7. Chapter 7

seven

"Blast it!" Harper heard a loud, firm knock on the front door on a damp, chilly April afternoon. It was a few minutes past four o'clock, and she'd planned to run over to Puckett's Park for a quick couple of laps around the park's paved walking trail. After that, she looked forward to picking up takeout scallop hibachi from the Japanese restaurant on the highway. She'd been thinking about it all day.

Sighing to herself, she looked through a crack in the paper covering the display windows and saw a man she didn't recognize, with short-cropped dark brown hair, wearing a light blue polo shirt and a stone-colored windbreaker. The robins, bless them, were standing behind him in a rough semicircle, all of them looking up at the unwelcome visitor. If she hadn't been so annoyed, the sight would have struck her as funny.

Hoping to go undetected, she slowly backed away from the window. Perhaps she could hide until he left. But the man must have sensed movement at the edge of the paper; he suddenly swung his head around and their eyes met through the gap. He smiled and waved. His pleasant but serious face looked just worn enough that Harper reckoned him in his late thirties.

She extended a wooden stare. "Hi. Can I help you?" as she opened a two-inch wide crack in the door.

He held out an ID badge from the college. "Harper Wood? I'm Quinn Ellis from the Sequoyah College Folklore Department. Could I come in for a few minutes?"

"Could we just talk right here? I was on my way out and I have plans for this evening." Harper stood immobile in the doorway, blocking his entrance to the shop.

"Of course. Sorry for coming unannounced like this. I only found out yesterday that you'd stopped by our office to introduce yourself."

She and Jerome Willoughby, department head at the college, had agreed that she would send pictures of books she had questions about to the department's administrative assistant, who would forward them to the proper staff member. If something looked like it needed close investigation, they would let her know who to expect to drop by for a look. But she hadn't sent any pictures at all yet.

Harper allowed her lips to curve upward a razor-blade width. "Oh yes. I was interested in working with your department concerning the folklore items I found when I started going through the shop …"

"Yes," Quinn cut in. "I worked with Frank before he passed away. Anyone who's familiar with the shop can tell you that I was here a lot. Frank consulted me about any folklore book he planned to purchase. Not being in the field, of course, he didn't know which books were valuable and which ones weren't." Harper got the impression this man assumed she was as ignorant about the collection as Frank had been. And it was true, she was, but something about him made her hesitate to admit it aloud.

Nettled, she looked him right in the eye. "I suppose the department sent you here, Mr. Ellis?"

He blinked. "Quinn. Please call me Quinn. They didn't officially send me. Lisa, our department secretary, told me that Jerome is helping you out. I just wanted to offer you the same services I provided Frank. Before you open the shop, I'd be happy to go through all the folklore books. It would save you a lot of time because I'm familiar with them already. All I ask in return is that you allow me to pick a few books to keep for myself."

"Hum." Harper looked at his intense face and backed up a step while maintaining a firm grip on the door. There was something she didn't trust about him. Already irked that he had showed up unannounced, she said, "I think I'll wait until I hear from Dr. Willoughby. If he tells me you're assigned to help me, we can discuss the terms. My understanding was that your department's help would be a considered community service and I wouldn't be expected to pay for the advice. Of course, once the shop opens, you're welcome to come by and give me your opinion on anything I have. I'll look forward to seeing you then. But right now, I really must be going."

She placed her hand on the doorknob. "Have a good evening, Mr. … Quinn."

He drew himself up straight. "It's Dr. Ellis. I do have a PhD. Do you know much about Frank?"

Harper blinked. "I know he single-handedly owned and ran the shop for years. He had a tough time with his business the last few decades. The neighbors were fond of him. Why? Is there anything else I should know?"

"Oh, yeah, Frank was a nice guy. Everyone liked him." He paused as if considering whether to let her in on a big secret. "Frank had some close friends. Really special friends, from our department. Max Carmichael was the first department head we had. He and Frank were, I guess you could say, extraordinarily close ." He looked at her, awaiting her reaction. She returned his gaze with a blank one of her own.

After seeing she wouldn't bite, he plowed on. "Anyway, Max helped him start the folklore collection. They were very good friends. Without our department's help, it's unlikely that Frank would have collected all those books. Most of them are worthless, of course." His volume ratcheted and his speech accelerated. "And I could save you a lot of time …"

Now Harper interrupted, enunciated each word clearly, "I'll wait to hear from Dr. Willoughby, since I've already spoken with him. I need to leave now. Have a good evening, Dr. … Quinn." At that, she stepped back inside, closing and locking the door behind her.

Harper gathered her things and went downstairs to watch him through the basement windows. After he crossed to the parking lot across the street, Harper looked with vexation at the robins clustered there. Then she shook her head in wonder. Every one of them was turned toward Quinn as if they, too, were watching him walk away.

