Good Buy Girls 05 - All Sales Final Read online

“Good, now about the menu . . .” Lizzie continued with her monologue.

  As her mother talked, Maggie walked out to the glassed-in sunroom at the back of her house. Full of comfy wicker furniture, it overlooked her pretty little yard. A warbler was sitting on the edge of the bird bath doing his daily ablutions. She wondered if Sam would be okay with her bringing the bird bath. She knew Marshall Dillon would be happy about it, but she didn’t want him to mistake it for an all-he-could-eat bird buffet.

  The large dogwood tree was in full flower. It was the same tree Laura had fallen out of when she was seven. She’d only had the wind knocked out of her but Maggie would never forget looking out the window to see her daughter lying still and pale in the yard. She put a hand on her head. She wasn’t sure where it was exactly but she knew there was a gray hair attached to that episode.

  So many memories and now she was leaving to start a new life with Sam. She had never thought she’d marry again after Charlie. He had been all that was good and kind and losing him had just about killed her. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Laura, she wondered if she would ever have pulled out of her grief.

  But life had had other plans for her, and Maggie was game. She was ready to start a new life with Sam. She was giddily ecstatic about it, truth to be told. She had just never thought she could be so sad and so excited at the same time.

  “Your sister wants to talk to you,” her mother said, pulling Maggie out of her reverie.

  “Oh, okay, love you, Mom,” Maggie said.

  “Love you, too,” her mother said. “And don’t worry. Your wedding will be lovely. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Hey, Magpie,” her sister said. She’d been calling Maggie that since they were kids.

  “Hey, Sissy,” Maggie said. Her sister’s real name was Michelle, but Maggie had called her older sibling Sissy from the moment she could talk and the name had stuck.

  “Hang on, I’m going out of earshot of Mom,” Sissy said.

  Maggie heard a door open and close with a creak and slam. Her sister had moved to Florida several years ago, and their mother had joined her shortly after. Maggie loved them dearly and she missed them, but she knew the three of them were as close as they were because of the miles between them. Had Lizzie and Sissy continued to live in St. Stanley, Maggie was quite sure the henpecking and nagging would have driven a wedge between them.

  “How are you really?” Sissy asked. “About the wedding and all?”

  “I’m good,” Maggie said. “With so much going on, I don’t really have time to be anything else.”

  “Are you kidding? You just bought a house,” her sister said. “You have to be freaking out.”

  Maggie had no idea why her sister telling her she had to be feeling something made her determined not to feel that way at all. It was like they were still teenagers and she couldn’t help her knee-jerk response.

  “Well, I’m not,” she said. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  “No, really,” Maggie insisted, more determined than ever to prove she was fine. “I couldn’t be happier.”

  “Then why don’t you have a venue, a dress, flowers or a caterer for your wedding? Shall I go on?”

  Maggie could feel her brain contract. Maybe Florida wasn’t far enough away for her mom and sister to live.

  “I have plenty of time,” Maggie said. “Oh, speaking of, look at that, I have to go. I’m picking up some donations for the shop today. Love you.”

  “You are not fooling me one little bit, Magpie. We’ll talk later. Love you, too,” Sissy said just before Maggie ended the call.

  Maggie shoved her cell phone into her purse. She hadn’t been lying to her sister. She was picking up some donations from the Spring Gardens Assisted Care facility in the heart of town. Her old boss Doc Franklin maintained an office there to make it easier for the seniors who lived there to be able to get to him.

  Because she had kept Doc’s books for him for over twenty years, Maggie knew the place and the residents well. She was on speed dial for many of them when they wanted to shop at her store or when they wanted to consign some items for a little extra money or to declutter their space.

  Today, Maggie had a dual purpose. She was picking up an Oneida silver set from Rosie Hernandez that her daughters had informed her they didn’t want even though it had been in the family for three generations.

