Pumpkins & Poltergeists, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 1 Page 12

  To my left is a generous dance floor where couples move to an ‘80s pop song. To the right are multiple high-back booths with tables, some occupied by patrons enjoying a drink and conversation and a few others reading palms, laying out tarot cards, and giving advice, supposedly inspired by angels, spirit guides, and animals.

  Scattered tables and chairs populate the area around the dance floor, and far in the rear, an opaque screen and display of plants and a wishing well hides what I believe to be the kitchen. I can see the tall vent stack reaching up into the open ceiling and out the roof.

  As befitting the season, plenty of pumpkins, gourds, apples, and brightly colored leaves lend the place a fall atmosphere. A sandwich board near the door announces a drink special—The Cinnamon Apple, a mix of flavored Schnapps, apple juice with a cinnamon stick garnish.

  Someone hails Mama and she excuses herself to go make small talk. Rosie spots her grandmother and ventures to her booth, Fern out of sight in her tote. Queenie’s phone rings and she takes the call outside so she can hear over the music.

  I remain standing between Logan and Brax, feeling my hopes rising as I imagine transforming the interior to the Snow White wedding of Miranda’s dreams.

  “What do you think?” Brax asks, a smile of pride on his face.

  “It’s wonderful,” I respond.

  Rhys spots us as he sets a beer in front of a patron at the bar. His smile is big and warm as he rushes out to greet us. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is this little Ava Fantome?”

  Rhys isn’t much taller than I am but acts like an older brother, pulling me into a warm embrace. His fair skin, freckles, and slight frame are in direct contrast to Brax’s features, but the unconditional love and friendliness is the same.

  “I’m so sorry about Mina,” he says. “She was a bright star around here.”

  “It’s good to see you, and about that…” I hesitate a moment. “Why exactly was she working here?”

  Rhys leans in conspiratorially. “She talked to ghosts, honey.”

  I know he’s teasing, but I’m still in need of some clarification. “She was offering mediumship readings?”

  He pats my hand. “Everybody has to make a living, hon. She could have charged a lot more. We told her all the time that her prices were far too cheap, didn’t we, Brax? But she wanted to help folks, and she certainly did us. We wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for her.”

  My aunt certainly got around in the aid department. “What do you mean? How did she help you?”

  He wiggles his fingers. “She worked her voodoo on old man Broussard. He owns this place and she told him his mother wanted him to rent it to us. That Mama Broussard believed in all this stuff and she’d done raised him better than to turn his nose up at a couple of gay guys and some decent people the Lord had blessed with extraordinary gifts. Broussard turned three shades of red, from what I hear, and we signed the rental agreement that afternoon. He even waived the security fee.”

  Once more my heart pangs at my aunt’s sweet soul. This town is indeed going to miss her, and she’s left big shoes for anyone to fill.

  That thought compounds my feelings of her being loved by so many. Who would ever think of killing her?

  Maybe Mama’s right. Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree with the autopsy.

  On the heels of that, a cascade of images and sounds fly through my head like an old video tape on rewind…the broken necklace in the creek, the naked woman who turned into a cat, the antique book with a lock in the old trunk.

  Could there be something inside that book worth killing for? Am I back to wondering if I actually hear Tabitha and inanimate objects talking to me? The cat had clearly said, “He took it.” He, meaning a man, right?

  Brax waves a hand in front of my face, “Earth to Ava. You still with us, girl?”

  I snap out of it. “Sorry. Just thinking about Aunt Willa.”

  He motions around at the place. “So, what do you think about the layout? Can you fix this place up for the wedding?”

  Rhys’s eyes go wide. “You’re getting married?” The question is practically shrieked and, even with the jukebox warbling, draws the attention of folks nearby.

  I smile, embarrassed. “Oh no. No, no. We need a new spot for the Burnett/Durham wedding, that’s all. The country club is no longer an option, and the wedding is in two days.”

  He throws his head back and chortles. “You want to have it here? Good luck with that, hon. Nancy Durham would rather eat crow than let her precious son get within spitting distance of me.”

