8. Chapter 8

eight

On the first of May, Harper arrived early at the shop, eager to tackle three remaining boxes of books she'd yet to open. It was a beautiful morning. Wildflowers were waving their colors in the breeze. The ground outside her rental displayed sprays of violet from the periwinkle vines underneath the oak and maple trees. Nature seemed to be celebrating Harper's new life with her.

By now used to the mysterious help, she wasn't terribly surprised to find the boxes she planned to open that day lined up on the worktable in the storage room, waiting for her. But on opening the first box, she yipped in surprise. Inside, on top of the books, lay a large, fresh daisy. Harper picked it up and examined it closely in the sunlight streaming through the back window. How had it gotten there? But the more disturbing question was how could it be fresh ?

Picking up her mirror and purse as a modicum of protection, she walked into the section of the basement that would be open to browsing customers, where she investigated every corner. She peeked into the closet she'd had installed underneath the staircase and looked inside the new elevator. Everything seemed normal—nothing out of place. Then she froze as she heard light footsteps and whispering, along with childlike giggles coming from only a few shelves over. But when she stopped moving, the noises stopped with her.

Really, this was too much. Either she was going mad, or someone was in here with her. "Hello? Who's there? Please come out. I promise not to hurt you!"

Silence. It smelled as though she were down beside the river, dipping her toes in the sandy soil at its edge. What was going on?

Her heart beating fast, Harper rushed back to the storage room. She looked out the window to see if children were playing outside. All was quiet and empty. I'm letting my imagination get the best of me. She put a hand to her heart and concentrated on the slow inhales and exhales she practiced in tai chi. Once she felt steady, she gamely opened the other two boxes. The second box contained two daisies, while the third box had three. Then Harper spied more daisies, crisp and unwilted, scattered about the shelves. Were they there when I came in? She hadn't noticed. Following their trail, she found a beautiful blue vase, the perfect size to hold the daisies waiting at the end of the line.

As the hammering in her chest returned in force, Harper ran to the main floor. It was empty now, but the contractor had promised to begin construction within a week. Nothing there was out of place. Everything was reassuringly empty and still.

Harper heard the painters talking to one another upstairs. Even though she was tempted, she decided against asking the workers for assistance. And why should she need to? Angry now, she hauled her mirror from her pocket, pressed it briefly to her chest, and went staunchly back downstairs. There she gathered all the daisies and placed them in the vase. Then she stood still, listening closely, but she no longer heard whispering or footsteps. The view from the back window revealed only robins in the parking lot outside.

Sitting down in the office chair, she contemplated this gift from unseen hands. Daisies were her favorite flower. But who in Whippoorwill Gap knew that? No one. She had told no one. She might suspect Quinn, the folklore professor, but there were no signs of forced entry, and Quinn didn't strike her as fanciful enough to strew flowers about a woman's workspace. What kind of person would do something like that?

She breathed deeply and thought. It must be Frank. He had a heart attack and died down here alone. Though she'd never seen one, Harper had always believed in ghosts, so that wasn't an outrageous possibility. But something else played around the edges of her mind. If it were Frank, he wouldn't likely sound childlike. Her eyes grew wide as it hit her. What if Frank had a heart attack because he had seen something upsetting?

Suddenly she jumped up. "What was that child's name?" She ran out the back door and grabbed her book bag from the truck. Seated again at the table, she pulled out the research she had done at the library weeks ago and found the notes taken that first day. Martin and Chloe Byrd bought the shop in 1923. They had one daughter, Daisy, who passed away from polio complications before the shop was opened. According to her notes, the couple and their daughter had lived in the shop's basemen t apartment before the little girl died. She felt a chill go up her spine. Was it possible Daisy, too, had died in this very shop?

Harper stared at the flowers, too stunned to see them. Could this be the answer to all the mysteries in the shop? Could a little girl, dead for more than a century, be who was helping Harper out? But how could a ghost, especially the ghost of a five-year-old child, lift heavy boxes?

