Vows & Vengeance Confessions of a Closet Medium Book 4 Read online

  Rosie’s face falls. “Oh boy. We need to clone you.”

  I drop the handset into the cradle and sink into my chair. “If you know how to do that, please give me the recipe.”

  She picks up her phone. “I’ll call Gloria to see if she can fast-track the dress. We’ll work it out.”

  That is the least of my worries. Jenn hired me to officiate her wedding as well. Mama and Daddy’s isn’t until four in the afternoon, so maybe I can get Jenn to hold hers earlier.

  “Right,” I say to Rosie with more conviction than I feel. “We’ll work it out.”

  2

  The day is clear and warm for early May. A gentle breeze lifts the ends of my hair as I walk to my car. Across the way, Logan’s Porsche is gone, and I’m disappointed. Just seeing his tousled blond hair and pretty blue eyes would give me a boost right now.

  Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I text to let him know I miss him. I punctuate it with red lips. He sends a heart in return and claims he’ll be home at seven.

  I’m not a cook, but we’re tired of pizza and sandwiches. We’ve eaten at the Beehive Diner so much recently, Queenie, the owner and Mama’s best friend, has offered us stock in the place. My mother, no matter what else she had going, always insisted we eat dinner together, and while it often was nothing more than mac-n-cheese or hamburgers, she did her best to feed me home-cooked meals. I’ve recently teased a few of her best recipes from her and have begun making them. Tonight, I plan to whip up some chicken and dumplings with a side of biscuits.

  As I wait for Rosie to close and carry Fern to the car in her large tote, I roll down the window to let in fresh air.

  What will I say at the ceremony? Since my parents were separated for many years due to a stupid family curse, I missed out on a lot of memories with both of them present. I may be grown, but I’m thrilled they’re together once again, and I want Saturday’s event to go perfectly.

  It takes a minute for Rosie to get settled, wrangle the seatbelt, and situate Fern on her lap. Her belly nearly pushes the tiny dog off, but Fern is getting used to it and manages to maneuver into an agreeable position.

  “Perfect day for this, isn’t it?” Rosie comments, as I drive around the cul-de-sac. Birds sing in the woods beyond and we curve back past Logan’s. “Did Miss Dixie order this weather?”

  The Wedding Chapel now sports my new sign with Ava’s Events hanging on the wrought iron fence. I admire it as Tabby sits on the front porch between the two gargoyles with cat faces at the tops of the railings. Her tail twitches and I smile at her and wave as we pass. “I’m sure she did. She wouldn’t allow anything to ruin this occasion. She’s been planning it for months.”

  The Victorian era street lamps and historic buildings that line the road are reminders of an earlier century. I turn south to head to Main Street, various trees and bushes flowering white and pink, adding to the place-out-of-time feeling.

  It’s one of Thornhollow’s calling cards, inviting folks to return to a simpler time. “What do you think they’ll find in the time capsule?” I muse.

  “No idea. Could be anything.” She has her phone and does a search. “The colonies in 1757 sound a lot like now—wealthy people had luxuries, the poor had very little. But hey, the first chocolate factory opened a year prior, so there’s that.”

  “Priorities, right?”

  We share a laugh. “This says men wore breeches, stockings, linen shirts, and waistcoats. Tri-cornered hats were popular. Women had corsets made of whale bone”—she makes a face—“and hooped petticoats under their dresses, but, huh, interesting. They didn’t wear panties!”

  Thinking of Tabitha without underpants is an image I could do without, especially since I’ve already seen her buck-naked on more than one occasion. She is anything but modest when she shifts into her human form. “That’s screwy, isn’t it?.”

  “I’d feel weird without underwear,” she states.

  “Can you imagine how unpleasant that clothing would be?”

  “Thank goodness fashion has changed since then.” She pets Fern and fidgets in her seat. Getting comfortable isn’t easy for her anymore, no matter what position she’s in. “Do you think there will be anything specific from your grandparents?”

