Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

After one kiss from James, Vermont’s most attractive and surprisingly sensitive out-of-towner had gone from convenient excuse to the only thing on my mind. I couldn’t pinpoint the moment that had done it. It could have been the way his dog wagged her tail whenever he spoke or the fact that we were already connected through the ghost stories we used to navigate the world. Or that he’d been willing to hang out with the weird woman who worked at the bookstore simply because she wanted to avoid her parents. He added his phone number to my contacts, helpfully listed under the name “Ghost Guy,” as if I’d forget, before we said goodbye that night.

I arrived at the bookstore the next morning to find a pair of gloves, a snack-sized zipper-top baggie with dog treats, and a note classily duct-taped to the door.

Will you do me the honor of joining Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and me on a walk tonight? I’ll provide the gloves this time so you don’t freeze again. Meet you here?—James

I yanked the gloves and treats off the door’s glass, rushed inside to catch my daily Charles check-in, then stabbed the dial button on my phone so hard I nearly dropped it.

It rang. And rang. And rang. I was left, yet again, leaving a horrendous voicemail message.

“Hey there, Lulu. Tell James that I’m absolutely interested in a walk. Exercise is important. Oh, and a horse walked into a bar. The bartender said, ‘Why the long face?’ If you’re not laughing, you’re not cool.”

Five minutes later, my phone dinged to alert me to a message. Short and sweet:

Ghost Guy: Looking forward to it.

After that, the day crawled. No customers in sight, and I’d already completed inventory. No used books to sort, no new personalized copies to add to my own bookshelf. Silent as the grave.

Had my name been listed beside the “Owner” designation on the business cards, there’d be a knitting club that met on Sundays—regardless of book purchases made—and a Thursday night puzzle club. Maybe a weekly true crime podcast listening meeting—with themed coffee specials and a dessert case full of Homicide Halvah and Murderous Macaroons. Wednesday afternoon Lunch and Learns, where local experts popped in to discuss their specialties. Summer book clubs to encourage kids to keep reading. I’d be the Dolly Parton of Stowe, literacy education for all.

Charles insisted money wasn’t made by providing free services. But what would I know about building a community? Obviously the guy soaking up sun somewhere along the Florida coastline was better equipped to embrace “local.” I was sure he aimed to keep his fingers clutched around the building’s deed ’til death.

Which is why the next phone call I received made my jaw literally drop.

I’d already had my daily Charles check-in, so I assumed the call was someone checking if I had a book in stock. When his voice came through, a bit quieter than usual, a little unsure, my heart jumped into my throat. I feared the worst: family emergency or some other bad news.

“Lex, are you aware that Dog-Eared may be haunted?” he asked.

“Is it?” I asked, trying to decide if this news was a pro or con for him. Was it finally the time to pitch my Creepy Caroling idea, where everyone dresses up like a favorite gothic literary icon and sings holiday songs after dark?

His serious tone told me that, no, this was not that event’s moment to shine. “I had a very disturbing call from a crew of ghost-hunting experts earlier this week, and I’ve been trying to decide if I should tell you or not. They want to stake out the store and try to film the ghost for their documentary. They sound very legitimate.”

Oh, Charles. His reaction wasn’t entirely out of character, given the speed at which he’d once removed a Ouija board from the store after pulling it from the bottom of a dropped off box. I suppressed a laugh.

“I’m happy to give them a tour,” I offered. “I can let them in on all of the extra creepy spots, like in the corner by the old map books where there’s always a chill in the air. Or the spot where the ladder sticks, and you can almost hear someone screaming as you try to guide it into place.”

“Lex, please, stop. I never knew about those things!” He sounded off now—I couldn’t quite place the emotion in his voice. Not spooked, but not quite Charles , either. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, Charles, it’s just ghost stories, right? No big deal.”

“Nobody’s going to want a haunted building,” he said. “Now what am I going to do? All this time, I thought I had an investment property on my hands, and its value is gone, just like that.”

“I’m sure someone will still value the store, ghosts or no. It might even be a big draw for customers.” I chewed my bottom lip, hoping he’d be soothed. Just what I needed: Charles selling the store because something I’d made up ages ago scared him off.

“I just can’t take that risk. I’ve been considering selling for a while. The back and forth is beginning to wear on me, and now with this … it might be time to let go and settle down here.”

Shit .

The property would probably get snapped up by a big chain or some city businessperson hellbent on franchising and divvying up Dog-Eared’s charm across their hundred other locations, making it part of something instead of something all on its own.

All I wanted out of the world was to be able to be surrounded by the words penned by hundreds—thousands!—of brilliant, thoughtful people. I’d done my best to build my own little library, but space was limited and the floors in my house would have buckled by the time I was satisfied. I didn’t have the space—or funds—to expand my collection much more. Dog-Eared was my own little haven, bursting with the books I couldn’t cram onto my own shelves.

