Chapter 1

Cursed

“Ever been to Black Hand Holler?”

I shook my head.

“Know anything about it?”

“No.”

Mrs. Haley, the HR manager of Home Care Associates, stopped scribbling on her legal pad and really looked at me for the first time since I’d entered her office. She ran her finger down my application form. “Born and raised in Parkersburg, lived in West Virginia your entire life, but you’ve never heard of Black Hand Holler?”

“Correct.”

She stared at me a long moment then turned back to her notepad. “I contacted your previous employer. You left your last visiting homemaker job under a black cloud. Is there anything you’d like to say about that, Ms. Stewart?”

“There was a misunderstanding.”

“There always is.” Her chair creaked as she leaned back. “Under normal circumstances, your poor references would disqualify you from a position here.”

I wanted to point out that under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have applied for this lousy job. But I was behind on rent, getting dangerously low on beer money, and there weren’t gazillions of jobs for 50-year-old women with my so-called credentials.

“The government has slashed our reimbursement rates,” she said. “We need to attract new clients and Black Hand Holler is one of the areas we’re targeting. We’ve found our first two clients there but we’re looking for more. Many, many more. In addition to helping our current customers with chores and errands, we expect you to beat the bushes for new customers.”

So, this was a sales job that included toilet scrubbing. Fabulous.

“You’ll earn a very nice bonus for each client you bring in.”

Yeah, I bet.

“Your quota will be one new client per week. We’re not choosy. If they have private insurance, Medicaid, or Medicare, we’ll take them. We’ll give you a few days to get your feet wet, but attracting new clients is your main responsibility. It’s what you’ll be evaluated on. Understand?”

I nodded.

“There are plenty of elderly people around the holler and every one of them is a potential client. The downside is it’s a long drive. An hour each way on a two-lane highway through the mountains. It’s scenic but can be dicey in bad weather. Luckily, spring is just around the corner. Not too many more snowstorms to deal with. We reimburse for gas, but there’s no compensation for wear and tear on your vehicle or time on the road.”

I glanced at the dusty pot of dead ivy teetering on the corner of her desk. “I don’t mind driving.”

“Good.” She pulled another sheet of paper out of her folder. “The clients’ names are Clover and Raymond Haywood.”

“A married couple?”

“No. Brother and sister. They have their own places, though. According to the woman who referred them, Clover’s spacey and Raymond has a tendency to stir up trouble.”

She paused. I knew she wanted me to ask what kind of trouble, but I didn’t take the bait. Mrs. Haley struck me as the kind of person who enjoyed running others down. In fact, everyone at Home Care Associates seemed to be into pissing and moaning. Even the receptionist had scowled at me when I arrived for my appointment.

While I was waiting, I’d overheard some homemakers in the break room complaining about their worthless husbands, ungrateful children, in-laws, and neighbors. Above all, they loathed Home Care Associates’ elderly clients.

I got it. No one had ever accused me of being Susie Sunshine, but as difficult as old people could be, they usually weren’t to blame for their situations. A few admittedly did their level best to make things worse. There was no denying that. But I’d learned to cope by focusing all my workplace anger, disgust, and spite on my supervisor and co-workers. Much healthier in my opinion.

“Clover and Raymond live in what’s left of an old coal company town,” Mrs. Haley continued. “It’s isolated. No internet, cell phone reception, cable TV, anything like that. There’s a secondhand store with a few basics like bread and milk, but they charge an arm and a leg. If people need prescriptions, groceries, or other supplies, you’ll have to drive to Kirbyville. It’s about 15 miles from the holler.”

She took a gulp of coffee from her lipstick-stained mug. Although there was a full coffeepot and a leaning tower of Styrofoam cups on the credenza behind her, she didn’t offer me any.

“If you want to join our team, you’ll need to start immediately. The last person we sent to the holler quit after one day. Our clients haven’t been called on in more than a week. This could damage our reputation which would make attracting new customers more difficult.”

It was Tuesday and I’d assumed I’d have the rest of the week plus the weekend to prepare for re-entry into the world of Lemon Pledge, mindless chit chat, and Depends. “I, um, there a few things I need to take care of.”

She tapped her pen on the desk. “Well, I suppose we could delay your start until Thursday, but that’s as far as we can go.” She closed the folder that held my application and shoved it aside. “There are several other qualified candidates interested in this job.”

I didn’t believe that for one minute, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to challenge her.

“There’s one more thing you should know,” she said removing her reading glasses. “I’m not going to sugar coat this. People down there are backward, superstitious. They think the holler is cursed.”

“Cursed?”

 “Yes. You don’t believe in that sort of thing, do you?”

I folded my hands in my lap and carefully considered my response. Should I tell her that I sensed paranormal phenomena? Did I have an obligation to reveal that supernatural entities found me irresistible?

I sat up straight and looked her squarely in the eye. “I don’t believe in ghosts, premonitions, astrology, the healing power of crystals, or any of the rest of that woo-woo mumbo jumbo.” I threw in a fake laugh for emphasis. “I wouldn’t recognize a curse if I tripped over one.”

She smiled and nodded.

I smiled and nodded back. The fact of the matter was, if something weird was happening in Black Hand Holler, I was the ideal person for the job.