Tuesday Tales: From the Word STICKY

As unbelievable as it sounds, welcome to November. For those asking, my husband is slowly recovering from his surgery. The big issue now is how long it will take me to recover from it.

This week, our Tuesday Tales word prompt is STICKY. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice.

While there’d been fifty people on the tours, she’d also served twenty regulars who’d each had a couple of drinks and had sold ten bottles of elixir, most of them tonics designed to maintain good health, half a dozen pumpkin spice candle jars, and a dozen bars of soap.

Calliope had dropped in a couple of times, almost as if the cat were keeping tabs on her, which was ridiculous since there was no way a cat could do the work of a buff bouncer if she’d needed one, but the animal had gone out with the last patron. Unfortunately, neither Peanut nor Hester had shown up all evening. While the cat could probably manage on his own, the bird was a different matter.

Now, other than the music playing softly in the background, the bar was quiet. After her initial trepidation and momentary lapse of sanity when she’d arrived, imagining she’d heard Hester’s voice again, everything had gone well. Noticing a smell while she’d gotten things ready, a stench she associated with the water at low tide, not one unfamiliar to her or the area, Anca had lit the pumpkin spice jar candles that served as centerpieces on each of the bar’s fifteen tables. Then, she’d slipped back into Taproom hostess mode as if she’d never left, preferring the intimate nature of what was really a neighborhood bar to the madness of The Gilded Griffon. It had been like having friends around, and she’d loved it.

As she wiped down a particularly sticky spot on the bar, she reviewed the events of the evening. There was no way to describe her relief at seeing Aunt Selma alert and on the mend, if only for a few seconds, and the momentary thrill of being in Walt’s arms, a sensation she hoped to feel again sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, there had been some unsettling elements, too—the open door she’d locked earlier, the missing bird, and Elise Melrose. How long would it be before she could ask Aunt Selma about the trouble and Russell, her brother and Anca’s grandfather. How she would love to see a picture of him, but Aunt Selma had told her years ago that all photographs had been destroyed. She’d never explained how.

She couldn’t get over how chatty Colby had been. Maybe she could enlist him in a search for Hester. The bird had to be inside the cottage.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales