’s desk phone rings in the outer room and she leaves to answer it.

  “We were, but I’m in crisis mode.” I explain about the country club disaster. “Can you think of a venue big enough to hold four hundred people that allows alcohol and has a commercial kitchen?”

  Mama’s face turns pensive as she takes Rosie’s chair. “That’s a tall order. Let me think about it.”

  Rosie swings in, hanging onto the doorway. “Ava, it’s Miranda.”

  For the next few minutes, I listen to our bride wail about the disaster. “We have to cancel,” she sobs. “Ty says he doesn’t care—he’ll marry me anywhere, anytime, but this has to be right. This is my dream wedding, Ava!”

  “Do not cancel. Not yet. Give me twenty-four hours. I’m going to find a place,” I promise.

  It takes a few minutes to convince her to go relax in a hot bath and get some sleep. Brax walks through the front door as I’m hanging up, bringing with him a waft of cold air and a look of determination. “Let’s go,” he says to me.

  “Go where?”

  “Rosie texted that you need to see the Thorny Toad. Mandy’s covering for me, so I’ll take you out there.”

  Logan appears from the kitchen. “I can drive her.”

  “I’ve got it,” Brax replies, his broad chest expanding.

  The two face each other and I wonder what this display is about. It’s as if they’re both claiming rights to me or something. “Can the Toad hold four hundred guests?” I ask.

  Brax nods, not taking his gaze off Logan. “The fire chief gave us clearance for five, so shouldn’t be a problem. The booth dividers for the psychics and card readers are temporary. We can fold them down and put them away in the storage room.”

  He finally turns his attention to me again, and I hear the jingle of Logan’s keys as he pulls them from his front pocket. “More important question is,” Brax says, handing me my coat. “Do you really think Ty’s family will lower themselves to hold the wedding there?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, Miranda’s sobs ringing in my ears. “If Ty Durham really loves his fiancé, he’ll convince them to do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The road out of town to the former metal-works building is filled with potholes and dark as the inside of a sow’s belly.

  Mama’s car hits a rut, jarring my teeth and making the book on my lap slide into the footwell. “Sorry,” she says. “I should get some of our county funds put into this road.”

  In the backseat, Rosie soothes Fern, who’s been whining since we left. I told Brax and Logan that I needed to talk to Mama so I would be riding with her. They both insisted on following us, and Queenie volunteered to join her son in order to discuss the possibility of catering the event.

  I reach for Mr. Uphill’s book, a slim volume with a black cover describing the founding on our town. The penlight I’m using to read bobs as we rattle over more cracked asphalt. “You might install some lights out here, too.”

  Mama grips the steering wheel like a lifeline, hunching forward and attempting to avoid the worst of the holes. “I haven’t been out here in a long time. I had no idea it was this bad. After the metal works closed, everyone kind of forgot about this place.”

  “Brax and Rhys’s business is growing,” Rosie tells her. “Might be time to capitalize on that and include the Thorny Toad in some of the chamber’s advertising. You could draw folks from all over, I bet.”

  Mama snorts derisively. “To see a bunch of snake charmers?” I shoot her a glare and she shrugs in the dashboard lights. “What, you want me to believe there are legitimate psychics and card readers at this place?”

  “My abuela’s the real deal.” Rosie’s voice is firm. “Miss Willa was legitimate, too.”

  Mama shakes her head. “My sister—”

  “Was a psychic medium,” I finish for her. “And she helped a lot of people with that, as well as with other things.”

  “Just like Ava’s doing.” Rosie pats my shoulder. “Whether it’s talking to people who’ve passed over or creating dream weddings, Ava’s got the Fantome gift. She makes people happy. That’s your gift, too, Miss Dixie.”

  Mama’s ego likes that, even though she’s not sure whether to argue or agree. She forces a smile in the rearview at our passenger and then slides a glance my way. “I’m not gifted in the ways Willa Rae was.”

  I’d wanted to open this topic with her tonight more smoothly, but it looks like it’s now or never so I jump into my biggest worry at the moment. “Unfortunately, Calista is the one causing the issues at the country club. What’s to stop her creating havoc at the Thorny Toad?”

  We bump over a buckled portion of the road as we gain the top of the hill. Both sides are lined with old oaks, moss hanging from ancient branches overhead and creating an eerie canopy. But in the car lights cutting through the foggy layer, I can see down into the valley below. The old metal works building seems to be glowing slightly from a few well-placed solar lights in the parking lot.

  “Well, you need to get her to cross over,” Rosie offers.

  “I’m not exactly sure how. She seemed pretty set on keeping Ty for herself, so she doesn’t have the desire to leave him.”

  Mama scoffs. “This is just plain crazy.”

  I skim through another paragraph in the book. “About as crazy as our family having a stupid curse. I’m not really finding anything in here that can help me understand it.”

  Mama leans over an inch, eyeing the book. “What exactly are you reading?”

  I hold up the thin book to show her the gold embossed title, even though her eyes on are on the road again. “A Thornhollow History, Volume I.”

  “There’s something about the curse in there?”

  “So far, no.” I slide the book onto the dash, frustrated. “Although, it does mention what Mr. Uphill told me earlier in regard to the fact that Tabitha was run out of Williamsburg for being a witch.”

  “A witch? Oh, that’s ridiculous.” Mama scoffs again. “She was an herbalist. A healer. At least that’s what my mama told me.”

  “Many women have been accused of witchcraft for less.” Rosie sits forward, squinting at the approaching building. “I’m surprised Uphill shared his precious book with you, Ava.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s held such a grudge against Miss Willa, I was afraid he’d carry it over onto you.”

  Mama and I both glance at her. “Grudge about what?” I ask.

  Fern snuggles under Rosie’s chin, the dog’s dark bulb
ous eyes reflecting the parking lot lights. “Tabby. He claims she was digging in his gardenias all the time. Miss Willa always said she was doing her business in them and that’s why they flourished. Mr. Uphill didn’t find that funny.”

  Mama and Rosie both snicker. I don’t. “Did he ever threaten the cat?”

  “All the time.” Rosie waves a hand as if to dismiss it. “He doesn’t have it in in him, though. Uphill wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a cat.”

  The bar’s lighted sign has the first T blanked out, reading Horny Toad, instead of Thorny. “Classy,” I murmur as Mama finds a parking spot under a giant elm tree.

  The outside is decorated with fall items, and there are a handful of cars in the lot. Music from a jukebox filters out, but when I step onto the gravel and watch Logan and Brax’s vehicles pull in, I’m a little disappointed by the atmosphere.

  The building exterior is three shades of gunmetal grey, and in the yellowy illumination from the parking lights, rust and an assortment of graffiti cheerfully accent the steel walls. There’s a rickety set of stairs, leading to a freshly painted red door. A vinyl banner reminds patrons they must be eighteen and tells them dogs are welcome, but to leave their guns in their vehicles.

  If I was shooting a horror movie, this might be a good backdrop. The biggest wedding in Thornhollow in the past fifty years? Not so much.

  “Yup,” I mutter as my confidence in the plan plunges. “Ty is gonna have to love Miranda to the very depths of his soul to get her to marry him here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The interior of the building surprises me, but then it is Brax who’s revived this place. His decorating skills rival Martha Stewart’s.

  Rhys is behind the giant 1920s bar that wraps around the center of the vast open main area, creating a focal point. Between two support beams, they’ve custom built mirrored shelving and decked it out with tiny lights that showcase the numerous bottles of liquor.