  Rosie had been so offended she had called Maggie and asked to consign it. She planned to go on a cruise with the money she made from the sale. Since it was a nearly flawless service for twelve, Maggie was pretty sure Rose was going to get her wish.

  She locked up her house, trying not to think about the fact that she wouldn’t be doing that much longer, and climbed into her Volvo station wagon. She wound her way through her neighborhood and pulled into the gated estate that was Spring Gardens.

  Maggie parked in the visitor’s lot and crossed the well-manicured green lawn to the entrance of the building. Maggie pushed through the massive door of the remodeled colonial and stopped by the check-in desk.

  Barbara York was working the front desk, and she greeted Maggie with a smile.

  “Hi, Maggie, you here to pick up Rosie’s silver?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said. “She called me three times yesterday. I think she is eager to sell it and book her cruise.”

  “Good for her,” Barbara said. “If the young ones don’t appreciate the finer things then they don’t deserve them.”

  “Agreed,” Maggie said. “I also wanted to pop in on Blue Dixon. Is he around?”

  “Always,” Barbara said. “He’s holding court out by the pool.”

  “Holding court?” Maggie asked.

  “You’ll see,” Barbara said with a small smile.

  Maggie met with Rosie and gave her a receipt for her silver, which she then loaded into her car. Once she locked the back of her Volvo, she went back into Spring Gardens, crossed the lobby and went out the far door that led to the pool. There was a water aerobics class going on and several swimmers were doing laps. But off in the far corner under a large canopy was a lounge chair surrounded by deck chairs. Sitting in the lounge chair was a man in a loud Hawaiian shirt and bright orange shorts. Blue Dixon.

  He had a thick head of gray hair and a matching neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were full of mischief and he had a booming laugh that echoed out across the water when he paused in his story, clearly amused by his own wit. He gestured with his hands while he talked and the ladies in the chairs sitting around him were listening with rapt attention.

  Maggie approached quietly. She had never met Blue Dixon and wanted to get his measure before she engaged him in conversation.

  “And then I said to the Duke, ‘I’ll take that bet, you son of a gun, because I’m the best there’s ever been,’” he said.

  “Oh, Blue, you didn’t,” a spry old gal with sparkly earrings and a very well-maintained body said.

  “Oh yes, I did,” Blue said. “I was in the royal box at Ascot, what else could I do?” he asked.

  The ladies all twittered about him and Maggie knew exactly what she was dealing with: a geriatric Lothario of the first order.

  “Mr. Dixon?” she asked.

  “That’s me.” Blue’s eyes looked her over and he grinned. “What can I do for a pretty little filly such as yourself?”

  Maggie gave him her best quelling glance and let her left hand, the one Sam had put a substantial rock on, show. Blue got it right away. He looked chagrined but his smile didn’t dim, not even a little.

  “You’re not my new nurse, are you?”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Masseuse?” he asked hopefully.

  “Nope,” she said. She sat in the lone vacant seat, very aware of the women around them giving her the stink eye. “I’m here to talk to you about your house.”

  “Business, then,” he said. He looked put out but then shrugged. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll finish up that story later.�
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  “During cocktail hour?” the woman with the sparkly earrings suggested with a wink.

  “You know it,” he said.

  Maggie watched as the ladies left, casting looks of longing over their shoulders as they went.

  “You have quite the cushy situation here,” Maggie said.

  “I can’t complain,” Blue said. “The one nice thing about getting old is the ratio of women to men is most definitely in a man’s favor.”

  “It’s nice to see you sharing yourself so generously,” Maggie teased him.

  “I do what I can,” he said and spread his hands wide. “Since you know my name, may I inquire what yours might be?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Maggie Gerber. My fiancé Sam Collins and I are buying your house,” she said.

  She extended her hand and Blue returned her handshake with a solid squeeze and comfortable warmth.

  “How about that?” Blue said. “So, you really are going to buy the old place? Marcy has been trying to sell it for almost five years. We’ve had a few people close to buying it, but they always back out.”

  “Have they ever told you why?” Maggie asked.

