“He’s not a library patron,” Lissa stated.
The man moved from display to display, touching everything. He bent to inspect an array of terrariums on a baker’s rack. Each was filled with miniature plants and a single fairy figurine.
“You can enhance any of those gardens with other figurines,” I said to him.
He muttered something that sounded likehokum.
“I’m sorry.” I moved closer. “What did you say?”
“It’s a hoax.” His voice was raspy. “There’s no such thing as fairies. You shouldn’t be fooling people this way.”
I took an instant dislike to him. “I’m not fooling.”
“She’s not.” Joss sidled to me, a smile plastered on her face. “Fairies do exist, Mr.—” She waited for him to fill in the blank.
“Ferguson Moss.”
“Moss.” Joss snapped her fingers. “Aha!I saw you at City Hall. You?—”
“What do you do, sir?” I cut in.
“I’m a herbologist.”
Lissa joined us. “Do you mean a herbalist?”
“Herbologist,” he repeated. “I’m passionate about plants and healing.”
“Fascinating,” Lissa said. “I know someone who is a clinical herbalist. She’s trained to guide people to plant-based remedies.”
“Yeah. No. Not me.” Ferguson screwed up his mouth in a distasteful way. “I detect issues with plants. I’m concerned with how to heal them.”
“And with how the city is tending its gardens,” Joss said. “You launched a complaint.”
“It wasn’t a complaint,” he countered. “Merely a concern. I am a concerned citizen. Snails are the core of my belief.”
Joss wrinkled her nose. “I hate snails.”
Ferguson turned a cruel eye on her. “Snails are remarkable creatures. They break down decaying plant matter and dead leaves. Gardens thrive under their watchful eye.”
I had snails in my garden, and I didn’t appreciate them one bit.
“The town is using pesticides to extinguish them,” he went on. “They should let me talk to the snails. I will listen to their needs and redirect them to their purpose.”
I bit back a laugh. He talked to snails, but he didn’t believe in fairies? How I wished he and his bad energy would vanish. “Did you happen to follow Shara Popple yesterday?”
“Who?”
“She came in frightened by someone who wears red suspenders.”
“Lots of folks do.” He flicked one with the crook of his thumb.
“Hello!” a slim woman called as she entered the shop. Genteelly, she closed the door and weaved between display tables, the skirt of her exquisite silk dress swishing. A high-end knapsack swung on her shoulder, and I worried it might crash into a display.
“Welcome,” I said. “Um, be careful.” I motioned to her purse. “We sell lots of breakable things.”
“Oops. Bad me.” She tucked it closer.
Eager to let Ferguson explore on his own—or leave—I moved away from him.