From the basement, she heard the entrance bell jingle at Divine Coffee as its front door opened. Deanna walked out dressed in a heavy sweatshirt, accompanied by a matching hat and scarf. Harper threw on her brown sweater jacket and ran outside to catch her.

"Hi, Deanna!"

"Harper! I just closed for the day and thought I'd go take a walk at the park. Would you like to join me?"

"Yes. I would. Let me grab my bag." Harper went back inside the shop and gathered her things; she'd lock them up in her truck before heading to the park.

As the women walked into the park, the apple and dogwood trees made beautiful pictures in full bloom against a rapidly setting sun. The tops of the trees were highlighted with the pink and purple of the sky behind them. The chilly April wind seemed to blow Harper's anger away. She felt comforted to see the great horned owl stationed at his usual spot in the sycamore, watching as they walked underneath. She pretended not to notice when Deanna nodded to it respectfully.

Deanna spoke first. "Maybe it's my imagination, but you seem a little tense."

Until she said that, Harper had forgotten about her irksome guest. "Do you know Quinn Ellis?"

"Yes, Lordy. I do know Quinn Ellis. You've met him? He's a trip, isn't he?" She chuckled and shook her head.

The flames in Harper's chest began to smolder afresh. "He stopped by my shop this afternoon and left just before you opened your door. I'm surprised you didn't see him."

"Well, I wasn't looking for him." Deanna smiled. "What did Dr. Quinn want?"

"Is he trustworthy? He wanted to serve as a consultant for my folklore collection in exchange for some of my books. But when I asked, he admitted the department hadn't sent him. I went by to visit with the department head, Jerome Willoughby, last week. He agreed to help, but he didn't say anything about sending anyone out to work with me yet."

Deanna clipped down the trailway for a few minutes before responding. "Harper, do you know a lot about used books? I mean, I know you're a smart person and all, but have you done a lot of research into the rare folklore book market?"

Focusing her eyes on the path ahead, Harper prepared herself for an attack. But she had asked for this, so she answered honestly. "No, I haven't. That's why I went to the college and introduced myself to the folks at the Folklore Studies Department. I did the same at the college library to see if someone could advise me. Apparently, Quinn found out about my visit and took it upon himself to come see me. I don't trust him. My BS detector started ringing while he talked."

Deanna looked up at the budding branches ahead. "Quinn's all right. He's over eager and, no doubt his social skills could use some work. But he wouldn't hurt you, I'm sure of that. On the other hand, it wouldn't be a bad idea to be a little suspicious of his real motives. Frank was getting old when Quinn joined the department. For the last few years, he did ‘help' in the bookshop a lot. But some of us suspected he might also be taking advantage of Frank. Around two years ago, one of my customers told me Frank had acquired a valuable folklore book. But when the man went to look at it, it wasn't on the shelf. When he asked if the book had sold, Frank said he had given it to Quinn for helping him out."

That caught Harper's attention. "Hum. When you said he was all right, I was starting to feel guilty for giving him the boot. I wasn't mean, but I was assertive. Now I think I did the right thing."

Deanna laughed. "Assertive is good."

They rounded the loop where the path ran along Oak Street and headed back to their row of buildings. "Another thing that bothered me was that he kept talking about Frank's close friends in the Folklore Department, with an emphasis on close . Do you know what that was all about?"

"Frank was gay, Harper. Everybody in town knew about it and no one cared. I think it's strange that Quinn would even bring that up. I'm not sure what was his motivation for that. But you don't need to be afraid of Quinn. He's harmless—just self-absorbed and intense at times."

Harper stopped when a golden retriever on a leash paused to sniff her hand. She leaned down and patted its head while the woman walking him watched without speaking. After a few seconds, she straightened up and continued walking. "Thanks. It's hard when you're new in town and don't know people. I'll send Dr. Willoughby an email about his thoughts on the best way to work together. Do you know him?"

"Dr. Jerome? Oh, yeah. He's been with the department, let me see, about ten years now. He comes in for coffee sometimes. He used to go visit Frank, too. I think working with him would be smart. Meanwhile, it's okay to be nice to Quinn. If you're firm about keeping things strictly above board with the department and in the shop, I don't think he'll give you any problems. It may be hard to imagine, but despite his quirks, Quinn has a way of growing on people after a while."

"Maybe. But I don't think I'll need to worry about Quinn coming back by before the shop opens. I made my wishes very clear."

They were approaching the shops, their red brick bathed in the saffron light of the setting sun. "Yeah, well, we'll see how that turns out. I need to head inside and start supper. Dashawn will be home soon. Goodnight, Harper."

Harper turned to the robins beside her truck. She closed her fist around the mirror in her pocket and looked toward the owl's dark outline against the western sky. Wishing all her feathered friends a silent goodnight, she opened her truck door and slipped inside.

