Except, well, when I look more closely, this place is…notthatbad. The brick is grimy, but that can be cleaned. Or better yet, painted. A nice, crisp white, maybe, with the framing stark black. It needs a real sign, at least. The coterie of dingy cardboard heroes has to go. The windows upstairs look gross, but blinds are easy to take down and cheap to replace. It has good bones, and if I understand correctly…
“So we would own it all outright—me and my sisters? It would be ours free and clear, with no mortgage or liens or anything? The whole thing?”
Colonel nods and gestures grandly, as if he were offering me the world. “Upstairs and down, free and clear, all yours,” he agrees. “Although your sisters aren’t on the paperwork. You can split things with them however you like if everything goes according to plan.”
“So we would own all four…” I trail off, considering it.
“The video store, then the next three storefronts.” He points off to the left, to a closed hardware store, then a closed antiques market, then what looks like an ancient movie theater, big enough for just one screen. “Your grandmother owns—owned—most of the block. Everything except the candy store. This is the only business she could keep up, toward the end.”
“So all I have to do is sign some paperwork?”
And then there’s a pause. A very meaty pause.
“Yes, but…there’s just one condition.”
4.
“What’s the condition?”I ask, because that’s the obvious question.
Colonel’s lips purse. “Let’s go back to my office and discuss it.”
Now that I know it could be mine—ours—the homey brick building is vastly more interesting. Cardboard Arnold calls to me from behind his sunglasses. “I thought you said we could go inside?”
There’s a sigh as Colonel fusses with his bow tie. “We can, but we’ll need to hurry. I have a three o’clock, and I’d rather not pick up any…odors.”
I’m not sure why odors would be a problem, but when I open the glass door, I’m immediately slapped in the face with the scent of salty brine. There’s a ruckus in the backpack as Doris smells junk food that she’s absolutely not allowed to have. Right beside the door stands an old mini air hockey table with two big Crock-Pots on top, their glass tops steaming.Regular$2, reads one in Comic Sans.Cajun$3, reads the other. There are two ladles sitting on mismatched flowered saucers, as well as stacks of Styrofoam cups, tops, brown paper sacks, and afishbowl stuffed with coins and crumpled bills. I see Colonel’s problem; the smell of boiled peanuts is aggressive, and I move farther inside to avoid the cloud of nut steam.
The rest of the video emporium comes into focus, and I’m having flashbacks to Eighties Night at the Cumberville Skate-a-Rama, but that’s partially due to the neon geometric-patterned carpet. No two shelves are alike—some white, some black, and some plain wood—and the DVDs are face-out, their cases dingy and dinged. Much to my absolute surprise, there’s a whole bookcase filled with old VHS cassettes, including all the Disney movies in their ivory plastic boxes, somehow freed from the darkness of the Disney Vault. The shelves have hand-lettered signs pointing out their genres:Horror, Comedy, Drama, 4 Kids, Romance(with little hearts all around it). The movies aren’t even in alphabetical order, and most of them are at least five years old, if not ten. Or twenty. Lots of these movies are older than me. I begin to see why the boiled-peanut half of the business gets more play.
By the front counter, there’s a spinner rack full of self-published books. I seeThe Official Arcadia Falls Cookbook,The Arcadia Falls REAL Official Cookbook,The 100% Genuine Real Honest-to-God OFFICIAL Arcadia Falls Cookbook,Ghosts of Arcadia Falls,andThe Mountain Whispers My Name: The Life and Times of Darla Gooch,among others. If these are the only books available for purchase in town, no wonder Hunter Blakely was annoyed at the loss of his reading tablet. With no library and no bookstore, I’m already annoyed myself. This selection is not going to bring in the crowds.
And that’s when I realize there’s not a single person in the store, besides us. No customers. No workers.
“So is it on an honor basis?” I ask.
Colonel looks out the plate-glass window, his hands in hispockets. “You saw Abraham in the sandwich shop? Maggie hired him to run this place when she wasn’t around. He’s doing a real bad job of it.”
I think back to the man I saw at lunch, so old that I can’t imagine him being able to stay vertical long enough to scoop out a cup of peanuts. He seems like he might keel over while counting out change.
“Can I fire him?”
A heavy sigh as Colonel squinches his eye shut. “Okay, so I suppose there are actually two conditions. Unfortunately, he comes with the shop. You’re welcome to reduce his hours, as long as he makes enough money to live on.”
I gesture at the haphazard shelves. “Can anyone make enough money to live on here?” I pick up the nearest DVD. It’sStarship Troopers 2.“Do you even know how bad this movie is?”
He draws himself up tall. “I’ve rented that movie twice. When I tell you things move slower up here, I mean it. The first one is much better—the part about the ferret always makes me laugh.” He clears his throat. “Thing is, Maggie was very specific about Abraham. He stays, and he earns minimum wage. Now, if you’ll follow me to my office, I can answer all your questions without being bombarded with the scent of peanuts, to which I am sadly allergic.”
“But we can’t just leave the store…without…” I trail off as he gives me a look that suggests I’m not very bright.
“It’s kept well enough like this for the last thirty years. I’m sure one more day of horrible mismanagement won’t burn the building down.” Colonel laboriously bends over to check the outlet into which the Crock-Pots are plugged. “Hopefully.”
He opens the door, and I walk outside, vastly preferring the scent of late summer to thirty-year-old videos and overheatedpeanut hulls with too much paprika. Colonel is just as fast returning to work as he was heading to lunch, and soon I’m settled in a leather chair as he hunts through his massive desk. He opens a manila folder and jabs his finger at the paper-clipped sheaf of documents within. Doris’s backpack is on the floor, and she’s softly whistling “Bali Ha’i” fromSouth Pacific,which is one of her happy songs. I have to wonder if she feels at home in the office, after all her time spent at Buckley Insurance. They both feature a lot of plaid.
“Your grandmother’s trust is very peculiar,” Colonel begins, and a little trill of worry skitters up my neck.
Peculiarisn’t the sort of word that generally signifies something a person wants. Nobody ever says, “I won the lottery, but it’s peculiar.”
“It’s straightforward, at least,” he continues. “You are set to inherit buildings B through D at 375 Main Street, including the Video Emporium and Boiled P-Nut Palace. The second story of that storefront in particular is a furnished apartment. Probably needs some upgrades, but Maggie lived up there for the past twenty years or so. You also get two parking spots in the alley, which might be worth more than the building.”
