“Did you hear about Mr. Smith next door?”
“The old fart? Haven’t seen him lately,” she says.
“Apparently, his family moved him to a drug rehabilitationcenter,” I relay with all the vigor of a sixties housewife.
“Drugs? He didn't seem the type,” she contemplates.
Well, that’s a first. “He wasn’t?”
“No, the man was just old, tired, and uninterested in people. You get like that if you live long enough. He was over eighty. He earned his grumpiness.”
I laugh. I thought he was in his seventies, but the fact that I was having nightmares because I’m scared of an eighty-year-old is kinda embarrassing.
He wasn’t a plain ol’ eighty-year-old, though, was he?
“But it could be drugs too, I guess,” she nods.
The fact that she didn’t have any other story to add about him discourages me a bit. I mean, was I really hallucinating? I continue while the topic is still hot. “I wanted to check up on him. Do you have his number?”
She shakes her head. “No, I avoided the guy, honestly,” she says. “But his daughter used to visit often, and one time she dropped a pamphlet when she was leaving. Wait, I’m sure I still have it here somewhere.” She walks over to the kitchen and opens a cabinet. Stacks of papers crash onto the floor. She ignores it. “Here,” she triumphantly holds up a small pamphlet.
I take it, and she sits beside me again.
“I think she works there. It’s their last name, isn't it?”
And there it is. Aurelia Smith. I nod.
There are also tons of bogus claims of snake oils they probably sell, which I ignore. The quackery is so extreme it wouldn’t even tempt a five-year-old. But then again, people believe anything if they’re desperate enough.
“I wanted to give it back to her. But, you know, with my hips I couldn't follow her,” she continues.
I ignore her. Something very close to excitement flowsthrough me. After weeks of restless nights, unexplainable fear, distracted life, and constant reeling, I had a direction. I don’t know if talking to Dalton will solve anything, but I can’t think of any other way to make sense of what I saw.
After enduring and secretly enjoying two more pieces of gossip, I leave Marge to carry on with her Christmas prep.
Walking back, I contemplate giving Matt a visit for some prep of our own, if not to share what I just found. But I change my mind. Maybe some distance will make the awkwardness go away.
Determined, I go back to my house with the plan of giving Dalton's daughter a visit tomorrow after work.
Chapter Fifteen
Oliver
I check the name on the pamphlet again. Moonroot Apothecary. The sign on the small shop in front of me says the same thing.
Nodding, I tuck the pamphlet in my pocket and enter confidently. As I push the glass door open, bells above the door jingle.
The lady behind the desk, wearing a peasant blouse and a flowy skirt, smiles at me. It doesn’t reach her eyes. The shop has ground-to-ceiling shelves, all filled with jars of powders, flowers, and leaves. I ignore them and make a beeline for the woman.
“Hi,” I smile.
“Hi, are you looking for anything particular?” she asks. ”We sell alternative medicines for every ailment. We have crystals, poultice, and stones to deal with aura-related issues, too.”
I had planned to just outrightly ask her about her father, but something stops me. “Actually, someone from my buildingrecommended this shop to me. I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d check you guys out,” I lie, putting on my most casual voice.
“Oh yeah? Did they say anything else?” She looks at me with this intense expression, like she’s searching for something.
“Umm, no?” That comes out as uncertain as I feel.
