Page 39 of The Woman By the Lake

She shook, and her grip had about ten pounds more power than it needed before she let me go and asked, “You the woman renting Dave and Brenda’s place?”

That was quite a guess.

Unless, from what I’d learned from Riggs’s visit, word was getting around about me.

Seemed I was going to learn quickly about life in a small town.

I didn’t want to confirm I was, because I didn’t know this person, however I had another year to get through in Misted Pines, and she might find out eventually.

So I was forced to say, “Yes.”

To this, she whistled…loud. Loud enough, people turned to look.

I fidgeted uneasily on my stool.

“So, have you seen him?” she asked.

I figured she was asking about Riggs, since any red-blooded woman would want to know that. But since I wasn’t sure, I asked, “Seen who?”

“The ghost of Roosevelt Whitaker.”

I felt my throat close.

Kimmy’s sure didn’t.

“I think all the others got it wrong. It isn’t ole Rosie who’s haunting the joint,” she declared. “I mean, the man was messing around with his brother’s wife. His twin brother’s wife. He knew he was doing his brother dirty. I figure he went into that forever goodnight and stayed there because he knew he did wrong. I knew ’em, and seemed to me, those two men were tight. But a woman can hold a mean grudge.”

“Um…”

“Everyone says she married the wrong brother, including me. Plain as day. Thick as thieves, Sarah and Roosevelt were. How Lincoln didn’t see it, no one knows. Damn fool, if you ask me. Still, they shoulda come clean rather than carry on behind his back.”

“Uh…”

“But that doesn’t negate the fact she was his wife and the mother of his children, and he blew a huge hole in her chest instead of just blowing his stack. They say she was happy there. Happiest times she had was when she was at that cabin with her true love, even if the old ball and chain was around. So I say, she doesn’t want anyone else there. She wants it all to herself. That’s why she chases everyone off.”

Chases everyone off.

And now I knew why no one had been at the cutest cabin west of the Mississippi (and possibly east of it) for three years.

“Kimmy,” Dot greeted as she set a turquoise tumbler of some brown colored pop in front of her. “What’s it gonna be today?”

“Reuban, Mags, thanks,” Kimmy said, picking up the tumbler and sucking back a quarter of it in one draw.

I was uncertain she should have any more caffeine.

Dot/Maggie strolled away, and Kimmy turned back to me.

“Stick it out, girl. Things were looking dire, so Dave wanted to Airbnb the joint, but Lord knows, with all the hassle MP has been through the last few years, we don’t need more strangers traipsing through here.” She jerked a thumb at herself. “I’m not complaining, though I’d want other circumstances that brought it on. Fresh blood for my shop. I own the holiday store,” she explained.

“You don’t say,” I mumbled.

She went directly into her spiel. “Yeah. Got one section, all Christmas all the time. But the rest of the store, I switch it out. Spring. Summer. Winter. Fall. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Easter. St. Patrick’s Day. Fourth of July. The whole shebang.”

“I saw that when I walked by your shop,” I told her.

“You should come in,” she invited. “Everyone could use an American flag, year-round, and I got every size you could need.”

Actually, a flag would look good at the front of the cabin.

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