AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I don’t know what that is.”
She opened her bag to show me it was full of green and brown things. “I pick leaves and berries and whatever else the Good Lord provides. Whisper Graveyard is one of the best places to find things because most people won’t come near it.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
“Because of the witches,” she said bluntly.
My eyebrows flew up. “Witches?”
“The witches are buried here,” she said. She walked into the graveyard, then used her stick to point to the graves covered with a sheet of granite. “Those two were so strong, they covered their graves with a stone so they couldn’t get out.”
A shudder passed over my shoulders. “That’s folklore.”
“Don’t mean it ain’t true,” she said, then shuffled to the edge of the graveyard where she stooped to dig up something that looked like a weed. She stuffed it into her bag, then pointed at me again. “You’ve been warned, Missy.”
I gave her a shaky smile, then backed out of there and practically jogged back to the house, looking over my shoulder.
July 16, Tuesday
AFTER DROPPING off eggs at the grocery, I walked outside to put my purchased items into the bike’s basket. It was especially hot today, and I was wishing I had one of my hats to protect me from the searing sun.
Maybe I’d ask Frida to send me a few.
“You’re Josephine Vanguard.”
I froze at the unknown male voice, then slowly turned my head. A man I guessed to be in his mid-forties stood there, his face mildly handsome, his chinos and button-up shirt more dressy than average for this area. “Do I know you?”
“No.” He extended a smile. “I’m Wayne Blakemore. I own the local bookstore.”
My stomach pinched. “Oh. Hello.”
“You have a lot of fans around here,” he said quickly. “Romance flies off the shelf.”
I gave him a bland smile. “That’s nice. I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“If you’d ever consider doing a signing at my store, I’d be thrilled.”
“I’m busy working on a manuscript.”
“I know. My customers can hardly wait for the next Skirts book. When will it be out?”
“I don’t have a release date yet.” Because I didn’t have a manuscript yet.
“Your mother did an event at my store a few years ago.”
I blinked. “She did?”
“When she was doing a book tour for The Color of Yesterday.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“We’re a little off the beaten path here,” he conceded, “but there was a rumor going around at the time that we were a reporting store for the New York Times Bestseller List.”
“Is that so?” The list of NYT reporting stores was supposed to be top-secret, but I’d heard rumors it was circulated to select authors, agents and editors in the industry. It didn’t surprise me to learn my mother had tried to game the system.
“Okay, I might’ve started that rumor,” he said with a laugh, “but we attracted some big names, and it allowed me to expand.”
“I really have to go,” I said, walking my bike to the curb.