  Samuel Thornton and Tabitha Holloway led an exciting life, and not because of what they did or didn’t wear. According to the town’s history, they were exiled from Colonial Williamsburg for their non-puritan beliefs, and the fact Samuel, a constable, left his family for her.

  The truth is significantly different. His first wife, Redemption, was a part of the Salem witches. Her family left there during the trials, even though they’d blended in so well with the Puritans no one realized they were the ones performing magick. Redemption’s family were masters at the Craft, and were able to conceal their real nature and turn all eyes on innocent people.

  Eventually, my grandfather uncovered this truth and left her. He did his utmost to get their kids away from her, and that’s when she turned the town against him.

  Tabitha helped Sam escape before the citizens could hang him. Redemption cursed him and his future offspring, while putting protective charms on their children, so he and Tabby could never get them away from her.

  All of it was an unheard of thing in that time. Sam and Tabby simply combined their last names to give birth to a new place, and while those who settled here later insisted Samuel and Tabitha were married, there are no records regarding it.

  Personally, I don’t care. My ancestors had their own family and created a supportive community, free to everyone no matter their religious beliefs or walk of life. I’m proud of that. “I sure hope so. Wouldn’t it be fun to discover Samuel’s favorite mug or a piece of Tabby’s jewelry?”

  “You could wear it when you marry Logan!”

  I feel my excitement rising to match hers. “That would mean a lot to me. I want to incorporate one of Aunt Willa’s scarves into the dress, too.”

  “It’s going to be so cool,” she says, squeezing my arm as I pull into the parking lot on the side of the courthouse. News crews are lining the street and Mama is already on the steps, adjusting the podium’s microphone and waving at someone in the crowd.

  After parking, I assist Rosie out and we walk toward the hub of the event. She tucks Fern into her tote again and the dog disappears.

  Logan’s mother sees me and nods. “Hello, Ava.” Helen looks me over from head to toe, and as usual, I have the sense I fall short of her expectations. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

  “Lovely day, isn’t it?” I echo Rosie’s earlier comment and ignore my future mother-in-law’s fault finding. I’ve learned it’s part of her nature, and I can’t blame her for wanting the best for her son. He’s an amazing guy, and while I am lacking in many areas, I love him as much as she does.

  Besides, Mama raised me to be polite at all costs, and I know Helen’s miffed about my parents holding their party at the Nottingham Hotel instead of her winery. “This is quite the turnout.”

  Several brand new shovels gleam where they are lined up along the City Hall’s historic steps. Red bows on the handles blow in the breeze, and multiple members of the Council and Chamber hover nearby, posing for pictures and offering sound bites to the reporters from the Thornhollow Tribune, as well as radio and TV stations.

  When Baylor spots me, she rushes over. “Ava, are you prepared for your portion of the unveiling?”

  Not really. I’d be happy to turn it over to her. “What do need me to do?”

  Her curly brown hair blows around her face, getting in her eyes. She tries to corral it and laughs when a lock flies across her lips. “Support your mother, of course, and”—she delves into her blazer pocket and hands a folded paper to me—“remind folks about the city wide sidewalk sales and specials. Also the special display at the library.”

  I open the note to find a list of shops and their Founder’s Day deals. “I have to speak?”

  “You’ll do fine,” Rosie te
lls me with a wink.

  Helen sniffs. “You’re a leader in this community, Avalon, and one of the descendants of Samuel and Tabitha. Straighten that spine and make us proud.”

  She marches away and Rosie gives me a “whoa” look. She spots a friend who waves at her. “Good luck. Knock ‘em dead.”

  Off she goes to talk to her friend. Baylor smiles knowingly at Helen’s back. “Well, guess we know who wasn’t invited to speak today.”

  We share a chuckle. “No, she’s right. I can handle this,”—I wave the list—“and I do need to step up and be counted, as Mama always says.” I’ve grown to love my hometown more than I ever thought I could and I want our community to be a strong one. “Thank you for making my job as president so much easier, Bay. I appreciate you.”

