* * *
“Sorry! We only hire with a firm commitment of at least three months.”
“Even for seasonal employees?”
“That’s our policy. Honestly, it’s not even worth the time it takes to train someone if they leave before that.”
“Okay. I understand.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “Thanks anyway.”
I scratched out the last lead on my list with an aggressive line, digging the tip of my pen so hard into the paper it threatened to tear. I’d spent the past hour utterly striking out in my hunt for employment. Every position I called about was either already filled or looking for someone who had more than a few measly shifts to offer. The only promising one — the local dog-walking business — didn’t answer the first time I called. On my second attempt, someonedidanswer but the barking in the background was so loud, I couldn’t hear whatever they were saying.
I’d try again tomorrow.
I stared at my phone for a moment, hesitating before I put it into my bag. There were three missed call notifications from an unlisted number — Adrian really needed to get a day job, he had way too much time on his hands — but that wasn’t why I hesitated. I was due to phone a certain detective for an update on my automotive woes. Past due, in fact. I’d programmed his number into my phone this morning when I woke up in preparation. (As if I hadn’t memorized it already, staring at his business card all night like a creepy stalker.) Yet… I couldn’t bring myself to actually make the damn call.
Maybe I was terrified he’d tell me bad news. That my car had self-destructed in the auto-body shop, and the only way I’d be leaving town for the foreseeable future was on the stolen bicycle of a sixth grader. Or... maybe I was afraid he’d ask me out again. Maybe I was afraid, if he did, I’d do something insane. (Like sayyes.)
Better to put him off for a while. What was that famous saying about procrastination?‘Why do today that which you can avoid until tomorrow?’
Yep. I was pretty sure that’s how it went.
Zipping my notebook and phone away in my small leather backpack, I headed back toward the heart of town where I’d left my bike. I didn’t rush. I strolled. I meandered. Hell, I even moseyed, choosing streets at random, letting my feet pick the path as they saw fit. It was a picture-perfect fall day — sunny and slightly breezy, the warm wind off the water stirring the fallen leaves that crunched beneath my boots. Everything was bathed in that distinctly golden light only autumn could conjure, like the whole world had been dipped in a vat of caramel.
Countless restaurants and cafes lined the sidewalks, with outdoor patio sections brimming with patrons. The aroma of fresh seafood was mouth-watering as waiters carried towering plates of steaming red lobsters, lemony-garlic mussels, french fries, and battered haddock filets from the kitchens in a near-constant parade.
My stomach rumbled loudly. Lunchtime had come and gone and my measly croissant had long since digested. It took iron-clad self control to keep my boots from turning of their own accord toward the door of Broomsticks Bakery, which was emitting a scent delicious enough to stop even a gluten-hater dead in their tracks.
You have car repairs to consider, Imogen,I reminded myself, ignoring the mouthwatering display of baked goods.Step away from the baguettes!
There were many different businesses on the main drag, but one in particular caught my eye as I passed by. It had the look of an ancient apothecary shop. The front was all glass and wood, with a gorgeous witch-themed window display that featured a metric ton of books and baubles. Some of the books actually appeared to be flying through the air, no doubt strung up with invisible fishing line. I was instantly enchanted, and found myself grinning like an idiot at the sight — at least, until my eyes drifted up to the wooden sign hanging over the door, which proclaimed:
THE GALLOWS
The ‘O’ was in the shape of a noose.
I felt my stomach pitch, all traces of hunger vanishing in an instant. I could practically still hear Gigi’s voice ringing in my head.
The owner, Gwendolyn Goode, told me she was looking for some part-time help since the place has gotten so popular…
Cute facade notwithstanding, the place didn’t exactly scream popular. In fact, it looked empty. The hanging placard on the door announced CLOSED. Beneath it, though, in feminine handwriting, someone had tacked up a sheet of paper, upon which was scrawled an additional message.
Help Wanted!
Inquire Within.
(SERIOUSLY. I’M DESPERATE.)
I told myself to keep walking. And yet… for whatever reason, despite all attempts to avoid this place, fate had brought me here. I’d never been one to ignore fate. (In fact, I felt strongly that doing so was often a recipe for disaster.) Besides, my other employment-hunt efforts had been a total bust thus far.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
Bracing my shoulders, I ignored all my instincts that were screaming at me to run the opposite direction and, before I knew it, I’d closed the gap between me and the door, grabbed the knob, and pushed. It wasn’t locked — the hinges creaked faintly as it swung inward with a tinkle of bells overhead.
I sucked in a breath as I stepped over the threshold, my eyes sweeping the cavernous interior. Painted in shades of green and gold, it was part cafe, part bookshop, part apothecary.Allstunning. The first thing I saw were the books. Books everywhere, as far as the eye could see. They dominated the left side of the room, stacked on tables and shoved onto long shelves that stretched deep into the space in a cozy maze of polished mahogany. The right side was lessliterature, morelatte— a gleaming emerald bar housed a cool-as-hell gold espresso machine. The floors beneath my boots were heavy, historical hardwood. The lofty ceilings overhead were an insanely beautiful gold patina. Deeper into the shop, where the bookshelves became curiosity cabinets, bundles of herbs hung from aforementioned ceiling, infusing the air with an earthy, herbal smell that made my toes curl.
It was an inviting space — one that encouraged you to sip a coffee for an hour or three as you flipped the pages of the glossy hardcovers on the bestseller table, to lose yourself in the oddities that seemed to be stuffed in every nook and cranny. But there was no time to peruse. Not today. Because the shop wasn’t empty, as I’d expected.
There were a handful of people around my age inside. And all of them, every last one, was staring at me. Not in a “How can I help you today?” sort of way, either. No, they were staring at me like I was a villain busting into the saloon in an old Western movie, about to whip out a set of dueling pistols and start firing them into the air, then taking trollops hostage unless someone emptied the gosh dang safe before the sheriff showed up.