Later that evening, she talked with Olivia about Quinn. Her daughter had strong opinions about him, though she'd never met him. "I don't like the sound of this guy, Mom. If he comes back around, I think I'd call the police."

"I think that would be a little extreme, Olivia. I have no proof he's up to anything illegal. And my next-door neighbor told me he's harmless." She picked up the fuzzy green and white throw on the sofa and rubbed between her finger and thumb.

Olivia's uncompromising voice came through the speaker. "Well, I'd be careful if I were you. A single older woman living and working alone is vulnerable, you know."

Harper had always felt Olivia was a better judge of character than she was herself. She hung up more uneasy than before and grappled with her daughter's comments for a while. She finally allowed herself to relax. If Quinn was somehow "helping" around the shop, wouldn't that be easier to deal with than a ghost?

As the days grew longer, Harper found herself engrossed in the shop's organizational structure and the apartment that was taking shape upstairs. Most days, she found herself lingering at the shop until just before dark, which came later and later every evening.

Since she was a young child, the ghost stories told by an older cousin had caused her to avoid the dark. Movies her parents allowed her to watch had cemented her fear. So now she tried to leave the shop at least thirty minutes before sunset.

One evening, engrossed in shelving the science books, she became distracted by a noise coming from the basement. A soft, enchanting melody, seemingly played with only bells for instruments, accompanied whispery voices drifting up the stairs.

Then she noticed with a cold stab of fear that no daylight filtered in through the paper-covered storefront windows. It was already dark outside. She left the books and grabbed her bag, stopping at the top of the basement stairs, where she stood listening before taking a few steps down to make her way to her truck in the back. The basement's lights were off, and, except for the music, all was still. After listening for another minute or two, she flipped on the lights above the downstairs staircase. The music stopped immediately. Her heart began to race. Up from the basement came a strong, pronounced smell of mud and riverside vegetation. Without thinking, she pulled her mirror from her pocket and held it tight.

"Hello? Is anyone down there?" She held her breath and listened intently. All was quiet. Why haven't I asked for Deanna's number to put in my phone? she asked herself. Listening again, she was met only with silence.

She slowly took another step down, ready to throw her bag at anything threatening. Suddenly the bells began to ring again, slightly louder. Harper yelped before turning to flee through the front door, which she locked frantically behind her. Then she made her way as quickly as possible around Divine Coffee's exterior, to the rear of the building, where she climbed into her truck and locked the door, breathing heavily.

After a miserable night mulling over the situation, she walked around the buildings the next morning and entered through the front door instead of through the basement. Next, she headed upstairs to get one of the workers to go to the basement with her. After last night, she didn't care what they thought of her. Cab, the easy-going, but reassuringly solid plumber, went to the basement with her, checking every foot of it before testing the locks on the doors and windows. In his opinion, unless someone had gotten keys to the new locks Harper had placed on the doors last month, there was no way someone had entered that basement.

Harper told him about the bells she had heard the evening before. To her surprise, he had an explanation.

He straightened himself and looked down at her, hooking a thumb to his right. "Robert Kirk at the jewelry store next door … have you met him?"

"Not really," Harper confessed with embarrassment. Why hadn't she been over to talk to a next-door neighbor?

"Robert volunteers as the choir director at the Maple Street Presbyterian Church. He inherited the jewelry shop, but his first love is music. If I had to guess, I'd say he was working late in his basement last night and playing music to keep himself company."

Harper thanked Cab and reminded him she'd have coffee available all day. Then she sat down in a chair, taking in the basement's distinctive outdoorsy smell. Through the windows, she saw the robins in front of the shop. As usual, several of them seemed to be watching her. Everything was calm here. She pulled out her mirror and gazed into it. The mist that had shrouded its surface since she was in high school was almost gone.

She decided to relax. Cab was probably right: the music must be coming from next door. Her imagination was getting away with her. Thinking again of Robert Kirk, she decided it was time to visit all her neighbors whether she wanted to or not. If nothing else, it was the right thing to do.

With that decision made, she went back upstairs, where she worked for most of the day packing books in boxes. She'd move these to the basement until the construction on the main part of the shop was complete. The bells forgotten, she worked happily for the rest of the day.

Later that evening, before heading to the basement exit, she heard the bells again. But this time, after taking a deep breath, she flipped on the downstairs lights and boldly walked down the stairs with her bag in her hand. By the time she reached the bottom step, the music had stopped.

She looked around. Nothing seemed amiss: no monsters, no ghosts, no strange people with bells in their hands. But the smell reminded her so much of her grandmother, it was eerie. Once outside, she was greeted by the now reassuring sound of the owl's call. Breathing a sigh of relief, she locked the door behind her and drove to the cottage. But on the drive there, she swallowed as she realized something. No basement lights had been burning in either of the shops next to hers.