The Book of Eleanor

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Copyright © 2012 by Nat Burns

Bella Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tallahassee, FL 32302

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

First published 2012

Editor: Nene Adams

Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

ISBN 13: 978-1-59493-309-7

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Two Weeks in August

House of Cards

The Quality of Blue

Identity

I sincerely thank the lovely people of Port Isabel, Texas. And I do apologize for the literary license I took implying that their spectacular fishing village is haunted and that some of the officials are mean. Port Isabel is haunted maybe but mean, never.

Also, many thanks to editor, Nene Adams, for the editing sweep that tightened up my careless construction. And to Karin Kallmaker at Bella, for her endless encouragement and support.

I’d like to dedicate this book to my Aunt Jean who just adores a good ghost story. And for dearest Chris, who doesn’t adore them at all, but bravely read several versions of this manuscript anyway.

Nat Burns’ job titles have included:

-Staff reporter (three VPA Awards)

-Media coordinator (tourism writer)

-Technical support (for a software company)

-Editorial systems coordinator (for a Washington DC publishing firm)

-Teacher and support staff (in local school systems)

-Board member (of Literacy Volunteers of America, Nelson County Education Foundation, Golden Crown Literary Society and the Small Press Writers and Artists Organization)

-Novelist and editor.

Currently she lives in New Mexico, writing and editing full time.
www.natburns.com
.

As soon as I laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one meant for me. And it wasn’t just a physical thing, although she was
fine,
if you know what I mean. No
,
it was something about her aura. Yeah, aura. I know,
I know.
Angie June is not usually guilty of using the gift that way. I try mighty hard to fit in and turn a blind eye to all that extra occult info I pick up. And for the record, all those allegations of weirdness, dancing naked in the moonlight and all, are false. Most were spread by my ex, Cathy. She just loves gossip and will make it up if what’s already going around isn’t quite juicy enough.

So what I saw when I looked close was the peaceful sadness of the woman’s aura. It drew me. She had a certain fragility that made me want to pull her close and protect her, like my kids at the center. Not helpless, though. No, not helpless. There was a power huddling inside her that intrigued me and made me curious.

The woman had taken a seat at the table just inside the door. That alone let me know she was a newcomer. Out-of-towners always sat from the door inward while the locals fanned out from the bar in the front. I wasn’t sure why visitors were so apprehensive. Perhaps they wanted a quick escape if they hated Mama’s food. Or wanted to run out on the bill. That had happened before.

Besides, she had to be new to the area. I would have remembered her if she’d been here before. Delicate and slender, she had an amazingly beautiful face, dynamic enough to be a model. I could just imagine her in some big-name magazine, modeling the latest trends in makeup and fashion. Her blond hair hung just past her shoulders and had the kind of metallic sleekness that always fascinated me. How did some women get their hair to lie so smoothly, so perfectly? My short, choppy hair never behaved. I did have the sun and wind to contend with, but even so, I dreamed of having glossy, well-behaved hair.

 I fingered my abused locks absently as I hid behind the swinging kitchen doors peering through one of the small, octagonal windows set into each door. I’d retreated there after spying her from behind the bar. I wanted to watch her without being seen, but I knew that as soon as an order came through, I’d be busted. Still, I watched her, completely captivated.

The beautiful woman also dressed like a model. In an area where baggy cargo shorts and T-shirts were considered the norm, she wore a thin, jade-green mock turtleneck, sleeveless, over tight jeans which flared out gracefully over strappy heels.

Heels? I practically salivated. No one wore heels in Port Isabel except the Mexican girls who loved to dress up. Even the Winter Texans considered themselves here on vacation and wore sandals or bright white athletic shoes. No, she had to be visiting for the day, maybe a saleswoman from some big city north of here. Houston, San Antonio, or maybe even Dallas. I tried to place her vocation. Real estate? That was the big mover and shaker around here. I watched for clues as she tilted her head over the menu.

Sudden embarrassment flooded me. Why hadn’t we upgraded those menus last month when we’d talked about it? Most of them were pretty shabby. I chewed my thumbnail. Well, at least the food here was some of the best in Port Isabel and, many said, even South Padre Island.

I sighed while I studied her. If she lived far away, how would we manage to become a couple? Weird how I just knew things, even when they were as impractical as all get out.

The mental images persisted. I saw us together, my head buried in the curve of her neck and her slender arms around me. I gazed deep into her eyes and ran my hands along that tender area on each side of her ribcage, just below the bra line, until she shivered uncontrollably. She turned her sweet face up to me and I...

“Move it, lardass,” Hasty growled as he pushed past me, a fragrant basket of bread in one hand and a bowl of roasted garlic and olive oil in the other.

I had a sudden urge to shove my foot into the opposite door’s path so it would slap him in the face. The thought of Mama’s certain wrath stopped me. Instead, I stuck my tongue out at his oiled Latin ducktail as he retreated.

I took one more glance at the woman, stilling the door so I could see through the small window. Hasty stood above her. He’d turned on the charm. I saw her precious, dimpled smile when she looked up at him with wide eyes. Damn! She was probably straight. Just my luck. Reluctantly, I turned away and moved into the kitchen. Mama, bless her hardworking heart, stood at the deep double sinks rinsing off her favorite mixing bowl.

“Are you out of dough already? We just started on lunch,” I said, fishing a slice of green pepper out of the
sous
bins behind the composition line.

Mama looked at me and smiled, a brilliant smile that radiated the happiness of one of the happiest people I knew. “Nope, just gettin’ ready. Can you take a pizza over to Melvin? He called and says he’s starvin’ ’cause the only thing available at the show is popcorn and flatbread, and he ain’t goin’ for it.”

“Sure. Hey, Mama, I found someone finally and she is the perfect one for me,” I said, absently twirling the flat oven board on the stainless steel countertop. I jumped when Mama’s dough bowl hit the sink. She stared at me with huge, glistening brown eyes. I smiled uncertainly.

“Oh, my God,” Mama sighed, laying a hand on her ample chest. “Who is she, baby? I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone. We gotta have a party. I’ll call Sanchez and she can round up the girls. This is so exciting...” She paused expectantly.

My mother, Maylie Lynn June, who grew up in the bosom of the Louisiana bayou, was big in body and big in spirit, and probably one of the sweetest people imaginable. Until she was riled, of course. But she usually radiated total acceptance and love, thank my lucky stars. As far as I was concerned, just having a child with my special abilities and raising me all alone made her a saint in my eyes.

She also knew everything there was to know about food and had years of successful restauranteering to back up what I, and a good portion of The Point, believed as fact. There was no one, and I repeat, no one, who put more care into producing good Italian fare than my mama.

“Hold up, Mama. She doesn’t know yet,” I said, putting out a warning hand.

Mama frowned and turned back to the sink to rescue her oversized stainless steel bowl. “Get on with your foolishness, Angie. I am not in the mood.” A low chuckle let me know she wasn’t seriously miffed.

“No lie, Mama. You gotta come see her.”

I took Mama by the upper arm and practically dragged her through the swinging tavern doors and into the area behind the bar. I tried to make out like I was polishing the bar while nodding my head meaningfully in the woman’s direction. Mama took the hint and moved some highball glasses around under the counter. Her eyes were fixed on the woman, who looked out the window with her elbow resting on the table and her chin cupped in her palm.

Mama turned wide eyes to me and silently mouthed, “She’s pretty.”

I nodded and hustled Mama back into the kitchen, scaring the life out of Gail, who was putting together Melvin’s pizza. Hasty, getting a salad out of the walk-in fridge, frowned at us. Mama slapped my hands away and stood with her hands on her hips, breathing heavily and glaring at me.

“Did you see it, all around her?” I asked nervously.

“Now, Angie, you know I don’t see that stuff like you do. Who is she, though, can you tell?” Mama walked around the buffer over to the kitchen doors. She peered curiously through one of the little windows, much as I had earlier. I was close on her heels.

Hasty poked his head around the buffer. “We need another breakfast pizza, Maylie. Bacon.” His glance roved across me and dismissed me outright.

“I really hate him,” I said after he walked away. I took Mama’s hands in mine. “Listen, I need to touch something. Go get her glass, straw and all,” I told her.

She looked at me as if I’d gone daft. “Now, Angie, explain to me what I’m going to tell that paying customer when I go and take her drink away from her.”