Boo Hiss (2 page)

Which would be fine with Katelyn, except she’d never hear the end of it from Michael. The back door opened, and Willem trotted in, dusty and sweaty, his cheeks flushed and red. “Hi baby!”

He hugged her and ran upstairs after a toy car. Michael came in, shut his cell phone, and said, “It’s official. The loan went through, and we can break ground on our dream house!” He stretched his arms out toward her, but Katelyn whirled around and grabbed the For Sale sign
that was propped against the wall by the front door. She took a hammer from the kitchen and marched outside and down the front steps.

Annette had her back turned as she rolled the edger along the sidewalk. That was fine. Katelyn was willing to wait. She stood there for five yards worth of sod. As Annette turned the edger off, Katelyn banged her hammer on the top edge of the sign, driving one leg into the patchy ground beneath it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Annette crossing the street, blotting her brow with her designer garden gloves. This was going to be fun.

“Katelyn?” Annette said in her practiced anchorwoman voice.

Katelyn let the hammer fall one more time before turning and greeting Annette with her own version of a smile. “Hello there, Annette.” Katelyn stepped aside just enough so she could see the sign.

But Annette’s attention went elsewhere as she said, “This grass! I still don’t understand why it won’t grow!” She began shaking her head and staring at the dirt that showed between the measly blades that made up their front yard. “It reminds me of my mother-in-laws hair before she started Rogaine.” She looked at Katelyn. “And I’ve seen Michael out here fertilizing it to death. It must be these sweet gum trees. The shade is nice in the summer, but no good for a vital lawn.”

Katelyn turned and hammered in the other side of the sign, with enough force that one slam pounded it straight into the ground.

“Oh.” Annette scowled at the sign like it was a knockoff designer handbag. “You’re moving.”

“Yes,” Katelyn said and, after a precise and practiced pause, added, “We’re building.”

Annette’s eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead, but Katelyn kept her smile steady. “We’re building” needed no further explanation. In those two small words, it was pretty much implied that your husband
was making more money, you were planning on expanding your family, and you’d outgrown the current suburban perks that your particular neighborhood had to offer.

“Well,” said Annette, quickly recovering her facial expression, “how interesting. So Michael’s real-estate business must be going well.” Her eyebrows gently floated down to their proper position.

“Very well.”

“Victorian?”

“Tudor. Three thousand square feet. With a bay window.”

The superiority literally melted off Annette’s face. She rubbed each cheek, stared at the sign, stiffened her back, and pulled her hat down a notch. “We will certainly be missing little Willem on our soccer team.”

“Where we’re going, there’s soccer, a spa, a charming little coffee shop, and a great church with an up-and-coming children’s ministry.”

A smile sprang and retreated from Annette’s berry colored lips. “And where would this perfect piece of paradise be?”

This was going to be the tricky part. And it was all in the delivery. “Skary.”

Annette’s eyelids lowered halfway over her eyes. “Skary? Isn’t that the little town that all the hoopla was about?” “Hoopla?” Katelyn asked innocently.

“That famous horror writer lives there, and I hear they’ve got the most horrendous shops and restaurants. It’s like a den for the devil!”

Katelyn paused, smiled, then said, “He no longer writes horror, and the town is no longer a tourist town. It’s actually quite lovely, quaint even. Like something you would see in a painting.”

Annette didn’t look convinced. So Katelyn added, “And as the city spreads, Skary will soon become a suburb, and the real estate will skyrocket. Luckily for me, I’m married to a man with a great sense of vision. He can look into the future and see what’s going to be hot.”

This was a particularly stabbing line, since Annette’s husband was a history professor.

Annette scratched her ear. “I guess it will take some time getting used to a name like Skary.”

“It makes it that much more charming. Irony is in, you know.”

Indeed, it had taken her time to get used to the name too. But when she saw the potential of this town, and all it would eventually offer herself and her family, Katelyn decided a weird name would soon fade into oblivion. And there was always the chance it could be changed.

