What Not to Wear to a Graveyard. Debra Sennefelder

many times do I have to tell you I’m not selling? When are you going to get through your thick skull?”

      “Listen here, missy. Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m trying to look out for you. You’re my niece. We’re family.”

      “Then try respecting my wishes.”

      “When you start making smart decisions.”

      Kelly huffed. “We’re done.” She opened the car door and slid in behind the steering wheel.

      “You’ll regret this!”

      She gave a dismissive wave as she backed out of the parking space. Viewing her uncle in her rear-view mirror was a relief.

      Kelly waited for a break in traffic on Main Street before pulling out of the parking lot. Quaint inns and cozy shops lined the town’s hub, and each was decked out for Halloween. She turned on the radio, cranked up the tunes and let her mind wander to thoughts about the upcoming Halloween party.

      The 70s theme sounded like a lot of fun. Maybe she could go as a flower child. Her thoughts of dressing up faded away as she turned off of Main Street. She slowed down as she traveled along a residential street where the homes were decorated for the season.

      One house’s stone wall was topped with evenly spaced pumpkins. A simple yet festive welcome. Another house displayed a life-sized creepy scarecrow with bales of hay and pumpkins. A nod to the eeriness of the season. A house farther up had its front lawn scattered with inflatable witches and vampires and spider web netting draped the trees.

      Then the house on the corner caught Kelly’s attention. The three-story Victorian house had an overabundance of mums cascading down the white porch steps.

      It was breathtaking.

      A car honking behind her dragged Kelly’s gaze from the house back to the road. She gave an apologetic smile to the rear-view mirror, doubtful the other driver would see it, and pressed down on the gas pedal. She continued following the directions from the GPS and headed toward Colonial Cemetery where her luck seemed to have turned around.

      Following the navigation system, Kelly turned onto Wind Mill Road, which was one road over from the cemetery. A few feet ahead, she came upon the old farmhouse.

      She dug in her tote for the house’s key. Out of the Jeep, she took a sweeping glance at the surrounding property.

      There was overgrowth, and the lot needed a raking. She crunched her way along the crumbling brick path toward the plain front door. The clapboard siding was peeling and its dark red paint was chipping. The black shutters dangled; a strong gust of wind would rip them off the house. And cobwebs, not the decorative kind, were woven in the windows.

      Yeah, the old farmhouse was all ready for Halloween.

      Kelly unlocked the door. When she entered, her nose wrinkled at the musty odor that hung in the air. She peered into the sparsely furnished living room. Bare walls and the lack of any architectural detail in the woodwork made the room sad looking.

      She crossed the hallway and peeked into the dining room, as uninspiring as the other room except for a card table and two chairs. She raised an eyebrow at the empty beer bottles and crumpled napkins. She resisted the urge to dispose of them by reminding herself she wasn’t there to clean house. She was there to find inventory for her boutique. Though, based on what she found so far, she was doubtful there was anything worth taking back.

      She pivoted and returned to the hall. She climbed the staircase to the second floor and found the master bedroom, or at least she thought she did. It was the largest room up there, but it didn’t have a connected bath or walk-in closet. Two small closets framed a tall chest of drawers.

      Kelly pulled open one closet and found it crammed with women’s clothing.

      Feeling more hopeful, she began pulling each item out. One by one, as she tossed them onto the bed, her hopefulness faded. Each dress, each blouse, and skirt was clean, basic and simple. And clothes her granny would have taken for the boutique with no hesitation. She dropped onto the bed and ran a hand over a floral dress. It was a perfectly fine garment, but it didn’t fit the direction in which she was taking the Lucky Cove Resale Boutique.

      Was she wasting her time? Probably. But since she was there, she continued.

      Closet number two wasn’t as jammed pack as its twin, but it had something closet number one didn’t have. Something she could sell. She reached in and pulled out the dress. Her eyes widened with excitement. She stretched out her arm so she could get a good look at the caftan.

      It was velvet with rippled stripes in earth tones.

      She glimpsed the label.

      An iconic 1970s designer made it.

      It was a vintage piece.

      She glanced upward and said a silent thank you before draping the caftan on the bed and continued to look through the closet. On another hanger, she found a headscarf that coordinated with the caftan. A vision flashed in her head as to how she could style the items in the boutique.

      Add some costume jewelry with a similar vibe, and she’d have a striking display that could fetch top dollar for both items.

      Thirty minutes later, Kelly had a stack of clothing to take back to the boutique.

      Re-energized, she tackled the chest of drawers in search of fashion jewelry and accessories.

      Her hunt led to cocktail rings, bangle bracelets, and chunky necklaces. She tucked the jewelry into her tote and scooped up the garments. She descended the staircase with her arms full of clothing and her mind racing with display ideas. Just before she opened the front door, she decided to do a little snooping and check out the kitchen. Was it as vintage as the caftan? Would there be avocado green appliances?

      She turned into the dining room, and walked to the swinging door, painted the same bland shade of beige as the walls. She pushed the door and stepped into the kitchen.