Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
She just stared at me.
I decided that was a no.
“Tea?” I requested.
“Iced and sweet?”
“Um, no, like chamomile or mint.”
She stared at me again.
“Just water,” I said.
She nodded, turned, filled a milky-turquoise plastic tumbler with water, which sloshed with the ice from the pitcher, and set it in front of me.
She then took off.
I looked at the menu and decided what I wanted immediately, so I put it back.
Dot/Maggie returned and raised one brow along with the pad in her hand with her pencil on it.
“Can I have a patty melt, without the onion, and instead of the fries, maybe a side salad?”
She sounded part offended, part astonished when she queried, “A patty melt without onions?”
I shrugged. “Onions aren’t my favorite.”
“I don’t recommend our salad,” she went on.
“Cottage cheese?” I tried.
She stared at me some more, mumbled, “I’ll see what we got,” then took off again.
Barely surviving that, I was rethinking my foray into Misted Pines, because it didn’t seem big-city girls were super welcome, as I reached for my water and took a sip.
I nearly did a spit take when a woman hopped onto the stool beside me, and she did this by putting both her hands to it, swinging her legs out to the sides as she hefted herself over it, and landing on her behind on the seat.
I stared at her in shock because, not only was this a strange thing to do, she wasn’t young, though she wasn’t exactly old, but she was quite a bit older than me.
That wasn’t the half of it, though.
She was wearing a white T-shirt with a red Santa face emblazoned on the front and the words Smells Like Christmas Spirit surrounding it. Dangling from her ears were lines of little gold, red and green bells, and on her head was a slouchy red beanie with an edge of white fur.
All of this, and it was mid-May.
“Hey,” she greeted, sticking a hand toward me aggressively for a shake. “I’m Kimmy.”
“Uh…hey,” I replied, hesitantly taking her hand because I didn’t want to seem rude.
She shook, and her grip had about ten pounds more power than it needed before she let me go and asked, “You the woman renting Dave and Brenda’s place?”
That was quite a guess.
Unless, from what I’d learned from Riggs’s visit, word was getting around about me.
Seemed I was going to learn quickly about life in a small town.
I didn’t want to confirm I was, because I didn’t know this person, however I had another year to get through in Misted Pines, and she might find out eventually.
So I was forced to say, “Yes.”
To this, she whistled…loud. Loud enough, people turned to look.
I fidgeted uneasily on my stool.
“So, have you seen him?” she asked.
I figured she was asking about Riggs, since any red-blooded woman would want to know that. But since I wasn’t sure, I asked, “Seen who?”
“The ghost of Roosevelt Whitaker.”
I felt my throat close.
Kimmy’s sure didn’t.
“I think all the others got it wrong. It isn’t ole Rosie who’s haunting the joint,” she declared. “I mean, the man was messing around with his brother’s wife. His twin brother’s wife. He knew he was doing his brother dirty. I figure he went into that forever goodnight and stayed there because he knew he did wrong. I knew ’em, and seemed to me, those two men were tight. But a woman can hold a mean grudge.”
“Um…”
“Everyone says she married the wrong brother, including me. Plain as day. Thick as thieves, Sarah and Roosevelt were. How Lincoln didn’t see it, no one knows. Damn fool, if you ask me. Still, they shoulda come clean rather than carry on behind his back.”
“Uh…”
“But that doesn’t negate the fact she was his wife and the mother of his children, and he blew a huge hole in her chest instead of just blowing his stack. They say she was happy there. Happiest times she had was when she was at that cabin with her true love, even if the old ball and chain was around. So I say, she doesn’t want anyone else there. She wants it all to herself. That’s why she chases everyone off.”
Chases everyone off.
And now I knew why no one had been at the cutest cabin west of the Mississippi (and possibly east of it) for three years.
“Kimmy,” Dot greeted as she set a turquoise tumbler of some brown colored pop in front of her. “What’s it gonna be today?”
“Reuban, Mags, thanks,” Kimmy said, picking up the tumbler and sucking back a quarter of it in one draw.
I was uncertain she should have any more caffeine.
Dot/Maggie strolled away, and Kimmy turned back to me.
“Stick it out, girl. Things were looking dire, so Dave wanted to Airbnb the joint, but Lord knows, with all the hassle MP has been through the last few years, we don’t need more strangers traipsing through here.” She jerked a thumb at herself. “I’m not complaining, though I’d want other circumstances that brought it on. Fresh blood for my shop. I own the holiday store,” she explained.