I push open the door with a jangle of bells, and the dreamy scent of chocolate and caramel envelops me.
“Welcome to Big Rock Candy Mountain!” calls a big guy who looks like Santa Claus on an acid trip. His tie-dye shirt is printed with the shop’s gnome logo, and his eyes are red and jolly.
“Hey, Smokey!” Shelby says. “This is your new neighbor, Rhea Wolfe. RheaKirkwoodWolfe.”
At that second part, his eyes twinkle. “Maggie’s kin?”
“Her granddaughter. Hi.” I hold out my hand to shake, and he squeezes around the counter and pulls me into a patchouli-fueled hug that reminds me why deodorant exists.
“Welcome to town, honeypot,” he booms. “Your granny was a pistol, I tell you what.”
I extricate myself gently. “So they say.”
“Now, Rhea, are you interested in selling? Because I would love to expand. Start an ice cream shop next door, maybe.” He gazes past me to the wall like he can see through it. Which, judging by the scent of skunk on him, maybe he can.
“My grandmother’s trust won’t let me sell, I’m afraid, but renting is always an option.”
Smokey grimaces. “I bow to no landlord. Rent’s due, blah blah blah. Let me know if you can get out of it.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say. “But until then, I hear your caramel apples are to die for.”
He turns, throwing out an arm like Willy Wonka. “Come with me and you’ll see—”
“A world of pure imagination?” I ask.
“That, and fudge, thirty-two flavors! Nora, sugarplum, it’s on the house for our new neighbor.”
I step up to the counter, and the college-aged woman at the cash register smiles at me politely. She’s wearing a much smaller version of Smokey’s tie-dye gnome shirt and has glass gauges in her ears and a silver hoop in her nose. Her pixie has grown out to an uneven shag.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
I point to a huge apple rolled in caramel, chocolate, nuts, and God only knows what else. “Just one of those, please.”
“And you’ve got to try some fudge,” Smokey says. “I’ll fix you up a box. Good fudges make good neighbors!” He starts plucking up pieces of fudge with waxed paper, singing, “Here comes the fudge…”
“Nora, how’ve you been?” Shelby asks.
And that’s when I remember—this must be Nora Cove, the daughter of the awful Coves who were jerks at Chamber and wouldn’t let us in when the turkeys attacked.
“Not bad,” Nora says, but she sure doesn’t look thrilled aboutit.
“Say, Smokey,” I ask. “Did you know Maggie well?”
“Not in a biblical way, but we were neighbors for a long time, and she sold me the shop. Got along pretty well, although she sure could shout louder than anybody I ever knew. Didn’t like drums. Wicked fast arm with an egg, too. Hit me right in the back of the head once.”
“I heard that was because you threw too much chocolate in the dumpster and it made the raccoons go nuts,” Shelby says.
Smokey throws back his head and laughs. “I didn’t mean to start a raccoon orgy, but life finds a way.”
“Did she ever give you something to hold for her?” I ask.
His red eyes blink in confusion. “Was I holding? For your grandma?”
I put up my hands. “No. Just…I’m looking for something that’s missing from her apartment. A book. It was important. I think maybe she hid it somewhere to keep it safe.”
He shakes his head. “Little mama, nobody who wants to keep track of something gives it to ol’ Smokey.” He knocks his knuckles against his head. “I got the memory of a goldfish.”
Nora hands over a white paper bag with the apple and more fudge than I’ll be able to eat in a month. “Hey, Smokey, can I take my break?” she asks.
