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“About that.” He reached into his back pocket.
The church bell pealed, and I let out a yip. “Sorry, I need to go. I’m going to be late for a meeting with Estrelle. I’m supposed to be there at six.”
I had only five peals left before I was officially late.
Sam’s eyes widened, and he rushed ahead of me to pull open Stitchery’s door, which was unlocked even though it sported a “Closed” sign. “Hurry!”
From the street, the shop looked inviting, welcoming even, with its pale sea-green facade and blue trim. Mellow orange light glowed warmly in its window. There was nothing about it at all to suggest that a scary old woman owned the place.
As I passed by him, sweeping into the store, I couldn’t help but notice the look of concern on his face as the bell tolled again. “Thanks.”
“Good luck. Not that you’ll need it. Probably,” he added with a mock grimace.
At least I hoped it was mock.
My god, what had I gotten myself into?
I nodded and smiled as confidently as I could—which wasn’t saying much—and said goodbye to Norman as Sam released the door. It closed slowly with a prolonged whoosh, as if exhaling after a deep, meditative breath. He gave a quick wave before he and Norman walked off.
The church bells finished marking the six o’clock hour with an echoing ring. Adrenaline raced as I called out a tentative hello, proud that my voice didn’t crack.
A gravelly voice came from a back room, strong and sure. “One moment.”
Trying to calm myself, I breathed in, held the air, then released it.
Time ticked slowly by. A minute. Two. I noted that Estrelle wasn’t too concerned about keepingmewaiting.
Biding my time, I took a good look around the shop. Because I’d seen Estrelle only wearing black, I’d pictured the inside of Stitchery to resemble Morticia Addams’s walk-in closet, so I was quite surprised to find it looking more like Rainbow Brite lived here.
There was hardly any black at all in the space, which was awash in colorful fabrics, décor, and fixtures. The walls had been painted in a curving, curling, multicolor geometric design. The greens, blues, corals, and yellows were somehow both energetic and soothing.
The space felt… cheerful.
Serene.
I listened—it was almost always my first instinct. I expected to hear the rattle of the air-conditioning through metal ductwork or footsteps in the storeroom or the hum of the computer on the counter that also held the cash register. But there was nothing. Only silence.
Which was odd. There was no true silence in the world. Sound lived everywhere. It was in my breath, in the blink of my eye, in the flow of my blood through my veins. It was in the creak of drywall, the birds on the roof, the stir of the air.
Yet in here… silence.
I wasn’t sure if the lack of sound was blissful or disturbing.
Finally, I decided it was neither.
It was peaceful.
One side of the wide shop held bolts of fabrics, a cutting station, notions, and a display of sewing machines. The other side held a long pink worktable, a dress form that had swaths of white fabric pinned in place. Three tiered bookcases were filled with patterns as well as sewing and quilting books. There was an embroidery nook at the front of the store, cram-jammed with floss, hoops, needles. Scattered throughout the shop were hand-sewn goods for sale. Beach bags, tea pouches, potholders, hair scrunchies, bibs—all done in bright, happy colors.
I could easily imagine Bunny in here. Leafing through the books. Buying thread and buttons. She’d encourage me to pick a favorite fabric and then we’d make something out of it. A pillow or purse or book cover. We’d even made a stuffed Mr. Whiskers once, which wasn’t quite the same as having the real thing, but I loved it just the same. It was one of my most treasured possessions.
I turned at the sound of heavy footsteps. Estrelle walked out of the back room carrying two medium-size carpetbags with dark leather handles. Both were fashioned in a fabric that matched the wall’s geometric design and had the name of the shop stitched near the clasp.
She set the bags down on the worktable. Then she narrowed a shrewd gaze on me. “To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late. To be late is to disturb me greatly.”
I took a deep breath. Nope. She still had no scent. Her face was pinched with irritation, all the fine lines scrunched into a scowl. For some reason, in this calm, soothing shop, she didn’t terrify me as much as she had at Magpie’s. No one who created such a tranquil space could betooscary. I made a point to look at my watch. “By my calculation, you’re three minutes late to our arranged meeting. Are you disturbed by your own tardiness?”
Her right eyebrow rose. Stormy eyes darkened. “I’m deeply disturbedallthe time.”