  The song ends and another begins. “Why?” Brax asks.

  “Don’t you remember? Back in school?” Rhys flips a bar towel from one shoulder to the other, sending a scowl Logan’s way. “Ty, Mr. All-Star football player, liked to prank me. Put itching powder in my pants, keyed my car, taunted me in front of his friends all the time. The last straw for me was when he kept bullying my sister to do his chemistry homework. She turned him down and he was dating Calista then, who threatened to beat Jenny up if she didn’t help Ty get a passing grade so he didn’t get kicked off the team.”

  “Calista, huh?” I’m older than Rhys, as is Logan, and I don’t know about any of this.

  “I punched Ty in the mouth, got suspended, too, but it was worth it. I had Jenny carry a digital recorder and tape Calista threatening her. Ty was on there as well, saying he would beat me up if she didn’t cooperate. Ty got a two-game suspension is all, but punching him in the nose and seeing the look on his face was priceless.”

  Logan shifts at my side. “I never heard anything about that.”

  Rhys gives him a once-over. “You were away at college then, pretty boy, and Nancy Durham kept a lid on it. No way she wanted anyone in this town knowing some skinny gay kid broke her son’s nose.”

  I think of Calista and her temper. No wonder she has the strength, even as a ghost, to create havoc. “You haven’t had any weird issues with this place since you opened, have you?”

  Both Rhys and Brax give me blank stares.

  “You know, electrical or plumbing stuff?”

  Rhys shakes his head dismissively. “Not since the grand opening. We had a grease fire in the kitchen and the fridge went out that day, but after your aunt did a clearing on the place to get rid of negative energy hanging around, everything has been great.”

  I suspect the “negative energy” has a name, and perhaps Calista has caused more than toilets to explode. But if Aunt Willa found a way to keep her out of this place, I’m thrilled. It means it’s safe, and we can hold the wedding and reception here, poltergeist-free.

  “Pencil us in,” I tell Rhys. “And thank you. I have to convince the Durhams this is our only choice, but if I can we’ll need the place all day Saturday and Saturday night.”

  Rhys wiggles his fingers again.” You better have some of your aunt’s voodoo up your sleeves, hon.” He kisses my cheek. “Good luck.”

  Voodoo and luck… If that’s what it takes, I may be in big, big trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You know there’s another place that might work.”

  Logan’s face is partly in shadow, the dash light falling like lace across his features. We’re in his car, heading back to town.

  He’s taking me home since Brax and Queenie have to start making plans for the possible wedding, and Rosie’s son, little Mike, was scared of a skeleton in his closet. His dad couldn’t see it, and little Mike insisted he couldn’t go to bed until Rosie came home and got rid of it. Mama volunteered to drive her since I had wanted to hang around long enough to make sure Calista didn’t appear and discuss a few of the details with Queenie about the food.

  If Calista is haunting Ty and Miranda, the true test will come when I inform them of the Thorny Toad’s potential.

  Logan insisted to my mother he would drop me safely at Aunt Willa’s doorstep, and it made sense with him living across the street.

  Still, I feel uncomfortable sitting in the car, driving
a deserted county road, and caught between thoughts of ghosts and disastrous weddings, along with unbidden fantasies about him.

  Absentmindedly, I rub the spot on the back of my head. The lump is nearly gone, only a bit of soreness left. Did Logan really save my life? “Another place?” I echo. At least, I can explain Tabby’s reaction earlier today—she hates Mr. Uphill, not Logan. “I’m all ears. Spill.”

  A smile crosses his face and he glances sideways at me. “Have you considered the vineyard?”

  “The winery? Your family’s, you mean?”

  He nods.

  At that moment, we pass a roadside sign advertising Cross Family Winery as if on cue. A beautiful setting, plenty of space, plenty of alcohol…my head is suddenly full of ideas.

  There’s just one problem—or three. “There’s no building for it, no kitchen. And your mother would never allow it with the tour on Sunday.”