She gave her head a shake. The only logical explanation was that a live human was coming into the shop at night to help her. But even if that were the case—and there had been no signs of that—it wouldn't explain this . How long had the daisies been there? And how could they remain unwilted? She'd picked daisies often as a child. She was always disappointed when they lost their starch within hours, even in water. Yet every single one of these looked as though it were still planted in the ground. Something supernatural must be responsible.

Now thinking it would be prudent to make a friendly gesture, Harper walked to the doorway into the shop and cleared her throat. "Daisy? Frank?" she said in the steadiest tone she could manage. "If you're here, you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. Please let me know if there is anything I could do for you. Thank you for the flowers."

Then, she went to the basement's small public restroom and filled the vase with water. When she returned, her breath halted. Another daisy, larger than the others, was waiting for her on the table, exactly where she had been sitting only a minute before. The bright yellow center surrounded by paper-white petals beamed up at her. There was no way she had missed it.

Swallowing her nerves, Harper added the newest daisy to the vase and began to dig through the boxes.

Later that day, during her lunch break, Harper trekked to the local sporting goods shop and bought herself a wooden bat. It wouldn't harm a ghost, but if she was being haunted by an unstable and possibly violent human, she wanted to be ready to defend herself.

In the late afternoon, Harper left the shop, still bewildered by the morning's events. On the way out, she had checked the vase of daisies and found all the flowers within still unsettlingly perky. Finding Quinn waiting by her truck out back stretched her nerves to the snapping point. He had an old book stamped with the college's library emblem called The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns, and Fairies, by Robert Kirk, in his hands. The author's name rang a bell for Harper, but she was too aggravated at seeing Quinn to think about that.

She didn't bother with a greeting. "What … Why are you here, Quinn?"

Quinn returned the favor, thrusting the trade paperback at her. "I wanted to show you this book. If you ever come across an old copy of this, that's well, like a hundred years old or more, could you let me know? This is something I'm interested in collecting. I know you're still buying books in the field."

As with the first time Quinn had stopped by, she hadn't yet sent any questions about her books to the department, and they hadn't notified her of any staff members being sent around.

Harper bit back a retort that he was being a pain. Even though nothing about him felt aggressive, Olivia's earlier warning about vulnerable older women went through her head, and she felt the reassuring weight of the bat in her hand. "Quinn, I'm going to ask you something and I want an honest answer."

Quinn appeared surprised at her tone and nodded without moving.

She fortified her tone with indignation. "Have you been coming by here when I'm not around? And specifically, were you here last night or this morning?"

Quinn's brow furrowed in confusion. "No. Why would I be coming by here if no one's here? That's a strange question. Why do you ask? Did you see something unusual?" His eyes widened as he noticed the bat she was holding. "Look, if you think someone's messing about your property, you should go talk to the police …"

She glanced at the park over his shoulder and saw Deanna give her a wave. Beside her was a tall man whom Harper took to be her husband, Dashawn. Seeing them gave her confidence and reminded her of Deanna's certainty that Quinn wasn't a danger. But if she was wrong about that, they would hear her if she yelled.

She turned her focus back to Quinn and forced herself to give a minuscule smile. Her shoulders relaxed. She believed him. Why would he suggest she call the police if he were up to no good? There were no signs of forced entry. And what were the chances he'd gotten a copy of her new key? Her heartbeat slowed further as it occurred to her Quinn was unlikely to have the power to enchant daisies into an unnatural freshness.

She attempted to bring the intensity down a notch. "I was just asking, Quinn. I noticed a few things had been moved around in the shop. It was probably the construction workers. I'm sorry if I came across as harsh." She opened her truck door and climbed inside. "I've been a little tired lately," she finished.

