Serendipity: A Bayou Magic Novel Page 5

  “Then I close the shop. But I’m rarely sick, and I don’t take vacations.”

  I stare at her as she checks a spreadsheet on her clipboard. “You’re kidding me.”

  “About what?”

  “No vacations? What kind of fresh hell is that?”

  She just laughs. “I like what I do, Jack. I don’t need a vacation from it. Besides, where would I go? And with whom? My sisters don’t travel. And you know I’m more comfortable surrounded by things I know. I’d hate to sit in an airplane and feel the grief of the person who sat there before me because they were on their way to a funeral. It’s best if I stay put.”

  “You have shields against those things,” I remind her.

  “Most of the time.” She checks something off on her list and then changes the subject. “Okay, now I need to shift these couches. I want to move different ones over here so they can be seen through the front window.”

  We spend the next hour moving furniture. Watching her work is fascinating.

  “How are you protecting yourself right now?” I ask. “How are you not feeling a flood of emotions? You’ve touched at least a dozen antiques in the past fifteen minutes alone.”

  “I’ve learned to reach out with just a thread in my mind. If it’s an unfamiliar piece, I send out a little thread to see if there is any malicious intent in it. Nine times out of ten, there isn’t, and then I touch it and see its history.”

  “What about that one time out of ten?”

  “I wrap it back up and return it to where it came from.”

  “Good girl.”

  She opens a crate, and her eyes dilate for a moment. She must be sending that thread inside to examine the items.

  She squeals with glee and pulls out a child’s rocking horse.

  “Oh, this is just lovely.” She caresses the painted wood of the horse’s muzzle and along the saddle. “What a fun piece. This was gifted to a little girl in 1933 outside of Atlanta. She loved horses, but her parents couldn’t afford a real one, so they gave her this for her birthday. She played on it for years.”

  Her expression falls.

  “But she died when she was nine. Polio. They put the toy up in an attic and the family forgot about it until they cleaned the house out a few months ago to sell.”

  “And now it can bring another child some joy.”

  Her smile slips easily back into place, and my heart shifts.

  “Oh, I hope so. I sincerely hope so. Let’s put it in the window, shall we?”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  I carry the horse to the platform in the window and set it next to an old baby carriage.

  “Where did this come from?” I ask, testing out the wheels as I roll it back and forth.

  “Idaho,” Daphne says. “It’s from 1910. It’s really too old to use for a baby now, but I thought it would make a great photography prop or something for someone. It once held twins.”

  “They must have been tiny. This thing isn’t big.”

  “They were tiny,” she agrees with a soft smile. “And very loved.”

  “How do you do this?”

  Her eyes meet mine. “How can I not? Everything I’ve told you is happy.”

  “But it’s all about people who’ve died.”

  “Death is a part of life, Jackson. You know that better than anyone. Besides, all of these items brought people immense joy. I want to pass that on to someone else.”

  I blow out a breath and then shake my head. “Okay. What’s next?”

  Chapter Four

  “For all of these things, I am not the least bit sorry.”

  -Carl Panzram

  He’s been watching his girls through the mirrors in their homes. They thought they could hide from him. That their pathetic spells could keep him away.

  It’s almost laughable. But they’ve underestimated him at every turn for as long as he can remember. They have to be punished for that.

  Yes. There’s no other way. But the punishments will be so sweet. And the girls will appreciate him. Love him for showing them where they went wrong.

  He’s almost embarrassed by their lack of gratitude. His mother would have given him thirty lashes and sent him into the cellar for a week if he’d been even half as disrespectful as those girls.

  He blames Ruth for that. She needs to be punished, as well.

  But for now, he’s shifted his focus to Daphne. Ah, his sweet Daphne. She’s the gentlest of the three. The softest—with a heart of gold. He’s not supposed to have a favorite, but in his heart of hearts, Daphne is the one who brings him the most joy.

  He’s excited to get started on this phase of the game. Daphne will be so thrilled by his work. So grateful.

  He’s been drifting in spirit form for a long while, and he likes this better than trying to inhabit another stupid mortal. The last one was such a disappointment. This time, he plans to do things another way.

  It won’t be as satisfying as holding the knife, but he’ll make do.

  He watches her. Not Daphne, not yet, but another woman with hair the color of fire and big, blue eyes.

  A new toy.

  She stands in front of the mirror in her bathroom, looking right at him as she pins her hair on the top of her head, getting ready for a bath.

  “Oh, aren’t you beautiful?” he croons. The toy’s eyes glaze over as the trance settles in. “That’s right, pin that hair up. You don’t want to get it wet in the bath, do you? Such pretty hair.”

  He wishes he could reach through the mirror and touch her. Feel that hair in his fingers, the smooth skin. But he’s not that strong.

  Not yet.

  “Take off your clothes now.” He watches as the woman steps out of her pants and pulls her sweatshirt over her head. “Oh, yes. You’re just lovely with all that white skin. Those pink nipples. Yes, a bath is just the thing, isn’t it? Is the water hot enough?”

  She moves to the side of the tub and tests the temperature, then turns off the tap since the tub is almost full.