  We pass the Welcome to Thornhollow sign and Logan heads north, ignoring the turn to take us home. “Let me show you what I’m thinking.”

  The road heading north toward the mountains in the distance is the complete opposite of the one we’ve been on. Well paved, lighted, and sprinkled with more signs directing folks to the winery.

  The ads proclaim the Cross Wines’ awards, showing giant glasses of both reds and whites, and even displaying smiling families, as if the fifty acres of property is a vacation destination.

  We pass a sign that offers an invitation: “Bring the whole family for a day of play.”

  Logan offhandedly points at the signage, the headlights slipping over the boy and girl in the picture. “We added a play area and a pumpkin patch, and we even have a corn maze.”

  So while mom and dad get tanked on samples, the kids can play. “That’s nice. Why?”

  As if he’s reading my mind, he gives me another grin, this one sardonic. “It’s good for business, but honestly I think it’s a jab from Mom to me.”

  “A jab about what?”

  “The fact I haven’t settled down and started a family.” He slows, turning on the winding road heading for the estate. “Does your mother harass you about that kind of stuff?”

  Come to think of it, no, but now I know the reason. She’s afraid I might end up a widow. “Mama’s so busy being mayor she doesn’t ride me about much, although she does want me to move home.”

  He pulls into the long, oak-lined drive. “She misses you.”

  The Cross acreage stretches out before us, and we climb one of the hills covered with grapevines. “I miss her too, but…”

  “You have a career, a life, in Atlanta,” he finishes for me.

  There’s a lot of teasing in his voice and my hackles rise. We wind around several corners and two large buildings appear. In the dark, I can make out rows of vines in the distance, a couple of sheds, and an assortment of trucks and other vehicles. “I do,” I confirm. “I’m only a few hours away and I come home when I can.”

  He passes near one of the large outbuildings, this one made of logs, and we get out. It’s dark out here, far from the house, and the stars twinkle overhead like a blanket of lights. “Seems like we could use your talents and gumption here.”

  “Gumption? Did you actually just say that?”

  He laughs.

  I hesitate, wanting to disagree with his analysis, but sensing this is a trap. “Even if I were to move here, I can’t fill Aunt Willa’s shoes. No one can.”

  Logan stands for a moment gazing up at the stars, and I follow suit. They are breathtaking. “Gives you perspective, doesn’t it?” he asks.

  I sense this is part of the trap to make me feel wanted here in Thornhollow and give up my city life. But, he’s right. As I stare at the stars and think about everything that’s happened this week, I feel a lot calmer.

  Picking our way across gravel and various flower beds, he leads me to the south end of the building. Double barn doors open to a vast, dark interior. “You could bring your own shoes to fill.”

  He disappears inside as I sputter. A series of overhead lights come on high in the rafters. The logs are visible inside, too, and the scent of cool air and cedar meets my nose.

  There are dozens of round wooden tables and chairs upended on top of them. There’s a very large, very elaborate bar made solely out of wood. There’s a giant open dance floor, raised slightly off the ground, and I see double barn doors at that end.

  Logan opens his arms and motions at the rustic interior. “We have a bar, men’s and women’s restrooms, and plenty of seating. You can get more seating by opening up those back doors and setting up tented areas outside. We can bring up the picnic tables from the family area or borrow chairs from the church.”

  The ideas about holding the wedding and reception here come rushing back and I turn in a circle, allowing my imagination to take it all in. The rustic nature of the place is actually perfect for a fall wedding with the forest theme that Miranda has picked.

  “This is amazing.” I visualize where to put the DJ and how to wrap the pillars and open beams with lights. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  He chuckles. “Not intentionally. We never use this place, and I kind of forgot about it. I haven’t been in here in years.”

  Dust and cobwebs confirm that no one has been inside in a long time. Still, it’s in great shape. “I didn’t realize you even had this place.” I’ve never been in this section of the winery, and the one time I visited years ago was when mother held a dinner in the main hall for her backers.

