Larkspur Dreams - By Anita Higman Page 0,15
fine.” Just as he was about to ask if she’d like to sit down, the doorbell rang again. He felt some head pain creeping in.
Zeta raised an already arched eyebrow as she stared at the box of mothballs in his hand.
Everett opened the door. Lark stood in front of him looking radiant in a light purple sweater and white jeans as she clung to a rolled up newspaper. “Hi.”
Lark smiled at Zeta and then held out the paper to Everett. “I believe someone left this paper on my doorstep. It must be yours.” Lark licked her lips. “Have a good day.”
Everett took the paper, but wondered why Lark wasn’t her bubbly self.
Zeta tapped her foot. “Are you going to introduce me to your neighbor, Everett?”
Why not? What can I possibly lose? After he’d made the formal introductions, Zeta let out a yelp.
“Are you the Larkspur Wendell?” Zeta clasped her hand to her throat like a starstruck teen.
Lark hid her hands behind her back and glanced down. “That’s me.”
Everett noticed Lark’s bashfulness. A new look for her. Kind of cute.
“I heard you lived here in Eureka Springs.” Zeta pointed her red-painted fingernail high in the air with a flourish. “Everett, why didn’t you tell me you had such an illustrious neighbor?” She leaned down to Lark. “My daughter has all of Nissa’s books, but just between you and me, your illustrations empower them. My daughter has drifted off many a night while looking at those fanciful pictures. Especially the Electric Seeds series. We have them all.”
“I’m so glad.” Lark backed slowly to the door. “If you’d like, I could personally sign some books for your daughter. I always keep a supply at home to give away.”
Everett met Lark’s gaze, but she didn’t smile at him. She stared at the box of mothballs with a forlorn kind of expression.
“Autographed books for my daughter! How wonderful!” Zeta clapped her fists together. “She’ll love it. Oh, and I will, too.”
“Well, I’ll go and get them now. I’ll be right back.” Lark turned to leave and then whirled back around. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Amelia Stone. Thank you so much.”
Lark hurried out the front door, while Zeta turned to Everett. “Well, aren’t we full of surprises?”
Everett frowned. Even though Zeta was his most important client, he didn’t like being talked to in the third person like a toddler. He set the box of mothballs on the entry table.
“So what’s with the mothballs?” Zeta spoke in her usual brusque tone.
Everett swallowed his exasperation. “It’s just a funny gift somebody gave me.”
Zeta stood silent for a second, looked confused, and then burst into laughter. He’d never heard her laugh before. Guess he’d better count that as a blessing.
“How very clever,” Zeta said. “I love it. Mothballs. Definition. A condition of being in storage. You know, you really are too much of a hermit here in your home office.”
The conversation felt way too personal and more than annoying. Everett glanced in the entry mirror and noticed his face had reddened to a rich, tomato hue. Zeta’s rudeness was more than he could stand sometimes, but he was determined to keep his cool. “Larkspur Wendell left the mothballs on my doorstep.”
Zeta eyeballed him like Igor’s assessing parrot gaze, and then she detonated with another round of laughter. Directed at him. Again. This brief meeting was racing downhill fast. And worst of all, he’d gotten the meaning of the mothball gift all wrong. Maybe it had been more of a putdown than a lighthearted gift between neighbors. His leg began to twitch all on its own again.
Lark tapped on his door and let herself in with a stack of books. She set them in Zeta’s waiting arms. “Oh, thank you, Larkspur. May I call you Lark?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve personally autographed each one and added a little special note in the top one,” Lark said.
Zeta’s fingers clutched the pile of books as if she were afraid someone would take them from her. “You are a peach for doing this for my daughter.”
Everett tuned out for a moment and then suddenly noticed the gavel in Lark’s back pocket. She pulled it out and set it on the entry table with all the other assorted items.
Guess Lark didn’t think the gift was witty after all. Then as she stared at him, her lovely, brown eyes softened. “Gavels are meant for silencing people. Aren’t they?” Her voice sounded more hurt than angry.
Everett turned to Lark. “That’s not what I—”
“Okay, I’m lost here,” Zeta said.