  “Usually, it was something about how they didn’t like the vibe of the house. Of course this was always after the inspection and after I had fixed whatever they didn’t like. You did see the kitchen, right?”

  “Oh yes,” Maggie said. “I love vintage kitchens. It’s perfect.”

  Blue grinned at her. “Well, maybe you’re just destined to be the next resident.”

  “I hope so,” Maggie said. “I just have one question for you.”

  “What’s that?” Blue asked.

  “Did any of your relatives ever mention if maybe, well, if the house was haunted?” Maggie asked.

  Chapter 4

  “‘Haunted’?” Blue asked. “As in a ghost?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I would say a ghost,” Maggie hedged. “But maybe a presence.”

  “A ghost presence?” Blue asked.

  “Well, yes,” Maggie said.

  “The last two people to live there were my cousins Ida and Imogene,” Blue said. “They never said anything about a ghost. Boy, howdy, do you think it’s one of them or both of them?”

  “I don’t know,” Maggie said.

  “Well, you’d know if it was Imogene, she always wore her hair in a top knot, very Kate Hepburn with the turtlenecks and the slacks,” he said. “Ida was more about the flouncy dresses.”

  Maggie smiled. “I remember, but the presence wasn’t exactly corporeal.”

  “Must have been Ida then, she always was the flightier of the two, having that artistic temperament and all,” he said.

  “I couldn’t say if the presence I felt—well, more accurately, that my cat felt—was artistic or not,” Maggie said.

  “Wait. Hold the phone,” Blue said. He held up a thin, blue-veined hand with a diamond-encrusted pinky ring. “Your cat felt a presence.”

  “Yes,” Maggie said. She squirmed under his exasperated glare. “Marshall Dillon is very sensitive.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He was hissing and yowling,” Maggie said. “He got shut in the basement and when he came out his fur was standing on end.”

  “Maybe he just saw a snake or a rat,” Blue said. He sounded disappointed.

  “Are you telling me there are snakes and rats in the house?” Maggie asked.

  Blue’s eyes went wide as if he’d just remembered he was trying to sell the house to Maggie.

  “No, no,” he said. “I’m just speculating, you know, throwing out nonsense.”

  “Uh-huh,” Maggie said.

  “So, did you hear anything unusual?” Blue asked. “Or did you feel anything otherworldly?”

  Maggie thought back to the moment she had felt a chill pass right through her. She had thought it was a draft but maybe it had been more.

  “Aha!” Blue pointed at her. “You did feel something.”

  “A draft,” Maggie said. “It was just a cold spot.”

  “But there weren’t any doors or windows open, am I right?” Blue asked.

  Maggie met his stare, and she knew he had felt the same thing she had.

  “You felt it, too,” she said.

  “When I toured the house after it was left to me, yeah,” he said. “I thought it was a draft but nothing was open.”

  “Is that why you never lived there?” Maggie asked.

  “Nah, spirits don’t bother me,” he said. “Especially if it was Ida and Imogene. They loved me like a little brother, that’s why they left the house to me.”

  “Then why not live there?”

  Blue looked sly. “I’d miss all of my lady friends.”

  Maggie laughed. He was a charming old coot, she had to give him that.

  “Do you think there is anyone else who might be haunting the house?” Maggie asked.

  “The girls never mentioned it if there was,” Blue said. “No, I’d say it has to be one of them. They were born in that house and died in it. It’s natural they wouldn’t want to leave.”

  “Wait, they died in it?” Maggie asked.

  “Well, not ‘in it,’ no,” he said. “Ida passed away at the county hospital after a heart attack and Imogene died a few days later of the same thing. She even had the same room, with the same time on the clock when she passed.”

  Maggie had heard about the sisters’ demise. It had been assumed that Imogene, the caretaker of the two, had passed once Ida no longer needed her and she was free. But Maggie wondered if it was more that with Ida gone, Imogene had lost her purpose.