  “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t forget the blow-dryer. That’s it.” She plugs the blow-dryer into the outlet, and he smiles with delight when she steps into the tub, sits, and electrocutes herself to death.

  Chapter Five

  Daphne

  “I have an idea,” Jack says after I turn the lock in Reflections’ door after a long day of rearranging my merchandise and waiting on customers.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “I don’t know if you heard, but I sold my parents’ house a few years back.”

  “I heard,” I confirm and remember how my stomach had twisted at the news. I’d spent many hours in that house with Jack’s parents. I’d loved them very much.

  “Well, I kept all of the furniture. Especially the antiques that my mama collected over the years.”

  I feel my eyes light in interest. “Did you keep that gorgeous folding writing desk she had in the corner of the living room?”

  “I kept everything,” he confirms, and my heart gives a little leap. “It’s all in a garage on Oliver’s property. Would you be interested in any of it for the shop?”

  I nod and know exactly where I would put that desk.

  In my living room.

  “Absolutely. I could consign it for you here. Or even buy the pieces outright from you to sell. Either way.”

  “Let’s go look at it,” he suggests.

  “Now?”

  He nods and tucks his hands into his pockets. “No time like the present.”

  I could use the distraction, and I remember that Jack’s mom had some beautiful pieces. “I’d love to see it.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  I gather my purse, make sure everything is locked up tight, and the next thing I know, I’m in the front seat of Jack’s car, headed out of the city.

  Oliver doesn’t live as far out as the bayou, but he’s on the edge of the city where there’s more space—where the homes are spread out a bit. He’s owned his property for many yea
rs. At least, for as long as I can remember.

  When Jack pulls into Oliver’s driveway, nostalgia hits me. We used to come here for dinner every Sunday afternoon—mudbugs or a fish fry. It was the best food. And some of the best company.

  When Jack turned his back on me all those years ago, I didn’t just lose him. I lost his family, too. Oliver, and his wife, Annabelle, who were always nothing but wonderful to me.

  Jack reaches over and squeezes my hand, catching my attention.

  “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

  “Of course.” He comes to a stop. I get out of the car and stretch my back. “Which garage is the stuff in?”

  “Over there,” he says as he points to the smaller of the two buildings on the property. “The other one is Oliver’s shop.”

  “Is he still making all of that beautiful furniture?”

  “Woodworking is in his blood,” Jack says. “He’ll never stop.”

  “I still have the little step stool he made me. I love it.”

  Jack unlocks a big garage door and lets it slide up. As light filters inside, I see that almost everything is covered or wrapped in tarps, which is absolutely perfect.

  “It’s going to be like unwrapping Christmas gifts,” I say with a grin as we step inside. “There are no snakes in here, right?”

  “No snakes, no critters,” Jack confirms. “It’s a safe place. Let’s start uncovering this stuff.”

  We start on the left, intending to make a circle around the garage, and I’m giddy at what we’ll find. When Jackson uncovers a gorgeous dresser, I sigh.

  “Your mama had such good taste.” I run my hand over the dark chestnut and am immediately back in Jack’s parents’ bedroom, watching as they dance around the room, laughing. It makes my heart happy. “Oh, this is fun.”

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “They had so much fun together.” I shrug a shoulder. “I could definitely sell this piece for you. I have a buyer in mind already.”

  “Great. Let’s keep going. Otherwise, we’ll be here until tomorrow morning,” he suggests. We make our way through half a dozen pieces, all gorgeous and in excellent shape, when we hear footsteps approaching the building.

  “Well, hello there,” Oliver says as he pokes his head inside. “Thought I heard someone out here. Figured it was you, though I didn’t expect both of you. Glad it ain’t thieves.”

  I laugh and hurry over to kiss Oliver’s cheek. “Not this time. How are you, Ollie?”

  “I get by just fine, Miss Daphne.”

  But I step back and frown when I look up at the handsome man. His eyes are a bit sunken and shadowed, the circles darker than I’ve ever seen them.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I ask him.

  “Don’t you worry about me,” he says. “I have a wife that does enough of that.”

  “How is Miss Annabelle?”

  “Fit as a fiddle and as beautiful as ever. She said to let you know she has some gumbo on the fire and that you should stay for it.”

  “I won’t argue with gumbo,” I say and pat his arm. “We’re just going through some of Jack’s parents’ antiques.”

  “I think it’s time to sell some things,” Jack adds.

  “There are some fine pieces in here,” Oliver says with a nod. “Should make someone happy. Y’all come in any time. The food’ll be nice and hot for you.”

  “Thank you,” I call after him and then turn to Jack. “Is he really okay?”

  “I see it, too,” Jackson replies with a sigh. “He’s been acting pretty normal, but he just looks…beat. I’ll mention it to Annabelle. I’m sure she’ll make him go to the doctor.”

  “Good. I think he needs to.” I pull a tarp and grin in happiness when I uncover the writing desk. “Here it is.”

  “Mom loved that thing,” Jack says. “I don’t know where she got it.”

  “I’ll tell you.” I run my hand over the top of the piece and smile softly. “Oh, it’s older than I thought. 1818. This was built in Maryland. Came here with a young couple who wanted to make a life in New Orleans. That family passed it down to your mama.”