My chest was hollow. If he sold the store, I could find another job. Employment wasn’t a concern—there were plenty of local shops looking for a hand and, with ski season in full swing, an abundance of temporary tourism options. But I didn’t want those options. I wanted the one I already had.

The truth was, I wasn’t ready to let the store go. It had started as a safety net but had become something akin to a fuzzy blanket on a blustery evening. It was part of me—and I’d infused the space with pieces of myself. But I couldn’t expect to change his mind, either. He’d established the store, and it was his to do with as he wished. If he chose to offload it, I didn’t have much choice but to accept Dog-Eared’s fate.

Unless …

“I want to buy Dog-Eared, Charles.”

The words tumbled out before I even knew what I was saying. But that didn’t make them any less true. The phone crackled as Charles remained silent.

“Charles.”

He hmm ed, like he’d zoned out and was just coming back to the conversation.

“I want to buy the store. I’ve worked here since high school. You couldn’t wait to hire me again when I came back after college. I know this place. I know the customers, and I know the business. I’d fight to keep it the same … well, mostly the same. Everyone wonders why I don’t move. But Charles, this is my move.”

“Lex, I’ll need to think—”

“You don’t have to think. This is the perfect solution. Trust me. This is Dog-Eared’s next phase. I can run this store, I can manage a business. Give me one good reason why this isn’t the right option.”

The line buzzed and crackled slightly as I waited for his answer. He stayed silent.

“I’ll pay whatever you want, I won’t even haggle. I need this store, Charles. It’s the best thing I have going right now.”

The line was silent for a long stretch. So long that I’d have assumed the call had dropped, if it weren’t for Charles’s rhythmic breathing coming through the receiver.

“Legally, I don’t have to disclose paranormal activity while selling, but I suppose I’ve already let that secret slip.” He inhaled into the receiver, and it rattled through to my end of the line. “Okay, Lex. Yes. I’m happy to pursue this sale with you. You won’t find a better deal. I already spoke to a business real estate agent: Forty thousand dollars takes it all. Inventory, retail space, the business.”

“Charles.” I nearly choked. “Are you serious? Forty thousand? I don’t know if I can pay that.” Not because it was an unreasonable amount—in truth, it was a steal—but because his main reason to unload the business was based entirely on a lie. He said he’d been considering selling, but how much of that was honest consideration, and how much was based on the ghost story I’d invented—and James had shared?

“I know the building needs work. But it’s got good bones, and there’s value in the inventory itself. It’s a good investment, especially for someone unconcerned with ghosts.”

“Charles, that’s not the prob—”

“I know you won’t have the savings to cover it,” he interrupted. “I’m willing to hold this offer for a short while, so you can arrange financing. But as I said, I’ve been mulling letting the store go for a while now, and now that the decision’s been made, I’d like to get on with it. If you’re not going to take it, I will have to list it for sale. What do you say? Are you interested?”

I’d figure out the logistics later. I could pull together my savings, look into business loans, find grants or other assistance to make it happen. My alternative was possibly losing the store to someone who didn’t understand it, and that was no real alternative at all. “Absolutely,” I said. “I’ll need some time, but I am definitely interested. Please, please don’t let it go to anyone else until I’ve exhausted my options.”

“Of course not. Does one month sound fair? With the option for extension if you have leads on funding.”

“More than fair, thank you so much, Charles. I’ll start looking right away.”

“If you could, please, keep this between us for now. I’ll let you decide what to tell the ghost hunters about the interview—as long as they allow us to strike it from the final cut if for some reason your funding doesn’t come through, and I have to sell by other means. We don’t want rumors of a haunting holding up a sale.”

“Definitely not. You know how ghost stories spread.” Slowly, often popping up years later at inopportune times. Or, potentially the most opportunistic of times …

We hung up, and I flopped backward in my chair to absorb the news.

He was offering my wildest dreams at a too-reasonable—if currently out of reach—price. The stipulation that I not share the news was smart. There were plenty of people in town who would try to outbid me, and I didn’t want to find out if there was a sense of loyalty at play that would keep him from taking the highest offer. Plus, he didn’t want the sale to drag, and a bidding war would cause it to. How quickly would he change his mind about that, though, if he found out the store wasn’t actually haunted? There wasn’t a second to waste. If I missed this chance, I’d never forgive myself.

I stuck the “Back in 5 minutes” sign up on the door and walked across the street to the very same bank my grandfather had used from the moment he settled in Stowe. Half an hour later, paperwork started and a list of required documentation in hand, I slipped back into the store and sank into my favorite comfy leather chair to admire what was potentially going to become my very own bookstore.

If Charles didn’t find out the truth about the ghosts.