about the museum. Everyone in Duck would’ve heard about it by now. It had probably made the news last night and this morning. Not a lot happened here that made it to TV.
My friend Trudy Devereaux, the owner of Curves and Curls Beauty Spa, which was right next door to Missing Pieces, stopped talking and cutting Ellis Walters’s hair when she saw us.
She hugged me tight and cried. “Oh, Dae! I was so worried about you. Don’t you ever do that to me again! Sometimes trouble seems to find you like a lure attracts fish.”
We commiserated for a few minutes, her green smock feeling familiar even to my heightened senses. Trudy and I had grown up together—there wasn’t much we didn’t know about each other. We were wiping away tears by the time Ms. Walters came out to ask questions about the museum.
“You call me or come by when you can,” Trudy said, urging Ms. Walters back into her shop. “And be careful. You could’ve died yesterday.”
I promised that we’d talk and Kevin and I went next door to Missing Pieces. I played with the key in the lock like I always did to get the door open. Visions of a few former tenants rushed through my mind at the touch of the key to the lock. But they were like ghosts—no substance or emotion. Maybe I’d been there long enough that their energy was starting to fade.
I didn’t open the blinds or turn on the lights, as I usually did. Normally I would’ve been hoping for a few winter visitors who wanted to buy my treasures. Today I felt like skulking around, hoping that no one would wander in.
Kevin locked the door behind us, and I sank down with a grateful sigh onto my burgundy brocade sofa. I closed my eyes and let the familiar energies from my shop lap around my disturbed senses like a warm bubble bath.
“Tea?” Kevin held out a box of orange spice chai. “Or coffee?”
I grimaced. “I’ve had your coffee, thanks. Tea, please.”
“What’s wrong with my coffee?” He busied himself putting water in the little pot on the hot plate. “It kept me awake plenty of nights when I was on a stakeout.”
“ That’s what’s wrong with it!” I smiled, very happy that he was here with me. Since we’d met a few months ago, we’d developed a nice friendship. I felt like I’d known him forever. There was nothing more to it than that. Not for my lack of imagining more, however.
Kevin had proven to be an easygoing, steadfast kind of person. He was good-looking, hardworking, and every woman in Duck was interested in gossiping about him. And those were just the married ones.
“When did you first notice the change?” he asked as the water in the pot began to get hot.
“At the hospital last night. It started with the gold coin I picked up at the museum.”
“What gold coin?”
I explained about finding the gold coin before the museum blew up and then told him about its effect on me. “I thought I was going crazy. I’m still not too sure.”
“Maybe not crazy,” he remarked. “It’s not that much of a stretch from your natural abilities.”
“Maybe not to you, but it’s a big stretch for me. Seeing where everything was made is one thing, but feeling what the people who owned it or touched it felt, is another.”
“Such as?”
“Just now, opening the front door, it was like a mild reaction. But the coin and the coffee card were like emotional hurricanes blowing through me.”
“What else?” He put the tea bag in the pot and took out a cup and spoon.
“It’s mostly shipping and manufacturing.”
He looked up at that. “Come again?”
“Where and how things are made, the people who made them, and seeing them shipped out to places. It’s kind of crazy.”
“That’s why you wouldn’t take Spitzer’s hand.”
“That’s why I didn’t hug you when I first saw you.” The words tumbled out, then hung there like yesterday’s laundry.
“Sugar or honey?” he asked in a suddenly polite tone.
We were obviously both embarrassed by my revelation.
My friend Trudy Devereaux, the owner of Curves and Curls Beauty Spa, which was right next door to Missing Pieces, stopped talking and cutting Ellis Walters’s hair when she saw us.
She hugged me tight and cried. “Oh, Dae! I was so worried about you. Don’t you ever do that to me again! Sometimes trouble seems to find you like a lure attracts fish.”
We commiserated for a few minutes, her green smock feeling familiar even to my heightened senses. Trudy and I had grown up together—there wasn’t much we didn’t know about each other. We were wiping away tears by the time Ms. Walters came out to ask questions about the museum.
“You call me or come by when you can,” Trudy said, urging Ms. Walters back into her shop. “And be careful. You could’ve died yesterday.”
I promised that we’d talk and Kevin and I went next door to Missing Pieces. I played with the key in the lock like I always did to get the door open. Visions of a few former tenants rushed through my mind at the touch of the key to the lock. But they were like ghosts—no substance or emotion. Maybe I’d been there long enough that their energy was starting to fade.
I didn’t open the blinds or turn on the lights, as I usually did. Normally I would’ve been hoping for a few winter visitors who wanted to buy my treasures. Today I felt like skulking around, hoping that no one would wander in.
Kevin locked the door behind us, and I sank down with a grateful sigh onto my burgundy brocade sofa. I closed my eyes and let the familiar energies from my shop lap around my disturbed senses like a warm bubble bath.
“Tea?” Kevin held out a box of orange spice chai. “Or coffee?”
I grimaced. “I’ve had your coffee, thanks. Tea, please.”
“What’s wrong with my coffee?” He busied himself putting water in the little pot on the hot plate. “It kept me awake plenty of nights when I was on a stakeout.”
“ That’s what’s wrong with it!” I smiled, very happy that he was here with me. Since we’d met a few months ago, we’d developed a nice friendship. I felt like I’d known him forever. There was nothing more to it than that. Not for my lack of imagining more, however.
Kevin had proven to be an easygoing, steadfast kind of person. He was good-looking, hardworking, and every woman in Duck was interested in gossiping about him. And those were just the married ones.
“When did you first notice the change?” he asked as the water in the pot began to get hot.
“At the hospital last night. It started with the gold coin I picked up at the museum.”
“What gold coin?”
I explained about finding the gold coin before the museum blew up and then told him about its effect on me. “I thought I was going crazy. I’m still not too sure.”
“Maybe not crazy,” he remarked. “It’s not that much of a stretch from your natural abilities.”
“Maybe not to you, but it’s a big stretch for me. Seeing where everything was made is one thing, but feeling what the people who owned it or touched it felt, is another.”
“Such as?”
“Just now, opening the front door, it was like a mild reaction. But the coin and the coffee card were like emotional hurricanes blowing through me.”
“What else?” He put the tea bag in the pot and took out a cup and spoon.
“It’s mostly shipping and manufacturing.”
He looked up at that. “Come again?”
“Where and how things are made, the people who made them, and seeing them shipped out to places. It’s kind of crazy.”
“That’s why you wouldn’t take Spitzer’s hand.”
“That’s why I didn’t hug you when I first saw you.” The words tumbled out, then hung there like yesterday’s laundry.
“Sugar or honey?” he asked in a suddenly polite tone.
We were obviously both embarrassed by my revelation.
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