Goes Down Easy. Alison Kent
was with Claire Braden who was new to Sugar Blues and the world of psychic readings. Claire was one of Perry’s neighbors at Court du Chaud. The “hot” court had been christened as such when occupied by Captain Gabriel Dampier, now the resident ghost.
Longtime occupants of Court du Chaud were well-versed in the legend of the pirate and his band. Perry had never seen him herself, but both Tally and Bree Addison, the twins living in numbers one and one-and-a-half, had shared stories of their sightings.
Perry’s experience was with a ghost of a different color—a blues singer named Sugar Babin who’d fallen (some said been pushed) to her death down the stairs of the very building that served as Della’s place of business, and had been her home for all of her life. It had been Perry’s, too, for many years.
At least Sugar only haunted the stairwell between the bottom step and the top, singing of love gone wrong in her smoky Nina Simone-like voice. And here Perry had always hoped there would be no PMS in the afterlife.
She dialed Claire’s office number, and when the other woman picked up, said, “Hey, it’s me. Della’s not feeling well, so I’m going to have to reschedule you, okay?”
“Of course it’s okay. Wait, no. Don’t reschedule. Just cancel. This reading was all your idea anyway, remember?”
Using the appointment book’s pen with the cobalt blue feather, Perry drew a line of tiny X’s through Claire’s name, thinking of another of their Court du Chaud neighbors, Tally Addison, who’d recently come to Sugar Blues seeking help. “It was a suggestion, not an ultimatum. Tally left after her visit with her mind more at ease. I thought Della might do the same for you.”
“Tally’s problems were with Court du Chaud’s ghost, not a man who wants to elope instead of spending money on a wedding.” Claire was obviously still arguing with her fiancé of one month about their upcoming spring nuptials.
“Randy still being a cheapskate?” A funny turn of events, considering the way he’d tossed money around before meeting Claire.
“I only plan to get married once in my life. I’d like the full designer gown, doves, balloons and ribbons package, ya know?” Claire sighed. “I think I liked Randy better when he believed money could buy happiness.”
“No, you didn’t. You just happened to be in the driver’s seat then. Now he’s keeping you on your toes.” Though Perry was quite sure that Claire’s toes were the last body part Randy had on his mind.
Claire’s sigh filled the void in the conversation. “I suppose he’s worth it.”
“Oh, stop it already,” Perry said, drawing little O’s above the X’s. “You know he is, and if you don’t, well, send him my way.”
“No can do, girlfriend. He bakes me cookies.” Claire laughed as if nothing more needed to be said.
And Perry supposed nothing did. She didn’t know a single female who wouldn’t dig on having a man with culinary skills that went beyond throwing burgers on a grill and popping the top on a beer can.
She certainly would, though she didn’t see it happening since her life had always revolved around women. A choice she’d made too many years ago to count. “I’ve still got room in my freezer if you have more you need to unload. Never can unload too many cookies, you know. At least from a calorie/wedding dress perspective.”
Claire laughed a second time. “See? Eloping would get me out of that worry. I could wear blue jeans, and all would be right with the world.”
“Wait. Back up,” Perry said as the bell over the shop’s front door chimed. She glanced up to see a man shove back the hood of his navy hoodie before disappearing into the shop’s aisles. “I thought you didn’t want to elope. That you wanted to know what Della could tell you about your wedding.”
“I did, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Fickle, much?” Perry asked, straightening on the stool to peek over the bookcase that ran like a divider down the center of the shop. She saw brown hair flecked with bits of blond and a touch of gray at the man’s temples. She also saw long, long, long lashes that made her want to cry with envy.
“Probably less than it seems,” Claire was saying.
“How so?”
“Well, for example, if I were to have a baby, I wouldn’t want to know its sex in advance.”
“Hmm,” Perry said, more interested in her customer than in Claire’s attempt at logic. If only the stupid bookshelf were five instead of six feet tall. “Are you and Randy already talking about kids?”
“Please! It’s way too soon for that. We’re still learning what we can about each other.”
“Besides your shared cookie fetish?”
Claire groaned. “I swear. I’m going to be an elephant before we ever set a date.”
“Maybe, but Randy’s a good guy.” Perry smiled to herself, returning the plumed pen to its base. “He’ll be there through thin and through thick.”
“Ha! A comedian in every crowd.”
“I was raised by a woman who sees things she shouldn’t be able to see. I have to get my laughs somewhere.”
“God, Perry. I can’t even imagine a lifetime of dealing with that. I would think it would be so…I don’t know. Frightening?”
Perry shoved a hand through her hair, pushing the wild corkscrew curls away from her face. She had never talked to anyone about growing up with Della, about Della having to deal with the truth of her visions. Having to deal as well with both of their fears that the aftermath might one day debilitate her, leaving Perry alone again and too young to cope. Frightening was only a part of it.
“That. And interesting.” To say the least, which was all she could say for now. “I’ve gotta run. Are you sure you want to cancel?”
“Definitely,” Claire said, and Perry could almost hear the other woman nod. “But let’s do dinner one night this week.”
“Cookies for dessert?”
“What else?” Claire asked, laughing and adding, “I’ll call you,” before ringing off.
Once she had, Perry was left with no reason to stay at the counter. And even if she’d had tons of work to do there, curiosity would still have gotten the better of her. It wasn’t every day a man who looked like the one an aisle over walked into the shop.
She climbed down from the stool, closed the leather appointment book and stored it on end next to the cash register she locked out of habit. Then, smoothing down her skirt and the hem of her paisley-print poet’s blouse, she hooked the key ring on her index finger and went to check him out.
He was well worth checking out. The hint of gray had fooled her from a distance; he was no older than his late thirties, she guessed. He wore jeans and Reeboks with his hoodie. The neckband of a white T-shirt showed above the eyelets where the drawstrings hung loose.
He stood studying a display of ground marble and resin figurines representing the twelve astrological signs, designed by a local artisan. He held a Taurus bull in one hand, an Aries ram in the other. Perry wondered if she should read anything into his selections or just let it go.
She nodded toward the figurines. “Those are one of our most popular items. The artist has made quite a name for herself here. A true hometown success story.”
He didn’t glance up right away. Instead, he silently returned both items to the antique cherry cabinet. Then he turned and stared down at Perry until she was certain she would never again be able to breathe—she who had never been susceptible to the buff and chiseled type.
His eyes were gray, a dark pewter with silver specks. Up close, his lashes appeared even longer than they had from a distance. His eyes were amazing, gorgeous—as was his denim-and-cotton-covered