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She quickly explained about a letter falling off the counter yesterday, the smudged postmark, and the overwhelming need totake a chance,as the scrawled note at the top of the want ad had suggested.
“Do you know for sure that he was the one who sent the letter?” I asked. “You said it didn’t have a return address and the note isn’t signed.”
“I have some doubts,” she admitted, those mossy owlish eyes awash with apprehension, “but it sounds like him, and I can’t think of anyone else who would have sent it.”
“But how did he get it?” I asked. “I threw the want ad away.”
“I have no idea,” she said quietly. “But to me there’s something that feels…otherworldlyabout this whole situation.”
Goose bumps rose on my arms as the Mermaids began making their way inside the shop. The room burst full open with sound. Hellos and laughter and orders of lattes and tea and muffins and donuts.
I needed to go help Rose before all-out chaos ensued. “Otherworldly? Like…ghostly?”
I wasn’t sure what to believe when it came to ghosts or spirits or even angels, though there was something comforting in believing there might be some sort of life after death.
She shrugged. “I don’t know what to think.”
I didn’t, either. But then thoughts started filtering in about Dad’s sleepwalking, his new healthier lifestyle, the yard sale, and now the talk of selling Magpie’s. I made a quick decision. One I hopefully wouldn’t regret.
“The timingdoesfeel like more than coincidence. And how the letter fell off the counter like it did?” I made a show of shivering. “That definitely sounds a bit woo-woo to me.”
She nodded, her face so earnest it almost made me feel guilty for playing up the ghost angle.Almost. My need to find out what my dad was up to overrode everything else.
“I keep trying to come up with another explanation but just can’t quite,” she said.
I took a deep breath. “Let me help take care of these Mermaids, then we’ll go see my dad. He’s who you’d be working for, by the way. Despite what he thinks, he does need help, and I think you might be the perfect person for the job.”
The job shewasgoing to get.
I knew this mostly because Ava had Estrelle’s stamp of approval—Dad wouldn’t dare cross the old woman, either. But also because what Carmella had said earlier was true. My father loved a good ghost story. He’d never pass up being part of one.
I glanced out the window to see if Estrelle was still watching, pleased at how all this had unfolded.
But the only thing near the lamppost now was a butterfly flitting about.
CHAPTER 4AVA
An hour after I first stepped foot into Magpie’s, I followed Maggie out of the coffee shop. The gray clouds had drifted off to the north, leaving behind a brilliant blue sky above us. We were on our way to meet with her father, Desmond, at his home.
Maggie shaded her eyes with her hand as she glanced at my blazer. She smelled of sweet cream and coffee, golden sunsets and generosity.
“Dad’s house is about six blocks from here, so we’ll take the golf cart over instead of working up a sweat by walking.”
Sunshine had warmed the morning, and she was dressed more appropriately for the weather in her knee-length denim shorts and green Magpie’s T-shirt. I definitely felt the heat in my tweed jacket, but I didn’t want to take it off until after I met with Desmond. UntilafterI got the job. No use in jinxing my luck.
Earlier, Maggie had called her father on speakerphone to let him know we were coming, and I’d heard the conversation easily, even though the door to her office had been closed. Desmond hadn’t been pleased about interviewing a helper until Maggie mentioned someone named Estrelle and a ghostly connection to the letter I’d received.
I didn’t know what to make of his alarm at hearing Estrelle’s name or the instant enthusiasm when told about a possible ghost, but I’d been warned, hadn’t I? The job description had mentioned right up front that he was peculiar.
“Does he live near the beach?” I asked, hopeful.
“Direct beachfront with some of the best views of the gulf around.” She looked at me, concern flaring in her eyes. “You don’t mind the water, do you?”
“Mind? Not at all.” Happiness swirled through me. “I’ve only been to the beach once before, but I loved it.”
“I have a love-hate relationship with the water, myself. It’s so beautiful—breathtaking, really—but incredibly dangerous. You’ll never find me in it, but I’ll admire it from afar.”
A few of the Mermaids, as Maggie had called them, were still milling around outside the shop, chatting. As a full group, they’d been quite a sight to behold, thirty to forty strong, made up of men and women alike, young and old and in between. They’d come into Magpie’s windswept and disheveled, but all had been smiling and laughing and showing off their beachcombing finds—including a few bits of sea glass. The smooth green and blue pieces had been passed around, hand to hand, table to table.
