had tried a light subtle pink. Somehow that brought out Mollie’s freckles. Lily was weirdly fascinated with her freckles, claiming they made her look like one of those Abercrombie and Fitch models—a little farfetched, especially when she dressed all in black. Mollie had chosen a black lace skater dress for tonight, which was a little cutesy for work with its flared skirt, but usually it wasn’t a problem when no one looked at her.
Her nose wrinkled and her freckles stood out even more. Ugh. No, not a model. Sure, she’d been called pretty before. Her ex-boyfriend Scooby did before their volatile high school breakup when she caught him kissing the giggling Mary Sue. Obviously, Scooby wasn’t the most reliable source, but her father had always chucked her lightly under the chin and called her the cutest thing. Then again, he’d skipped town to get away from her overbearing mother and his clingy kid, so he probably didn’t mean anything he said either.
Gorgeous. Janson Styles called me gorgeous.
If Mollie’s cheeks hadn’t already been bright red with blush, they were now as she remembered Janson’s appreciative gaze. Her heart skipped over itself before she stuffed the traitorous, wildly beating thing back in the cobwebbed darkness where it belonged. What was her problem? Her thoughts drifted to Janson more than what was healthy, ever since Charlize had breathlessly called her last night to say that guy was in town. Why should she care that he was back? Janson wouldn’t waste a moment’s thought on her.
Mollie shrugged at her high-maintenance image in the mirror, looped her red hair into a floppy bun and pushed away from the bathroom sink, walking through the green-and-purple cinderblock hallway. The ghost tour building used to be a brown box theater, but the dramatic paint lent the eerie atmosphere they needed for greeting guests. Sliding through the black velvet curtains that replaced most of the doors inside, Mollie caught the tail end of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” loudly playing in the reception area. She giggled, finally finding something to be giddy about. Halloween was the best time of the year for ghost tours. Their only competition would be the Zombie Crawl tomorrow, which Mollie couldn’t wait to be a part of. The beat of “Thriller” wrapped through her soul, and she danced the rest of the way to the front desk, singing to the lyrics. “Thriller, ooh thriller!”
Mother Renee was there applying her makeup to get ready for another “hot” date with some tourist she’d met at the Yellow Dragon pub. She winced, blinking through the chunk of mascara caught on her lashes. “Mollie, honey, who sings this?”
Mollie snickered, knowing where her mother was going with this. “I am.” She sang a few more lines to prove it.
“Michael Jackson sings it.” Her mother stubbornly kept to the punchline. “Keep it that way.” Being the only parent, Renee Sawyer had to take over the dad jokes, but she sang along with Michael and Vincent Price, too, so the teasing fell flat. Her mother flipped her own red hair over her turquoise peacock design shawl. Her cheetah print dress peeked out beneath. Mother Renee was a regular menagerie. Unlike Mollie, she wasn’t afraid to stand out. Plucking out her chunky lipstick, her mother applied the bright color, twisting her lips into all sorts of shapes in front of a tiny compact mirror. “You’ll be covering the shift tonight. You should be grateful I found you the job. It’s gonna bring in the big bucks.”
Mollie moved past the antique furniture to the register, picking up the appointment book. “You sure about that? Nobody tips around here.”
“Oh, they will tonight.” Her mother winked, but at herself since she was still staring into the mirror. Mother Renee had inherited the place from her fourth husband—the one who’d cemented her reputation as a black widow. However, keeping up the place turned out to be harder than inheriting. “They’d better,” her mother quipped. “Rent’s due.”
It was all they could do to keep up with their bills lately. Mollie wished she could help more. She’d graduated in history, which was why she enjoyed antiquing. And of course, nothing was better than talking about the past in a fun way on their tours, but during times like these, she’d wished she’d gone into something like engineering. How she’d love to take her mother out of this place, though presently Mother Renee didn’t look like she wanted to be whisked away. She applied her bright red blush next, talking animatedly.