Annette, never one to be obvious, stretched an eager grin across her face that smothered any hint of jealousy. “I’m happy for you, Katelyn. I know you and Michael and little Willem will do well.”

“Thank you, Annette. I’ll miss our neighborly talks, but we’re very excited.”

Annette nodded and then walked back over to her side of the street, which probably didn’t seem so worthy of such outrageous landscaping efforts.

Katelyn secured the sign and went back inside. Michael was standing by the kitchen sink. “You have the most self-satisfied grin on your face,” he said.

She shrugged and turned on the oven. “It was just a friendly chat.”

“Right,” Michael said. He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. “Katelyn, are you sure this is what you want? Because once we break ground, there’s no turning back.”

“The more time I spend in Skary, the more I like it.”

“Why is that?”

“Because so far, my ideas have been easily sold for a few crisp, green dollar bills.”

C
HAPTER
2

“I’
LL BE RIGHT BACK
. Just sit there and relax. Enjoy yourselves.” Jack did a little Japanese bow and backed out of the room. Women seemed to really like the bow. And when he greeted them with kisses on both cheeks, they would flap their hands and giggle. In the six months since he’d opened his spa, it had been a huge success. And his closest competition was the beauty parlor. They could offer a tight perm and four shades of burnt umber hair color, but they couldn’t offer an avocado, citrus, cucumber hair mask with a scalp massage.

Neither could he, but he did have a good conditioner and was working on his phobia of dandruff. He also had a hard time touching people’s feet, so he’d created a foot glove filled with warm oils that he would wrap the foot in before applying the massage. That way he didn’t actually have to touch the foot. That was the only kind of massage he offered, because a back massage meant he might have to touch a mole, and that was completely out of the question.

But he’d found with some soft saxophone music and an array of scented candles, he could create quite a relaxing mood without having to touch anybody. He did learn the valuable lesson that you can’t just mix any kind of scented candle and expect it to smell good. At one point his “jasmine moonlight” got crossed with his “mom’s apple pie.” He had so many scents going it smelled like “fresh barnyard.” So now he stuck with the fruity scents, and the occasional spice.

His customers Melb Stepaphanolopolis and Ainsley Boone were chatting next door, reclining in two black leather chairs. They’d come in, Melb complaining of exhaustion, Ainsley just wanting to experience the spa. Since it had opened, he had also found that it was very useful in his pursuit of success to learn more about small-town women. City women he had down. Small-town women were more of an enigma.

He returned with a bowl of steaming black stones, with two white towels draped on either arm. He set it on the counter and then lifted the lid on a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries. Ainsley said, “Oh, Jack. How wonderful!”

“Do you have any cheese crackers?” Melb asked.

“No.”

“Cheese dip?” “No, I’m sorry.” “Cheese fries?”

“Just fresh strawberries dipped in Godiva chocolate.” “Nothing with cheese?”

“I’m afraid not. I do, however, have a wonderful hot stone package that is sure to relax you to the point you’ll feel like you’re going to melt!”

“Mmm, like cheese,” Melb said, rubbing her hands together.

“That sounds good,” Ainsley said. “But what’s a hot stone?”

“It’s an ancient technique,” Dr. Hass said, going over to the bowl of smooth black stones he kept heated at the perfect temperature. “The amazing thing about this technique is that no one actually has to touch you.”

With warm white towels draped over the side of the crystal bowl, Jack carried it toward the women. Steam swirled up from the black rocks like smoke from a community mall ashtray. He set the bowl on the table between them. “Now,” he said in a low, calm voice, “I want you to kick
off your shoes and place your arms on either armrest. There you go, perfect.” He quickly draped the warm towels over their feet, explaining that the feet are extra sensitive and that the towel helps prepare the delicate nerves for the hot stone. It was a whole lot of nothing, but everyone bought it. He’d seen enough ingrown toenails to invest in countless white towels.