  “My great-grandad bought the land and he and my grandma turned it into the winery in the early days of the1900s. Then came Prohibition, and the place became a speakeasy.”

  The history of this building intrigues me. Relaxing my sight, a grey fog seems to seep from the wood and I can imagine—or maybe see—the ghosts of the past laughing and dancing and having a great time. It’s like watching a black and white film superimposed over the current scene. I hear music, and the air is thick with cigarette smoke and perfume.

  A good-looking guy in a suit catches my eye and winks. Yep, definitely ghosts. But they seem pretty benign. Like lost in time, but in no hurry to move on.

  “There’s no kitchen.” Logan’s voice jars me back to the present. “We’ll need to figure out a way to—“

  “Logan?” Mrs. Cross appears in the open doorway, hugging a silk robe tight around her neck. Her eyes flick over me, and she looks embarrassed. It could be the yellow curlers adorning the sides and top of her head. “What in heaven’s name are you two doing out here at this time of night?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As Logan tells his mother about using the former speakeasy for the wedding and reception, her brows go up and her mouth turns down. “You can’t be serious,” she says.

  I step up to Logan’s defense, warming to the idea even more. “It’s the ideal venue. The space, the beautiful setting…” The fact it has dry floors and working toilets is a bonus, too. “Think of how much wine you’ll sell, and the potential for future events that could boost your business.”

  I see a spark of interest and realize appealing to the businesswoman in her is a good idea, but the argument I knew was coming surfaces. “We have the tour on Sunday.” Her perfectly arched eyebrows are knitted so tight they’re nearly a single brow. “I can’t possibly host a reception on Saturday night.”

  “Actually, it seems like the perfect combination, if you ask me.” I try to paint a picture for her as vividly as possible, pointing at the different areas of the space. “This area could host even more tourists for the tasting ceremony on Sunday. It will already be decorated and we can add a splash of fall, and even Christmas, to everything. It’s never too early to get people thinking about gift-giving for the holidays. Imagine a selection of gift baskets—maybe do some with the Durham candies in them.

  My excitement is growing and I see her brows relaxing and my vision dawning in her eyes. “This could be a whole new partnership for you. I mean, wine and chocolates?
Win-win.”

  Why she hasn’t thought of this before is beyond me, and from her expression she seems to be thinking a similar thing.

  But then she clues me in. “The Durham family is very particular about who they do business with. We tried a special promotion many years ago and it didn’t work out. They won’t go for it, and, frankly, I can’t offer up this space to them. I’m sorry.”

  “But, Mom.” Logan gives me an apologetic look as his mother turns and walks away. He charges after her, and after a second I hustle out on his heels. Heart sinking, but determined, I’m not letting this opportunity pass me by.

  With all the relationships in Thornhollow, some going back generations, there’s more to this story and the past between the Cross and Durham families than she’s letting on, I’d bet my morning coffee on it. I don’t necessarily need to know what it is, but it’s time it ended. Both families have been in this town for decades, running successful businesses and trying to outdo each other. If only they would work together.

  “Mom, wait.” Logan gently grabs her arm and stops her. “Hear us out. Ty and Miranda have nowhere else to go. Ava’s right, this could be a golden opportunity for us.”

  “Our only other option is the Thorny Toad,” I add.

  Helen Cross screws up her face. “Oh, lord.”

  “Yes, exactly.” I try not to take offense out of deference to Brax and Rhys, and also try to play up the idea that one of the town’s foremost families may be reduced to having a wedding south of town. “While this setting”—I wave my hand at the night sky and the winsome sloping valley in the distance—“is a fairytale. Perfect for the Snow White wedding that Miranda’s dreamed about since she was a girl. I promise you won’t have any extra work—I’ll handle everything—and I’ll secure a deal with the Durhams for a wine and chocolate partnership, if only for this weekend. I wholeheartedly believe they’ll see the potential is truly unlimited. Imagine events taking place here for New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, summer weddings, the holidays…framing the winery as an event and wedding destination could double or triple your profit margins.”