  She blushes, but can’t hide her happy smile. “I devoted the whole front section of the library to your ancestors,” she informs me with a hint of pride in her voice. “All the books and maps from that time period, and the local history editions, too. I wanted the copy of Tabitha’s journal you gave the Historical Society, but Louise wouldn’t loan it to me. Buster says she’s a dried up old raisin, just like her artifacts.”

  Louise Dillion took over after my former neighbor Preston Uphill killed Aunt Willa and attempted to do the same to me. She’s a much better person than he ever was, but a stickler for the items she believes should be showcased at her organization for the town to enjoy. Baylor wants them displayed at the library during certain times of the year to make them more accessible to all, and the two would be incredible collaborators if they could work together. Unfortunately, Louise doesn’t play well with others, and Baylor’s brother, Buster, is quite protective of her feelings. “As soon as I have time to make another copy, I’ll get it to you.”

  “That would be great! I was hoping we might discover something for the library in the time capsule, but even if there is a book or journal, Louise will claim it for the Society.”

  “I’ll talk to Mama,” I assure her, seeing Daddy’s head over her shoulder as he ambles toward us. “We’ll make sure you get a copy of anything you want.”

  Her smile is filled with relief and she tugs a wayward strand of hair from her eyes again. “More people visit the library than they ever do the Society, and that’s how it should be. We have to bring history to the people, not force them to search for it in some musty old mansion.”

  The library is probably as old as the Historical Society, but I know what she means. She’s updated and renovated the place during the past five years whenever there were funds, while the Society’s gothic revival hasn’t been touched except for the rare maintenance on it.

  “Oh, look!” She points toward the parking lot. A tall, thin man with a handlebar mustache unfolds himself from the front of a sedan. “That must be Amos Butterfield!”

  I shade my eyes and watch as one of the council members greets him and leads him to the City Hall steps.

  Daddy joins us, kissing my cheek. “Hello, Baylor. How are you today?”

  She squeezes my arm. “Quite well, thanks to your daughter. You raised her right, Mr. Fantome.”

  He grins. “I surely tried, but the real reason she turned out so good is due to that woman up there.”

  He points to Mama who’s watching us—him. Her face lights up when he waves at her.

  “You two are like a couple of high school sweethearts again,” I say with mock disgust.

  Daddy laughs. “It’s good to be home.”

  Baylor excuses herself. “I have to talk to Mr. Butterfield. He’s doing a signing for us of his latest book on Thursday evening. I hope you’ll both come.”

  “Of course,” I tell her, making a mental note to add it to my calendar.

  Mama motions for me to join her. “The queen beckons,” I tell Daddy.

  He pats my back. “Catch up with you later.”

  I join Buster, our city administrator, and Louise behind the podium. “The Society’s collection will grow today,” Louise comments, rubbing her hands together. She’s wearing a vintage black dress that reminds me of a Victorian funeral and a matching hat with lace. “There’s going to be something amazing in that time capsule, I can feel it in my bones.”

  Someone has placed a large sign over the limestone in the lawn a few feet from where it’s buried, making sure everyone knows it’s location. The oldest tree in Thornhollow, a giant beech, has protected the sight for the past three hundred years. I keep my comment neutral. “It’s definitely exciting.”

  Amongst the onlookers, I spot Helen, Queenie, her son Brax, and his partner Rhys. Queenie waves, Brax whistles, and Rhys gives me a thumbs-up. I know most in the crowd, too, seeing at least one representative from all the families who consider themselves movers and shakers.

  “I thought you would change into something more…”—Mama speaks between smiling teeth and guides me into the lineup—“professional.”

  I keep my voice low. “I’m wearing a dress, Mama. A nice one, in fact. What exactly were you expecting?”

  She touches my hair, running her fingers through the tips and fluffing the ends. “Perhaps not gray. It isn’t your color, dear.” She squeezes in between me and Buster. “Now, smile.”

  At her signal, the editor from the paper, a tall, lean man named Walter Lee steps forward, camera in hand. He often covers all the Tribune’s positions, including reporter. “Everyone, on three. One…two…three.”

