Then she pivoted and ran.
“Wait!” I called, chasing after her but not able to keep up as she disappeared around the east wall of the cemetery where dozens of headstones leaned against the brick. Out of breath and confused by the strange encounter, I slowed and scanned the area, trying to determine where she could’ve gone.
When I turned back, one of the names on the headstones caught my eye.
Susanna Dawes Proffitt.
Next to it, a smaller headstone for an infant.
Josiah Proffitt.
I stared in disbelief, stunned by the coincidence. Butwasit a coincidence, or had she led me here? And, if so, why? What was she trying to tell me by leading me to a set of headstones for members of the Dawes and Proffitt families who had died two centuries before?
My phone buzzed, jolting me. I had ten minutes before my appointment at Ever After. Shaking, I forced myself to turn away from the headstones and hurried out of the cemetery. The moment I stepped through the gates, the oppressive weight lifted.
I collapsed onto a bench and took some time to compose myself, smooth my hair, still my hands. As soon as my pulse had slowed and I could breathe normally, I headed to the bookstore, smiling when I spotted the sign above the doorway. It was exactly as whimsical as the name promised.
A bell chimed as I entered, drawing the attention of the lone patron perusing one of the shelves. She spared me only a glance before turning back to the rows of fantasy novels. I lifted my gaze to take in the shop and was transported straightinto a fairytale. Greenery draped the entire place, intertwined with twinkling fairy lights. Dragons and pixies peeked out from among the foliage. Gnomes crouched behind the stacks. Even the furniture—bistro tables, oversized armchairs, comfy couches—looked like they’d been salvaged from a storybook.
“Good morning!” a cheerful voice called, accompanied by a rapidclack, clack, clackof heels on the hardwood.
An older woman hurried toward me, her long yellow-white hair pulled into a side ponytail. She balanced precariously on her purple high-heeled sandals and seemed right at home among the eclectic décor in her zebra print capris, gaudy, bedazzled shirt, and numerous bangle bracelets. She wore enormous dangling earrings the same shade of purple as her shoes and a glass bead necklace that had been looped twice so it rested against her chest where her tanned skin puckered into wrinkles from decades of too frequent sunbathing.
“Good morning,” I replied, unable to suppress a smile. “I’m looking for Dottie Shay.”
She flapped her hands in excitement as she hurried toward me. “Oooooh!” she sang, drawing out the sound for several seconds. “You must be Zellie! Come in, come in, comein!”
I was obviously already in, but I shook her hand. “Yes, I’m Zellie Dupont. Whit Proffitt said you might have a job opening.”
“Oh, yes!” Dottie cried. “I am so pleased to meet you. Let me show you around!”
She pivoted and hurried in the other direction but came to an abrupt halt and looked back at me over her shoulder. “Wait—do you need coffee? I need coffee. It’s far too early to discuss such things without coffee. Yes, coffee? Cream? Sugar? Oh, I’ll just guess. Come on, honey!”
Not waiting for my answer, she tottered off again, motioning for me to follow.
I giggled, not sure what to think about the odd woman, and hurried after her. She flitted around the store, showing me the different sections, pointing out allthe reading nooks and warning me not to let teenagers hang out in them too long so they didn’t get up to any “hanky panky.” Then she led me into the little coffee shop that was tucked into its own alcove. It was just as eclectic as the rest of the store—mismatched chairs and tables, odd pieces of wall décor—but here, twinkling stars hung from the ceiling.
“So, what do you think?” she asked, clearly proud. “I’m in sore need of the help! It doesn’t look busy now, but trust me, I’ve got more customers than I can handle.”
“I love it,” I told her truthfully. For the first time in a very long time, I felt… peaceful. I had no doubt that Ever After would be a haven until I could find somewhere else to live.
Dottie flapped her hands in excitement again and hugged me like we were long-lost friends. “I’m so glad!” she gushed. “My last manager was such a dear, but not very dependable, unfortunately. She was around your age, in fact. Lived at Dawes House, too, so it wasn’t just me she left high and dry.”
I frowned, my stomach sinking. “She lived at Dawes House? I didn’t realize…”
“Oh, yes,” Dottie affirmed, nodding vigorously, her giant earrings and ponytail bobbing. “She and her little boy, Jackson. She was quite a sight the last week or two—not sleeping, barely eating. That poor girl looked amess! And troubled. Couldn’t concentrate on anything. Hardly a surprise when she up and left without a word. I suppose shewasa little flighty now that I look back on it.”
Flighty? Coming from Dottie, that was saying something. I liked her immensely, but she was definitely unique.
We sat and enjoyed our coffee together—well, I enjoyed the coffee; she mostly talked about her favorite books, her life in Savannah, favorite musicians…pretty much anything and everything without much logical progression or timeline. I managed to get in a few short answers to her questions to me before she shifted topics again.
Eventually, she realized the time. We worked out my schedule, she handed me a key to the shop, and then she hugged me again before sending me on my way. “Bye, now, honey! You be careful. I don’t want to lose another manager before she evenstarts.” She laughed at her joke and tottered back inside, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, charmed but a little baffled by the whole experience.
Grinning to myself as I walked back to Dawes House, I took the long way around the cemetery just as I’d planned, though I still found myself sneaking glances, worried the darkhaired woman might appear again. Thankfully, nothing moved in the shadows.
But as I approached the front porch of Dawes House, the similarities between me and Dottie’s previous manager hit me all over again, slowing my steps. Whathadhappened to her and her son? Had she seen the same things I had? Or was it something else entirely? A toxic ex? A mental breakdown?
A sudden wave of nausea washed over me so violently I doubled over, pressing my hands to my belly with a groan. Sweat prickled my forehead and between my shoulder blades as another wave hit me. Before I could catch my breath, the nausea hit me again, harder this time. Weak and trembling from the pain ripping into my stomach, I stumbled to the steps and sat down just as my knees gave out.