He gently placed several black stones on their arms and on their shins, then took two heavier stones and placed them on top of the towels on their feet.

“Now,” he said, “what I want you to do is clear your mind of any distracting thoughts. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and feel the warmth of the stones penetrate every distraction that comes into your mind.”

“Cheeeese,” Melb moaned.

“Okay, cheese, yes, let the stones’ warmth wash away those thoughts. If you’re worried about that snake, close your eyes and imagine you’re in North Dakota.” He’d been running a pretty successful package special designed to relieve snake worry-induced stress. He’d briefly thought about starting a rumor about a wild mountain lion on the loose, just to help business along, but that was something he would’ve done in the old days. He was a new creation, but he had to admit the old man was hard to shake.

“What’s in North Dakota?” Melb asked. “The snake or good cheese?”

Jack spoke calmly, in a monotone. “Don’t worry about the snake. Think about anything but the snake. Besides, I have snake traps set in all the rooms here, and I’ve smothered them with snake bait, which may account for that strange smell that wanders by occasionally. But don’t think about the snake. No snakes.”

The women looked relaxed with their eyes closed, except for the
fact that both of them were gripping the ends of their armrests with a vengeance. He was going to have to take this a step further if he was going to get these two women to relax.

“Now,” he said, maintaining the baritone seductiveness of Barry White, “I’m simply going to slide these stones up and down your arm in curves to relax your muscles.”

He glided the stones up their arms and back down. Melb was starting to breath hard and Ainsley had opened her eyes and was staring straight forward. “Sssshhhhhhhh,” Jack said quietly. “Sssshhhhhhhh.”

“Is that hissing?”

“No, that’s me, Melb.” He smiled, realizing that a day at the spa for women didn’t just mean relaxation. They also wanted to feel beautiful. As he moved the stones up and down their arms, he said, “By the way, ladies, one side benefit to stone therapy is that this sliding motion also creates friction, which causes your skin to shed.”

Melb sat up as the stones crashed to the ground. “Jack, I’m going to need a different package. The stones aren’t doing it for me.”

Jack wrapped the white towel around her feet and her hands, then took a bowl of potpourri in the corner of the room. He sprinkled the potpourri delicately over each foot and hand. “Let the scent soothe you …”

Melb sat back and began to relax. Jack continued to drop potpourri all over her, hoping she wasn’t going to ask for anything that required human contact.

“Melb, have you seen the new coffee shop that opened?” Ainsley asked, her eyes closed in relaxation. “Wolfe likes it. He goes there every morning.”

“I asked for my coffee black, and the next thing I knew we were talking about syrup. So I assumed they were offering me a waffle, but what I came away with was a very small and dry piece of bread and a cup full of whipped cream and caramel. They need better directions for
how to order, in my opinion. Speaking of Wolfe, has he come up with any new book ideas?”

“It’s a process,” Ainsley replied. “It takes time to come up with a brilliant novel. But to pass the time, he’s signed up to be in Oliver’s cousins play.”

“Lois?”

“Yep.”

Melb looked startled.

“What?” Jack and Ainsley asked at the same time. Oops. He’d shown himself to be an eavesdropper. He continued sprinkling potpourri.

“It’s just that Lois is … Don’t get me wrong. She’s talented and driven but tends to lose all sense of reality. I guess that can come in handy in the arts.” Melb shrugged. “There must be something in the air. Yesterday I saw Reverend Peck blessing the farm animals for lack of something more interesting to do.”

“I feel so badly for him,” Ainsley said.

Melb burst into tears.

Jack stopped the potpourri and wondered if he should try incense. “Melb, what’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ve just been so moody lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel sick, and then tired, and then okay again. You should’ve seen me when I couldn’t get my coffee the way I wanted it yesterday. I was a dead ringer for Meramusa.”

“Who is that?” Ainsley asked.

