Page 16 of Some Kind of Haunted

“Oh, did you eat at Jack’s?” Nora asks brightly. “You won’t get a better breakfast.”

“Jack’s? You mean the surly waiter . . . owns the place?”

“Surly? Jack?” Nora shakes her head. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to Midwest friendliness,” Cleo says. Her smirk does not read friendly, Midwest or otherwise.

“We get lots of visitors this time of year. Fall festivals and the like,” Nora hurries to explain. “Maybe he confused you with one of them.” She bites her bottom lip, as if wishing she hadn’t said that. “Anyway, yes, the diner is Jack’s. Our grandfather runs the antique shop. The whole spread of stores there belongs to the Bellamy family and has forever.”

I’m trying to work out the our grandfather part. “You’re Jack’s sister?”

“Cousin. Well, adopted. Sort of. Anyway, we’re glad you could make it. I can show you around the store, answer any questions you might have, get you familiar with the business.” She’s talking a bit like she had a speech prepared. Like talking about surly or not-surly Jack has taken her off script and she needs to get back on track.

I decide to let her. Maybe it was Harrison telling me I’d like her, maybe it’s this weird town and Jack, who’s only surly to me, and my maybe-a-little-desperate desire to like something here, but I decide Nora and I are going to get along great.

“That sounds perfect,” I say, with more enthusiasm than I really feel. Logan hasn’t said anything else, so I drag him along while Nora shows us around. Cleo follows like an ill-tempered bodyguard in the requisite steel-toed Doc Martens.

The yarn inventory is impressive. There are a great variety of patterns offered, and Nora explains that Amelia used to hold knitting classes—yes, right there at that long, inviting table—and that if she can find a teacher, she’d like to get them going again.

“Amelia’s death took us all by surprise,” Nora says. Her voice is tight, like she’s holding back great emotion.

Maybe I’d have it, too, if I’d ever met Amelia Darling.

Nora turns to Logan and me, an earnestness in her expression I’m not sure even the greatest actors could put on. “I want to make sure that you guys get what you want out of this. If that’s an interest in the store, in Midas, that’s great—”

“Nora,” Cleo mutters, clearly irritated that Nora is being kind over smart.

“Or, if you want to sell, I can assure you this store means the world to me and I’ll happily—”

“Look,” Cleo interrupts. “We can buy you out. I mean, you guys are from Boston or something, right?” It’s a marker of great personal growth, I tell myself, that I do not correct her. “It’s not like you’re going to settle in and take up running a knitting shop in Iowa. Let’s just all transfer everything over to Nora. Easy.”

“It’s not quite that easy,” Logan returns.

Cleo crosses her arms over her chest and glares at Logan. “Amelia’s lawyer said it would be.”

“Did he?” Logan smiles, but this is less sunshine and more shark, reminding me that he’s not beloved at his white-shoe law firm by accident. “He’s wrong.” He gestures at me. “Lexi is an award-winning textile designer.”

“La-di-da,” Cleo says under her breath, earning her a reproachful look from Nora.

“She has a vested interest in this kind of thing. While Midas might not be our home, we have to take some time to determine how we want to deal with our shares in the store,” Logan says. All in his lawyer voice.

He’s not trying to make friends here, which I have to admit is fascinating, because usually that’s his go-to. The charm just oozes off him like he can’t help it. He’s sure helping it right now.

“Nora has more shares than all of us combined,” Cleo points out.

Logan still doesn’t look at Nora. “I’m aware.”

“Even if you kept yours, she still gets the final say. So why do you need to think when the obvious answer is to sell to Nora?”

“Because you so desperately want us to do just that. It makes me suspicious, Ms. Kirkpatrick.”

I feel like things are getting a little out of hand. Which is usually when I wade in and make things worse, but I’m a little off-kilter at Logan being so weird to Nora. Especially when Nora is so obviously trying to do the right thing.

“Did you make this?” I ask Nora, pointing at her sweater.

Nora looks down at it. “Actually, Amelia did. I do knit, though. She taught me. The Bellamys were nice enough to adopt me, but it was kind of . . . Well, I was the only girl around. Amelia was always happy to give me some feminine space when I needed it.” Nora smiles at me. “Did you make yours?”

I nod.