  “I didn’t know my mother’s family,” Jack admits and shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “She was the last of them,” I reply softly. “Look, Jack, I was going to offer to buy this from you for my personal collection, but you should keep it in your family. Pass it on to someone someday.”

  “You don’t need to buy it,” he says. “It’s yours, Daph.”

  I shake my head. But, oh, how I long to own this piece. It’s pulled at me since the first time I saw it.

  “If you ever want it back, you only have to say the word.”

  His smile is quick. “So noted. Let’s get through some more of this before we go in for dinner.”

  “My stomach is growling,” I say as I pull back a tarp and gasp.

  The piano.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jimmy.” I’m at the stove, cooking up some soup for the man sitting at the table, his head in his hands. Jack’s at work, and I don’t want Jimmy to be alone.

  His wife died only a week ago.

  I set a bowl of soup on the table at his elbow, and he catches my hand before I can move away.

  “You see things, Daphne.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Will you look? For me? Maybe it’ll give me a moment with her, I just need something.”

  Goddess, I hurt for him. Jimmy and Elaine were so in love. So wonderful together.

  Her death almost destroyed him.

  “Sure. What should I touch?”

  He looks around the room, almost desperately, and then points at the piano in the corner. “She loved to play. It was her favorite part of the day.”

  “Then I’ll start there.”

  I take a deep breath, sit on the bench, uncover the keys, and then rest my fingers on the ivories and smile. “Oh, Jimmy. You’re right. Playing was the best part of her day.”

  “Can you talk to her? Can you tell her that I love her?”

  His voice is full of tears.

  “No, you know that’s not my gift. I can only see what was. But she did love this piano. More than that, she loved you and Jackson. Being a wife and mother filled her cup, Mr. Jimmy.”

  “I know.” He drops back into his chair and wipes his eyes. “I know it did.”

  “She was playing that morning.” I frown as the image comes into my head, sharp as can be. “She was playing and smiling. Fiddling with a new song. Something for your anniversary. Then, she felt so tired. Just so, so tired, and thought she’d take a nap before she got dinner started.

  “She went up to the bedroom and laid down, thinking of you and Jack. Wondered if maybe Jack would come for dinner, too. And she could make some strawberry shortcake for dessert. She wanted to have both of her men under one roof for a meal. She missed Jack after he moved out and started taking classes in the city. But she was so proud of him, too. And so happy that he was with a nice girl.

  “And then, she just drifted off to sleep. No dreams. No pain. Just…sleep.”

  I shake myself out of the vision and whip my head around to stare at Mr. Jimmy, who’s sobbing quietly now and watching me with so much grief and guilt, I feel ashamed for saying everything I just did.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that.”

  “No, you should.” He swallows and wipes at the tears on his cheeks. “Now I know what her last moments were like. Damn it, Daphne, it was my fault.”

  “No—”

  “Yes. I’m the one who didn’t fix that gas leak correctly. Didn’t want to spend a few hundred dollars to hire someone to handle it the right way. And because of that, because of a few dollars, my baby’s gone.”

  I don’t know what to do. What to say.

  “Daph?”

  I blink and glance over at Jack, who’s watching me with a scowl. “Huh?”

  “Where’d you go, sweets?”

  “Oh. Just memories. You c
an definitely sell the piano. Let’s move on.”

  “Daph—”

  “Let’s move on,” I say again and uncover another piece.

  After thirty minutes, we’ve mentally cataloged everything in the garage. He has a small fortune just sitting here.

  “I’m happy to consign all of this for you, Jack.”

  “Awesome, thank you. I’ll make arrangements for it to be shipped to Reflections.”

  I nod as he closes the door, locks it, and then turns to me. “Let’s grab some gumbo.”

  “Let’s talk first.”

  “No.” I rest my hand on his shoulder. I can’t read his thoughts like I once could, and that’s for the best. “I’m hungry, and Miss Annabelle went to a lot of trouble. So, we’ll go eat.”

  He curses under his breath but doesn’t argue as I set off for the house.

  * * *

  “Miss Annabelle hasn’t changed a bit.” I lean back against the car seat with the window rolled down, enjoying the hot air as it blows through my hair. “She’s sweet and sassy all at once. And makes the best gumbo ever—don’t tell Millie I said that.”

  He laughs and nods, turning onto my street. “She’s the best. Mind if I come up for a bit?”

  “We’ve spent a lot of time together today,” I point out.

  “Sick of me?”

  Surprisingly, no. I’m not sick of him at all.

  “Not yet.”

  He laughs and cuts the engine, smiling over at me. “Please, can I come up with you?”

  “You’re such a pouter.” I roll my eyes but don’t tell him no as we get out of the car and head to my front door. “Fresh blood on my door. Millie’s been here.”

  “I’m not new to any of these things, yet that gives me the willies,” Jackson confesses as I unlock the door and step inside.

  “Yeah, well, it makes her feel better.” I kick off my shoes and pad into the kitchen for a glass of wine. “Want some?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  He waits while I pour.

  “Okay, what is it?” I ask when I return to the living room and sit on the couch facing him. “Just say it already.”