  “I’ve heard that there are spirits that refuse to cross over and attach themselves to a place. Maybe Ida and Imogene were too attached to their childhood home to leave it,” he said.

  He sounded so matter-of-fact about it that Maggie almost started thinking it was so. She shook her head.

  “Wait, I never said there was a ghost,” she protested.

  “Well, you didn’t but your cat did,” he argued. “Cats are especially sensitive to these things.”

  “Maybe it was a snake in the basement,” she said.

  “No, it was a ghost. It has to be,” he said. “Just wait ’til I share this story with the ladies.”

  Maggie frowned at him. “You’re just mining this for material to score with the birds.”

  “Now is that nice?” he asked. “Here I am, trying to help you out.”

  Maggie rose from her seat. “You mean you’re trying to help yourself out. Listen, if you think of anything that I should know, you can always find me at my shop My Sister’s Closet.”

  “Oh, that’s yours?” he asked. “I might be in the market for a new suit.”

  “I have suits,” Maggie said. She opened her purse and dug out a card. She handed it to him. “If you think of any family history that might be relevant, I could be persuaded to offer a discount.”

  “I may just take you up on that,” he said. The twinkle in his eye let Maggie know she was probably going to see Blue Dixon again and soon. “You know, you might want to talk to Ruth Crenshaw.”

  “The head of the historical society?”

  “She knows the history of that house better than anyone.”

  “I hadn’t thought of going over there,” Maggie said. “Thanks, Mr. Dixon.”

  He lowered one bushy white eyebrow at her.

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said with a smile. “Blue.”

  “That’s better,” he said. “Tell that fiancé of yours to stay on his toes. A fine gal like you might make a man rethink his commitment to bachelorhood.”

  Maggie laughed. “Now I know you’re teasing me. I suspect you are perfectly content in your harem.”

  Blue grinned. “For now.”

  It suddenly became very clear to Maggie why Blue had such a horde of honeys buzzing around him.

  With a wave, Maggie left him and headed into the facility. At the door, she saw two of the ladies who had been sitting with
Blue eyeing her with suspicion. She flashed the diamond on her left hand just to put them at ease.

  “Blue is so kind to give me and my fiancé advice on the house we’re buying, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “Stand down, Eloise, she’s not competition,” the one with the pink sausage curls muttered to her companion, who had dyed her bob a severe shade of black.

  “We could have taken her, Suzy,” Eloise said. She gave Maggie a once-over that clearly found her wanting, and Maggie had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling.

  “He is a dear man,” Suzy said and she patted Maggie’s arm. “You have a lovely day now.”

  Her polite dismissal could not have been clearer if she had held the door open and put her orthopedic shoe up against Maggie’s backside.

  * * *

  It was a short drive from Spring Gardens to Maggie’s shop. She debated stopping in at the historical society but it was time to open up and she liked to keep her hours as regular as possible.

  The morning was spent haggling with Mrs. Krasinski over her Grindley china. It was a pattern discontinued in 1950. It had gold scalloped edges with purple flowers on blue vines around the edge and a burst of purple, red and blue flowers in the center. It was an eyepopper, no question.

  Despite her love of all things vintage, Maggie did not love this china pattern and she seriously doubted she’d be able to sell it. Mrs. Krasinski, however, loved her wedding china and thought it was the epitome of class and good taste.

  Unfortunately her son’s wife had bought her own china when she got married and their two grown sons couldn’t care less about china as they were just settling into married lives with young children and had no time or thought for their grandmother’s precious heirlooms.

  “This pattern is very exclusive,” Mrs. Krasinski said as she unwrapped a salad plate from its cocoon of bubble wrap and held it out for Maggie’s inspection.

  The comment was unnecessary as Maggie had suffered through this discussion before. She wasn’t even sure why Mrs. Krasinksi was so hot to sell the china. Her husband had left her a nice chunk of money so it wasn’t as if she needed the cash. So why was she so willing to turn it over to Maggie to sell?