Town Haunts by Cathy Spencer Page B

Ma, I’m
not making it up,” Gerry was saying. “They were gossiping about you
at the liquor store when I went in this afternoon. They stopped as
soon as they saw me standing behind them, but I’d heard enough by
then to realize what they were saying.”
    “Come on,
Gerry. Cindy is an idiot. She should know better than to gossip
with the customers. The liquor store should fire her, no matter how
short-staffed they are.”
    Gerry tossed
the apple onto the pile in exasperation, and had to catch a couple
before they rolled off. “But Mike and Heather aren’t. They’re on
the Parent-Teacher Association with me, for Pete’s sake. And they
were all laughing about you and Sherman being shacked up
together.”
    “Well, we’re
not. The poor man is devastated, that’s all. I’m just trying to
help him,” May said, cutting the bunch of grapes in half with an
emphatic “snip” and dropping them onto the heap.
    “I know. I get
that. But, enough already. When’s he going home?”
    May slapped the
scissors onto the trolley and wiped her hands along her apron. “I
can’t just kick him out. The séance was only three nights ago.
Where’s he going to go?
    “Home. He’s a
grown man!” Gerry said, waving his hands in the air.
    May shook her
finger in his face. “I don’t care what the fools in this town say.
I’m not going to toss Sherman out. Case closed.” She swung on her
heels and stomped to the front of the store while Gerry stared
after her, fuming.
    “Of all the
stupid nonsense,” May muttered as she rounded the display counter
and picked up a box of chocolate bars from the shelf beneath. “A
man his age, bothered by some stupid gossip.” She stepped back
around the counter and began stacking the bars onto the
display.
    A minute later,
Gerry stalked down the aisle with his coat flapping open over his
apron. “I’m going home on time tonight. Susan’s holding supper for
me.”
    “Good. Get
going. No one told you to hang around,” May shouted, watching him
over her shoulder as he stamped past her. The bell pealed as Gerry
flung the door open, letting it bounce against the wall before
storming through it and out into the night.
    “And don’t
break the door just because you’re having a temper tantrum, you
fat-head,” May yelled after him.
     
     
    Across the
street, the sign on the Healing Hands’ door was flipped to
“Closed,” and the lights were turned off. Steve Walker was in the
curtained cubicle at the back of the store stripping down to his
briefs. A shaded lamp was turned on low in the corner, and half a
dozen glowing candles were spread along the top of a bookcase
containing magazines. Steve grinned as he heard classical music
playing with the sound of running water and bird song embellishing
the sweet violins. Typical relaxation music. At least it wasn’t pan
pipes; he couldn’t abide that. Mounting the padded, sheet-draped
table, he flopped onto his stomach.
    “You ready,
Steve?” Tiernay called through the curtain.
    He pulled the
white sheet over the lower half of his body and positioned his face
into the terrycloth-covered head rest. “Sure, come on in,” he
called back.
    Tiernay whisked
the curtain aside and stepped into the cubicle, pulling the curtain
closed behind her. Her flip-flops smacked against her feet as she
walked up to the table dressed in a pair of pink shorts and a white
cotton t-shirt that exposed a lot of smooth, tanned skin. She
leaned over to switch on a space heater, her shirt creeping up her
back as she did.
    “Don’t want you
getting cold,” she said, pushing a squeaking cart to the head of
the table and pausing to inspect its contents. Selecting a plastic
bottle from among the others, she squirted oil into her cupped hand
and rubbed it between her palms. The scent of lavender and orange
infused the air. Gently, Tiernay laid her hands onto Steve’s wide
shoulders.
    “Temperature
okay?”
    “Perfect,” he
murmured, gazing down at her feet.
    “Okay, I