  We smile in unison and Mama insists he take several more shots to be sure at least one is perfect. Mr. Lee doesn’t seem to mind, even when she insists he show her the photos and let her pick which she wants to be included in the writeup. “Yes, Miss Dixie,” he says in his slow, Southern voice. “Whatever you think is best.”

  How many times have I said that in my life?

  Mama introduces Mr. Butterfield to me. He’s cool, reserved, but his eyes take in everything. He has one of his mystery novels in hand. “Quaint little town,” he says to us with a Texas drawl.

  He’s the state historian? “You aren’t from Georgia, are you?” I ask.

  Mama cuts in, giving me a hard frown, and then proceeds to go on and on about how wonderful it is here. Mr. Lee positions us on two rocking chairs on the side of the deep veranda, and the author makes sure his book is in the shot. Mama hovers and then Mr. Lee offers to do another photoshoot later at the Society with Louise, Buster, and Mama next to the items we uncover today.

  “That would be lovely,” Mama gushes.

  Butterfield looks mildly disinterested. “If someone will provide me with directions, I’ll be there.”

  Once that’s finished, Reverend Stout joins us and Mama gathers us in a semi-circle. She outlines the itinerary to be sure we’re all on the same page. “The minister will say a prayer, I will then welcome the audience and introduce those of us on stage. I’ll use a ceremonial shovel to break the soil, then Buster and two city workers will remove the stone and begin digging in earnest.”

  The City Hall bell peels off the one o’clock hour and Mama takes the podium, shushing the crowd. Reverend Stout steps forward and leads everyone in prayer, giving thanks to the founders and those who came after, and ending with a blessing on all of us.

  Mama recites the town’s true history, learned from the diary I found in Aunt Willa’s attic at Halloween. I’m glad the old stories have been put aside and the truth has been made public. “We believe this capsule was originally intended to be opened a century after its burial, but the paperwork was lost and no one knew it was even here until fifty years ago. The Historical Society found a record mentioning it, but at that time, our city leaders weren’t that enamored with the idea. I’ve been curious about it from the moment I became mayor, and I hope you’re all as curious as I am to see and touch a true piece of our town’s history!”

  Cheers and whistles fill the air. Some clap.

  Louise gets in her five minutes about the Historical Society’s role in the preservation of the contents, making sure to emphasis her
own importance as head of the organization. Then it’s my turn to push support for the local small businesses.

  As the last of the clapping dies away once I’m done, Mama and Buster walk down the steps and she picks up a shovel. “Here’s to Thornhollow, past, present, and future!”

  The crowd goes crazy and Mama sends the blade into the ground.

  3

  Mama stomps her heeled shoe on the metal and sends the blade deeper. The stone over the capsule wiggles slightly. She scoops up a shovelful of soil next to it, and I blink, wondering if it was my imagination or if perhaps she bumped it.

  She piles the dirt to the side, beaming, and I clap along with the others, then watch as the city crew closes in to help Buster move the heavy rock marker.

  Folks cluster, chatting and speculating about what might be revealed. Reverend Stout stands next to me. “How are you today, Ava?”

  “Busy as ever,” I tell him. “Keeps me out of trouble.”

  He chuckles, looking a bit haggard in the spring sunshine. I wonder if the ghost that’s been haunting him is keeping him and his wife up at night again. “Idle hands and all that, right?”

  “That’s what Aunt Willa always preached.” In February, he helped me lay a soul to rest at the Nottingham Hotel, but picked up a spectral hitchhiker who has been playing havoc with his wife’s organ, as well as the one at the church. No good deed goes unpunished. “Have you had any late night concerts recently?”

  The good pastor doesn’t believe much in ghostly visitors, so I’ve had a devil of a time convincing him I need access to the spirit in order to get the man to cross over. Stout believes he can pray the ghost into heaven, I guess, but Mama says he’s just stubborn and fears my mediumship gift. I don’t blame him; I don’t always feel that comfortable with it either.

  “I heard your parents are renewing their vows,” he deflects.

  Gossip travels in our small town faster than the speed of light. “I only learned about it this morning, but yes, they think their thirtieth is the perfect time to do so.”