Quinn came around to the driver's side and began talking once again, but the sound was muffled by the closed window between them. Harper's heart burned with frustration and her desire to get on the road, but she rolled down her window and asked, her voice sharper than she intended, "What?!"

The sound of the owl softly hooting drifted across the parking lot. It was still daylight, and the spring afternoon was warm. The aroma of apple blossoms and river water danced her way on a breeze swept in by the clean May leaves. All combined to soften her attitude a bit. She inhaled deeply to steady her nerves, while waiting as patiently as she could for his answer.

He cleared his throat. "I said you can always call me if anything is bothering you. I'd be happy to come check it out. Here's my phone number." He handed over a business card.

She reached out and took it. "Thanks, Quinn. I appreciate your offer to help. Really."

"The books you have probably mean more to me than anyone else in the department. I'm really hoping you and I can be friends."

Despite her earlier misgivings, Harper found herself smiling into his earnest face. He suddenly struck her as one of the most wholehearted people she had ever met. Maybe Deanna was right—he would grow on her with time. "I'm sure we can be friends, Quinn. I will look forward to talking with you when the shop opens in October. But now, I really must be going."

He nodded and backed away from the door. As Harper left the parking lot, she looked in the rearview mirror. He stood there, still as a post, watching her. She felt uneasy leaving him there. His vehicle wasn't parked behind the building. She circled the block, then went back to check. Quinn was gone. She stopped the truck and got out to make sure the doors and windows of the Robin's Nest were locked up tight.

Satisfied that the shop was secure, she turned back to her truck. She yelped in surprise when she saw seven or eight robins gathered at her feet. How had they landed there without her sensing them?

"Well, hello! Where did you all come from?" Suddenly, they all began chirping. She watched them for a minute, completely baffled. They stopped chirping as she spoke to them again. "I'm going home now. Keep an eye on the shop for me?"

She shook her head in wonder as they moved toward the door like a well-trained military unit and stayed there, watching as she drove away. Really, it was almost like they could understand her.

Later that evening she pondered her move into the building next month. Still feeling a bit uneasy about living there alone, she decided it was time to meet the neighbors. Should an emergency arise, it would be good to know their names and have their phone numbers, especially Deanna's.

After flipping through an old cookbook she'd taken from the shop, Harper decided to make lavender Danish wedding cookies. They would be a perfect springtime treat and convey a subtle message of connection. She would place these in small, robin's egg blue bags and staple gift certificates for a free book to the outside. Armed with these, she would introduce herself to her neighbors.

She felt pleased with herself and excited at the plan. If all went well, she would create good will with everyone in the neighborhood. She called Olivia to share the idea. Her daughter sounded uncharacteristically sad, and Harper's stomach knotted up as it always did when Olivia was upset. When asked what was wrong, Olivia said she had a lot going on, but she was confident she would get everything worked out.

"I think meeting the neighbors is a great idea, Mom. I know it would make me feel better about your situation."

Harper reminded herself that Olivia was halfway through her work on her MBA. She was likely overworked and stressed. She would be glad when Olivia completed the program the coming spring.

Opening Grandma Sophie's mirror as she slipped into bed that night, Harper noticed with surprise that its surface was entirely clear. She could see herself in it for the first time since it had been given to her. "I almost feel you can hear me, Grandma."

She felt awash with melancholy as she remembered the spotty information she'd uncovered at the library about Grandma's mysterious accident. Harper had never gotten closure. With this loss, the loneliest, most miserable years of her life had begun. The authorities had declared her dead when she had been gone for a year. But really, there was no proof of that. What if she'd simply grown tired of them and walked away from them all?

As Harper peered into the mirror again, a new thought occurred to her. Could it be?

Suddenly, everything coalesced into a new theory. The outdoorsy smell in the shop that reminded her of Grandma … the mirror clearing up … her compulsion to buy the shop, in Whippoorwill Gap, of all places.

Looking into the mirror, she gasped. "Grandma, is it you? Are you the one in the bookshop?"