He nods and points at her with a nicotine-stained finger. “Ten minutes. Candy doesn’t wait.”
It sure seems like it does to me, but that’s not my problem.
Shelby and I give our thanks and goodbyes, and Nora comes out from behind the counter and follows us outside, immediately looking around like the turkeys might arrive en masse and trample us to death. She walks around the corner to the back door of the candy store, and we follow.
“What’s up?” Shelby says. “Is it your folks—”
Nora grimaces and looks away. Her parents are obviously a sore spot. “No. I mean, yeah, always, but it’s just…Smokey doesn’t want anybody to know, but when we had a leak last year, he had to pull up the floor, and he found a hidden cellar below the candy store. It wasn’t in the survey or whatever when he bought it, and he doesn’t want to pay taxes on it or have the survey redrawn or tell the health inspector, because he’s Smokey. Anyway, if you’re looking around these properties for something hidden, I think you should know that they might have basements.”
It hits me like a ton of bricks—or a ton of fudge.
A basement.
Below.
The way the poltergeist kept stomping on the floor in the office and moving chairs around. The ice-cold fishbowl sitting in the middle of the carpet. The fact that Maggie told me to stay out of the office and took great pains to hide it for years.
“Nora, you’re a genius,” I say. “I really owe you one.”
She beams and nervously tucks her hair behind her ears. “Then maybe you’ll consider hiring me, when your bookstore gets going?”
I’m not going to have money to pay for an employee for a while. But I’m suddenly forced to face the fact that yes, even in a small town, one person cannot run a bookstore alone.
“Well, I mean, do you like books?”
Her face lights up. “Omigod, are you kidding? I love books. Especially comics and graphic novels. And kids’ books. And poetry. My parents threw away all my comics. Said they were sinful. But a whole bookstore…” When she smiles—when it’s genuine—Nora Cove looks like an entirely different person.
“Then I’ll think about it, but honestly, I don’t even know if I’m going to make any money opening a bookstore. So it’s not like I can offer you full-time with benefits.”
Nora narrows her eyes in the direction of the candy store. “I am currently making under minimum wage paid in fudge-stained cash from a guy who calls me Nora Bora and needs at least five hugs a day. Actual minimum wage and no sexual harassment is fine.” Her phone buzzes, and she checks it and frowns. “Break’s over. Smokey does not know the meaning of time unless it belongs to someone else. Will you think about it? Please? It’s my dream job.”
“She was great at the toy store,” Shelby assures me excitedly. “So good with kids, she knows about inventory, POS systems, helping customers, accounting, all that. And she painted Christmas murals on the glass, too!”
“I did the flowers. I can paint anything on glass.”
I can’t help smiling. “Then I will definitely think about it.”
As we wave goodbye to Nora, Shelby says, “That went well. Plus, free candy!”
She’s right. I’ve got a caramel apple and five pounds of fudge in one hand and a bag of baked goods in the other. I’m already hoping Arcadia Falls has a good dentist. But sugar aside, now I have to do three things that scare me:
Get rid of that pesky poltergeist with a spell from a near stranger when everyone is telling me not to trust other witches or their spells.
Figure out how to get into the basement that I’m now certain is lurking under my bookstore.
And scariest of all, figure out how to navigate the hiring process.