“Don’t you know? It was the horrible, scary ghost in Wolfe’s book
The Last Soul.
She ruled this hotel, and when things didn’t go her way, she’d start rattling things, like chandeliers and doorknobs. I didn’t rattle a doorknob, but I think I may have rattled that nice young lady’s nerves behind the counter.” She looked at Jack. “And if you want to get paid, buddy, I’d suggest you do something that involves a massage.” She threw
up her hands. “See what I mean? I’m Jekyll and Hyde. I’m sorry, Jack. That was rude. But get those fingers going, mister. My feet could really use a workout.”

Jack swallowed. He was feeling a little nauseated.

“And careful of the bunion.”

Sheriff Parker walked into the smoke-filled room, waving his hand in front of his face. The volunteer fire department, which consisted of every bored male in Skary, totaling at last count one hundred and two, responded in less than five minutes, which he wasn’t sure was good time considering they were four blocks away.

“Minimal damage,” said Ronny, the most distinguished of all the volunteers. “Could’ve been a disaster.”

Sheriff Parker looked at several burned-out trash cans circling the room. “What was she thinking?”

“I have no idea,” sighed Ronny. “She’s awfully lucky. She’s in the kitchen. By the way she’s reacting, I swear it’s like her whole house burned down.”

Sheriff Parker left the bedroom and found his way to the kitchen, where Lois Stepaphanolopolis was carrying on by herself at a small dining table. She glanced up, looked at the sheriff, launched into another round of tears, and wailed, “I’m going to jail, aren’t I?”

“It is unlawful to burn trash, Miss Stepaphanolopolis. But it’s just plain dangerous to burn it inside your home.”

She sniffled. “I wasn’t burning trash. I was warding off snakes.”

“Are you telling me you set fire to trash cans in your bedroom in order to keep out that snake?”

“I tried a tiki torch first, but I couldn’t get it to stand up. I haven’t slept a wink. I’m so worried I’m going to wake up with a snake in my bed.”

The sheriff sat down at the table and sighed. “Lois, the snake isn’t even poisonous. You’re telling me that you risked dying by fire to keep a snake out of your bedroom?”

“Snakes. This one shares a body. But there are two heads.”

“Yes. I’m aware of its two heads. But this is sort of extreme, don’t you think? You’re lucky you didn’t burn your entire house down, or kill yourself. You must realize that the odds are in your favor this snake won’t come to your house.”

“How do you know? I’ve had mice around here for years.”

“Look at it in a positive way. Maybe the snake will take care of your mouse problem.”

“That does not, in any way, shape, or form, make me feel better, Sheriff.” Then Lois stopped and studied the sheriff in an uncanny way. He shifted in his seat, wondering what she was staring at. Suddenly she said, “You want some coffee?”

“Can you manage to make it without starting a fire?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “But I can’t promise I won’t offer a fiery personality.”

The sheriff lifted an eyebrow, but stayed silent.

“You know,” Lois said, “you’ve got quite a presence.”

“A presence?”

“Yes. When you talk, people listen. When you stand, you command attention.”

“That’s because I’m the sheriff.”

“No,” she mused. “I think it’s something else. A natural talent.” “For what?”

She turned on the coffeepot and joined him at the table. “What would you say if I told you that I thought you had star quality?”

“I would inform you that if you’re about to bribe me, you should think twice because that is even more illegal than burning trash inside your home.” I mean it.

“What are you getting at, Lois?”

“Have you heard about my latest project?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“I’m starting a community theater. I’m quite the playwright.”

“Huh.”

“And I’ve written this charming little piece, a two-act, called
Not Our Town
.”

“
Not Our Town
?”

“Yeah. It’s a story about this little town and all its little people and conflicts, but it’s not my town. It’s a love story.” “Interesting.”

“There’s something that screams ‘lead actor’ about you, Sheriff.” “Maybe it’s my chronic stage fright.”

“You? Please! You’d be a natural. Commanding an audience … How different can it be from controlling a town?”