“I heard there was a new owner,” said Reba, who introduced herself as the owner and manager of Velvet Express. She was two decades older than Fiona, maybe fifty or so, and skinny as a rail—and modeling clothes that showed off her lack of curves and girth. She was wearing black, of course, and her attire made her look as somber as a funeral director. “Nice to meet you. Our lease expires in twenty months,” she added as if to forestall any potential negotiations.
“Yes, I know,” Fiona replied as she looked around. “Oh…is that your cat?”
The beautiful black cat with the copper patch around the eye was sitting on an upholstered chair that was probably intended for customers and not felines. Her stunning golden-amber eyes focused on Fiona as if to acknowledge their previous meeting, then she looked away.
“Oh, no. She’s actuallyyourcat,” Reba replied with a smile. “I just sort of inherited her—when the antiques shop was closed, I would take care of her. Since no one’s been opening regularly next door for over a year, Gretchen just sort of became my cat. But she really belongs to you.”
“Gretchen?”
At the sound of her name, the cat deigned to look over at the two women with unblinking eyes as if to say, “And what of it?”
“Yes, that’s her name. She’s a little testy with new people,” Reba warned as Fiona started toward the animal. “We have what you might call a tentative relationship. I feed her, let her in and out, give her catnip once in a while, and she doesn’t scratch me.” She gave a humorless smile and waved a skeletal wrist that jangled with black and silver bracelets. “I’m actually glad you’ve come down here, because she really doesn’t belong in a clothing boutique. She gets hair on everything.”
“At least she’s black,” Fiona replied, looking around at the array of clothing. “Her hair would blend right in.”
“As long as my customers aren’t allergic to cats,” Reba replied in a slightly testy tone.
Right. Good point.
“Well, if I can get Gretchen to leave with me, I’m happy to take her,” Fiona said. “I’m going to go up and take a look at the flat above your shop—I just wanted you to know if you heard me moving around up there. In case you thought it was a ghost or something.”
Fiona wasn’t certain exactly why she said that—certainly she wasn’t thinking about ghosts, was she?—but there it was.
Reba merely looked at her as if she were a kook, then said, “A can of tuna will lure Gretchen anywhere. I happen to have one in the back—I keep them for such emergencies. Sometimes she refuses to come inside when the weather is bad, so I’ve had to resort to bribery.”
Any minor irritation she felt toward the caustic boutique owner dissipated. Reba might be a little abrupt, but if she cared enough about a bad-tempered cat to ensure she was safe from the elements, that made up for any lack in personality in Fiona’s book.
Armed with a single-serving can of tuna, and the distinct impression that Reba didn’t care to have her new landlady around, Fiona left the boutique through the front door and managed to get Gretchen to follow her.
“Maybe you should go into the shop with me,” she said as the cat scarfed down her tuna at the corner of the building by the side alley.
There was something about the idea of having another living thing with her that made Fiona feel braver about going into the place where a lamp appeared to spontaneously light itself, and the scent of roses gathered in the air for no apparent reason.
It had been foolish of her to fly out of there like a bat out of hell yesterday…but maybe it had really been a symptom of her own insecurity—the reality of owning the store and being responsible for it—that had caused her to react so strongly.
At any rate, she was back. “I’m not going to let myself be spooked away this time,” she told Gretchen. “There’s got to be an explanation for that weird lamp lighting up, and I’m going to find it. Maybe there’s a time-operated battery pack attached to it or something.”
She looked down at the feline, who wandered over to where she was standing at the front door and meowed. That was a good sign. “You’ll probably be happy to get back home to your own place, won’t you? Let’s go in.”
The chimes tinkled elegantly as she pushed the door open, and again that aged smell assailed her senses. Quickly turning on as many lamps as possible in the front area, Fiona finally found a large power strip on the floor, holding with more than twenty plugs. She turned it on, andwhoa.
The shop came alive with light, and her breath caught.
It’s incredible.
That was her only thought as she looked around the shop—a shop filled with lamps and pendants and chandeliers. It was like stepping into Aladdin’s cave, for the vintage lights glittered and shone in soft gold and glinted through shades of every color of the rainbow. Hundreds of them dangled from the ceiling like floating candles and low-hanging stars, and still more sat on every surface throughout the shop.
Wow.
She turned in a slow circle, looking up and around, bathed in the soft glow of the golden light.
Unlike when she was here yesterday, there was nothing that seemed amiss or odd. She felt no strange chill, no disruption in the air, no scent of roses or anything else unusual.
Nor did the strange lamp toward the back of the store appear to be illuminated.
Fiona exhaled, and her nerves eased. She looked up and around again.This place is amazing.
She left her heavy leather bag on the huge desk that was located partway back into the shop. It was still cluttered with papers, writing utensils, and a large, old-fashioned telephone. Clearing off that surface was one task she promised herself she’d handle today.
