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“Nope, we put you on automatic withdrawal, remember? After you made up for one missed payment with two payments, duplicated by Gabriel’s payment, because he didn’t think you paid me.”
“We’re still working on the joint-accounts thing,” Jane muttered sheepishly.
I chuckled. “Those sorts of mistakes I can handle.” I pulled out several extra-large sachets stuffed with rosemary and lavender from my garden, combined with bay leaf, cloves, and cedar chips. “I’ve been meaning to bring these by. You said you needed something extra-powerful to cover up the smell of Jamie’s sneakers?”
“I do not understand how someone who technically does not sweat can have swamp feet!” Jane exclaimed, clutching the sachets to her chest like a shield. “It’s starting to permeate the second floor!”
I squeezed her shoulder as she pressed the sachets to her nose like they were an olfactory lifeline. “Welcome to life with a teenager. Dealing with weird smells will occupy a good portion of your time.”
Jane stashed the little cloth parcels behind the bar while Andrea brought the espresso machine roaring to life. “I was afraid you were here to give me more cryptic messages about my food supply and then not follow through with an explanation. You know unanswered questions drive me nuts,” Jane said.
“I’m sorry about that,” I told her.
“Thanks for calling me and including me in your one-woman recall, jerk,” Andrea muttered.
“I told Jane to call you, too!”
“You know she doesn’t remember anything until she’s awake for at least an hour!” she grumbled. “Don’t play with my well-being all willy-nilly.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, are you here to tell me why I tossed out an entire case of Faux Type O, other than that it amused you and Ophelia to jerk me around?” Jane asked.
“No.” I mouthed a quick thanks as Andrea set one of her delicious cappuccinos in front of me.
“Oh, did you try to attend another chamber meetin’?” Jolene snickered. “Because I want to hear about it.”
“I had to try it once!” I insisted. “Despite your many, many … many warnings. I’m a local business owner. I had to at least try to join the Chamber of Commerce.”
Much like Jane, I had been summarily tossed out of the Half-Moon Hollow Chamber of Commerce, a semiproductive civic group infested by perky women named Courtney. But while Jane had lasted several months, I was asked to leave after one meeting. When the Courtneys found out that my business was catering to vampires, they couldn’t get me out of the meeting house fast enough. In fact, after the Head Courtney found out that I was a friend of Jane’s, they’d done everything they could to cause problems for me in town. I’d tolerated their attempts to get my business license pulled. I’d even laughed when they tried to get my suppliers to blacklist me … because they didn’t really know my suppliers well and ended up offending them and rallying them to my side. But when they approached the teachers at Gigi’s school to determine whether my sister was a “disruptive influence” on the other kids, Jane visited the Chamber office … and would not tell me what was said. All I knew was that Head Courtney couldn’t look me in the eye when I saw her at Walmart.
“I’m not one to say I told you so.” Jane sighed. “But I’ll sing it. I toooooold you soooooo!” She finished on one knee, fanning her fingers dramatically.
“The jazz hands are completely unnecessary,” I told her. “Especially since I am here as a customer. Do you have any books on plants and the supernatural?”
“First of all, jazz hands on a vampire are rare enough to be appreciated under any circumstances,” she said, popping up from her position at a speed that would have caused permanent damage in a human. “And yes, we have a whole section on gardening.” She led me to the front of the store, between an old rack of Tales from the Crypt comics and a large framed picture of Jane and Mr. Wainwright at the old counter. Jane had added several “family” photos in the last year, spread here and there throughout the shop with a careless touch, giving it a feeling of familiarity. There was a picture of Jane and her human best friend, Zeb, who also happened to be Jolene’s husband. Another showed Andrea and her husband, Dick Cheney, arguing over the espresso machine, which Andrea protected with the fierceness of an agitated mother bear. There was a group shot from Andrea’s annual “Ugly Christmas Sweater” Holiday Party. This one included Jane’s darkly handsome husband, Gabriel, who seemed less than thrilled to be sporting a sweater vest crawling with bell-wearing elves. Although she didn’t have much retail experience, Jane had an eye for setting up the sales space. Everything drew the customers in, made them feel connected and comfortable.
I felt a bit envious of their little family. They were perfectly welcoming anytime I saw them. But I didn’t have much time to spend with them. I didn’t have much time for friends. I’d never made the transition from pooling pizza and beer money with my roommates in the dorm to Girls’ Night Out and Sunday brunch. It was a sad, strange realization to know that a seventeen-year-old was your only real source of companionship.
What was I going to do when Gigi left for college? I would come home every night to an empty house. There would be no volleyball games, no last-minute rushing to buy supplies for procrastinated science-fair projects, no midnight pizza or dramatic reenactments of high-school soap operas. A bizarre hollow sensation had me gripping the nearby shelf for support.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Jane asked, nudging me gently.
I blew out a breath, nodding shakily. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
Jane grinned at me. “My kind of book shopper.”
She piled several books into my arms, from recent softcover editions to old linen-covered tomes. I wobbled under the weight of them, so she helped me toddle toward the coffee bar. I took a seat at the bar, where my cappuccino was waiting for me, and tried to determine which books I needed.
“So, you’re taking your gardenin’ to a whole ’nother level?” Jolene asked as I immediately eliminated a leather-bound hardback called Man-Eating Plants of the Amazon.
The reading group had adjourned, promising to read something a little more romantic next month. I used their noisy, happy departure for an excuse not to reveal too much about Cal. But as soon as the shop door closed, Jolene was back to looking at me expectantly.
“Just a little research for a friend,” I said, picking up Botanical Aromatherapy and Psychic Abilities. “He doesn’t know anything about botany, and he’s trying to find some information about which plants have effects on vampires. Like garlic, for instance. I’ve noticed that it does not, in fact, burn you alive, contrary to what The Lost Boys would have us believe.”
“Well, that’s what you get for getting your vampire survival tips from Corey Feldman,” Jane said archly.
“It’s more of a stinky-breath issue,” Andrea added.
