Last Dance by Linda Joy Singleton

brows as she studied Thorn. “But your face is familiar … do I know you?”
    “No.” Thorn shook her head. “I’m not from around here.”
    “Are you sure? That upturned nose and the way your mouth curves on one side … I know!” She snapped her fingers. “You’re one of Deborah’s nieces. Which of the Little Women are you? Amy, Meg, or Beth?”
    “Uh … Beth.” Thorn’s cheeks blushed first-degree-burn red.
    “Oh, the one that dies … in the book, that is.” She laughed. “Your aunt and I go way back. I was her Sunday School teacher and—”
    “We can’t stay long,” I interrupted, coming to Thorn’s rescue. “How do we get to Mrs. Baskers’s cottage?”
    “It’s Number 261. Only she’s not there. She’s away on a Caribbean cruise.”
    Thorn frowned. “But she’s supposed to be back today.”
    “Her plane was delayed by a bad storm in Florida,” Helen answered as she stroked her dog’s smooth fur. “Ellie called a few hours ago to say she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow!” I cried, my hopes sinking fast.
    “Sorry, girls. Come back then and I’m sure she’ll be happy to talk with you.” A phone rang and the Chihuahua started yapping again. Shushing the dog, Helen waved good bye, then whirled off to answer the phone.
    “Now what?” I sighed deeply as Thorn and I left the office, the jingling bell over the door sounding so cheerful I wanted to smash it.
    Thorn shrugged. “We come back tomorrow.”
    “But that means staying another night. Will your aunt and uncle mind?”
    “They’ll hire a band and throw a parade in our honor. They love having us.”
    “They’ve been great, only I hate waiting around here accomplishing nothing.” I paused on the brick path, looking around at towering pines and an overcast sky that seemed to close in on me. I wondered how Nona was doing. I should be there with her, not so far away.
    “So we’ll do something,” Thorn suggested. “Wanna check out the local shops?”
    I cupped my ear, not sure I’d heard right. “Is shopping allowed in the Goth Code of Conduct?”
    “Page 50, Paragraph 2, says the only rule for Goths is we don’t have rules.” She shrugged with attitude. “Besides, I find great stuff at thrift stores. Once I found a roll of barbed wire for only a dollar that I twisted into a wicked belt.”
    “I’ll pass on the barbed wire accessories.”
    “So buy something touristy. Like one of those lame Chloe shirts.”
    “Only if you get one, too.”
    “No way.”
    “But a yellow shirt would go great with your jeep,” I teased.
    “My mom’s jeep, not mine.” She reached out to swat me, only I dodged to the side then hurried ahead down a rock path.
    The path led to a beautifully manicured park with wicker benches and flower gardens. The damp air carried a whiff of freshly mowed grass. Beyond shady trees, I glimpsed cozy white stucco cottages. I wondered which one belonged to Eleanor.
    I heard Thorn call my name and turned back. I caught up with her by a ranch-style clubhouse. As we passed a large picture window, laughter echoed from inside the building. Curiously, I peeked through the glass and saw several elderly people crowded in front of a large screen TV. Another group gathered around a card table, each protectively studying their cards. And off alone in a quiet corner, a frail red-haired woman reclined in a blue cushioned chair. She wore a familiar yellow T-shirt with black letters that read: “We Love You Chloe.”
    Another groupie! Why is Chloe so popular? I puzzled. Is it is because of her life or her death? What magic did she have that brings flocks of people to this tiny town fifty years after her death?
    A strong curiosity came over me. I had to know more.
    “Where are you going?” Thorn demanded.
    “Inside.” I walked around to the door and stepped into the clubhouse.
    No one barred my way to ask what I was doing here. The card players ignored me and the TV watchers laughed at an old I