around?”
“I’m not open for business on Mondays, but
if
you are careful, I see no harm.”
“I think I’ll put my backpack by the door.”
“Good idea.”
I had been in Christmas shops at Jersey and Maryland beaches, but boardwalk stores can be a little junky and usually smell like seawater and tar. In this shop aggressive air-conditioning made it as dry as winter; spicy smells gave it a holiday mood. The walls were painted in midnight blue, andcarefully placed spotlights made snowflakes sparkle. Figurines painted in old-fashioned clothes and antique-looking angels perched and dangled everywhere. The shop created a once-upon-a-time Christmas—the kind everyone likes to “remember,” even though most of us haven’t experienced it. I looked at things I would never buy—not with those price tags—working my way around the store until I reached the cash register.
HELP WANTED, the sign said, and in small print, MINIMUM 3 YRS. RETAIL EXPERIENCE. I wondered if wrapping up bagels and sandwiches would be considered retail. It didn’t matter—I just wanted to use up time.
“I’d like to apply for the job.”
The woman looked up, surprised. “I require at least three years’ retail experience.”
“Are you the owner?”
The woman smiled a little. She had a sleek brown bob and light eyes accentuated by expert makeup. “I am.”
“I’d like to apply. Is there a form to fill out?”
She flipped open a book and pulled out an application form. I took my time filling it out, using Aunt Iris’s address and phone number, then handed it back.
She read the name and address and glanced up. “I should have known by the hair. You’re an O’Neill.”
“Yes.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Marcy Fleming.”
Fleming.
“Zack’s mother?”
That’s why the stalker hadn’t liked my rabbit hole. He thought I was running straight to Zack’s mom—stepmom.
“Stepmother,” she corrected, then smiled. “I owe you for yesterday. Thank you for getting rid of our four-legged friends.”
I nodded.
“How is Iris doing?” she asked.
“I—I’m not sure. There are a lot of things I have to figure out. She’s not really—uh—”
“Normal? Then I guess she is doing the same as before. It was very decent of you to come,” Mrs. Fleming added. “There aren’t a lot of young people who would visit their batty aunt.”
“I didn’t come for that reason.” It seemed as if I had given this spiel a hundred times since arriving. “Uncle Will invited me. He said there were some family things to talk about, so I came expecting to see him.”
“You mean you didn’t know? Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Someone should have informed you.”
“According to Aunt Iris,
Uncle Will
should have.”
She smiled a little. “How long will you be staying?”
“I don’t know yet. I have college orientation in August.”
“So you’re looking for a summer job.”
What could I say? No, I’m as paranoid as Aunt Iris and think people are following me. . . .
“Yes, but the truth is, I don’t have the experience you want. I worked at Panera Bread for two years—you know, handling bagels, sandwiches, that kind of thing.”
“I see. And how many bagels a week would you say you dropped?”
“I had a counter in front of me. There was no place to drop them.”
She laughed a tinkly laugh that seemed too girlish to go with her businesslike appearance. “You’re hired.”
“Excuse me?”
“Honesty is important. And I need an employee who knows how to position herself so she doesn’t drop things. Of course,” she added, “Zack would advise you not to take this job.”
“Why?” I asked bluntly.
That tinkly laugh again. “I’m a tough stepmother and a tough employer. Sometimes we’re swamped, other times it’s slow. When it is, I’ll expect you to help with cleaning, inventory, whatever I need. There is no slacking off in my shop. And there is certainly no socializing, no little visits from
“I’m not open for business on Mondays, but
if
you are careful, I see no harm.”
“I think I’ll put my backpack by the door.”
“Good idea.”
I had been in Christmas shops at Jersey and Maryland beaches, but boardwalk stores can be a little junky and usually smell like seawater and tar. In this shop aggressive air-conditioning made it as dry as winter; spicy smells gave it a holiday mood. The walls were painted in midnight blue, andcarefully placed spotlights made snowflakes sparkle. Figurines painted in old-fashioned clothes and antique-looking angels perched and dangled everywhere. The shop created a once-upon-a-time Christmas—the kind everyone likes to “remember,” even though most of us haven’t experienced it. I looked at things I would never buy—not with those price tags—working my way around the store until I reached the cash register.
HELP WANTED, the sign said, and in small print, MINIMUM 3 YRS. RETAIL EXPERIENCE. I wondered if wrapping up bagels and sandwiches would be considered retail. It didn’t matter—I just wanted to use up time.
“I’d like to apply for the job.”
The woman looked up, surprised. “I require at least three years’ retail experience.”
“Are you the owner?”
The woman smiled a little. She had a sleek brown bob and light eyes accentuated by expert makeup. “I am.”
“I’d like to apply. Is there a form to fill out?”
She flipped open a book and pulled out an application form. I took my time filling it out, using Aunt Iris’s address and phone number, then handed it back.
She read the name and address and glanced up. “I should have known by the hair. You’re an O’Neill.”
“Yes.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Marcy Fleming.”
Fleming.
“Zack’s mother?”
That’s why the stalker hadn’t liked my rabbit hole. He thought I was running straight to Zack’s mom—stepmom.
“Stepmother,” she corrected, then smiled. “I owe you for yesterday. Thank you for getting rid of our four-legged friends.”
I nodded.
“How is Iris doing?” she asked.
“I—I’m not sure. There are a lot of things I have to figure out. She’s not really—uh—”
“Normal? Then I guess she is doing the same as before. It was very decent of you to come,” Mrs. Fleming added. “There aren’t a lot of young people who would visit their batty aunt.”
“I didn’t come for that reason.” It seemed as if I had given this spiel a hundred times since arriving. “Uncle Will invited me. He said there were some family things to talk about, so I came expecting to see him.”
“You mean you didn’t know? Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Someone should have informed you.”
“According to Aunt Iris,
Uncle Will
should have.”
She smiled a little. “How long will you be staying?”
“I don’t know yet. I have college orientation in August.”
“So you’re looking for a summer job.”
What could I say? No, I’m as paranoid as Aunt Iris and think people are following me. . . .
“Yes, but the truth is, I don’t have the experience you want. I worked at Panera Bread for two years—you know, handling bagels, sandwiches, that kind of thing.”
“I see. And how many bagels a week would you say you dropped?”
“I had a counter in front of me. There was no place to drop them.”
She laughed a tinkly laugh that seemed too girlish to go with her businesslike appearance. “You’re hired.”
“Excuse me?”
“Honesty is important. And I need an employee who knows how to position herself so she doesn’t drop things. Of course,” she added, “Zack would advise you not to take this job.”
“Why?” I asked bluntly.
That tinkly laugh again. “I’m a tough stepmother and a tough employer. Sometimes we’re swamped, other times it’s slow. When it is, I’ll expect you to help with cleaning, inventory, whatever I need. There is no slacking off in my shop. And there is certainly no socializing, no little visits from
Similar Books
