What's a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery (13 page)

I can now breathe that sigh of relief. I knock Collins down the suspect list to the bottom. If she wanted the post, she’d jump at the chance for me to name her. That’s a load off. One down, three to go.

I settle into my seat with a smile to enjoy a few moments of peace. I love this swing. I’d never leave it if I could. I’ve spent hours out here reading and watching people go by as a gentle breeze blew. I catch the faint whiff of honeysuckle. Wish I could stay here and pass out, but it is not to be. Cleaning up is next on the agenda. I’m about to push my tired carcass upright when Adam and Cheyenne walk out, he with his hands in his pockets and she brushing against him more than necessary. “So … just think about it, huh? We usually get there around ten and get fun around eleven,” Cheyenne says.

“I will definitely think about it,” Adam says with a huge grin.

“Don’t make me wait,” she says in sing-song. She steps off the porch. “See you tonight!”

“Maybe,” he says.

While still walking she turns around, backing toward her car. “Definitely.”

I roll my eyes and rise, walking past him with a hard glare. The bridal party and Auntie Sara are just leaving, and I kiss my sister goodbye. And then there were four. I guess I’ll work on the kitchen so I can make dinner, oh joy and bliss. The table and counters are covered with herbs and used tissues from all the sneezing. Yuck. I just finish with the counter when Adam walks in. The kitchen is small so it’s hard to ignore him, but I do my damndest. He glances at me before opening the fridge, pulling out a huge package of hamburger. “I’m going to make spaghetti and meat sauce,” he says. “Do you have any oregano?”

“You don’t have to make dinner, you’ve done enough,” I say shortly.

He drops the meat on the counter right next to me. “Fine.” The werewolf stalks outside to the backyard, and a few seconds later that saw starts again. Okay, is
he
pissed at
me
?
I’m not the one planning on necking with a psychopath. Whatever. He should just be glad he’s a werewolf so he can’t catch anything from her. I’ll bet Typhoid Mary had nothing on that hoochie.

I find the rest of the dinner ingredients and get to work. Since I spend most of my day cooking up potions and charms, by the end of the day the last thing I want to do is more of that. I only cook a few times a week, and before the girls came I was just a master microwaver. I turn on the news and pour myself a glass of wine as I cook. Murder and rape are rampant per the TV. Wonder if I’ll end up as a top story. If they use my driver’s license photo, I’ll die a second time. I switch the station to
The Big Bang Theory.
When I’m done with dinner, that’s it. I’m sending the girls off to bath and bed, climbing into mine, and passing out.

Just as the water begins to boil, Sophie and Cora stroll in, their faces and hands covered in varnish. Without protest they go upstairs to shower. I tidy up the living and dining rooms, sighing the whole time. Collins is right about me. I have no life. I work, I clean up after people, and I sleep. Even if by some miracle I get a life, I’ll be too exhausted to live it. Whoever wants my job must be out of their mind. Or a
mo-ron
.

I set the table and dish out dinner. There was too much meat, so I also fry up two burgers for Adam. Just because I’m a little disappointed in him doesn’t mean I should be rude. He’s deep in thought, glaring at the wood he’s cutting as if it owes him money, when I poke my head out. “Dinner,” I shout.

He looks up at me, still scowling. “Thank you.”

The girls are still showering, so soon it’s just him and me at the small table. I sip my wine and keep my eyes on the TV, picking at my food. He eats with gusto, no doubt gathering fuel for tonight’s physical exertion. “This is very good.”

“Uh huh,” I say. “What did Cheyenne say?”

“Nothing pertinent.”

“What’s your impression of her?”

“Um … uninhibited,” he says with a chuckle.

“Did you get around to talking about me?”

“A little.”

Freaking blood from a stone. “Well, try and remember the mission when you’re dirty dancing with her tonight. Just my life on the line, is all.”

He sits back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Why are you mad at me? I told you I’m gaining her trust. Nothing more.”

“Just don’t whore yourself out on my account, okay?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Would it bother you if I did?”

I open my mouth to protest, but shut it. I smile instead, and say, “I don’t give a damn who you sleep with, that’s your business. Just don’t use me as an excuse. That’s all I’m asking.”

Thank the good goddess the girls chose now to walk in. They sit and we adults smile as if everything is hunky dory. The rest of dinner is spent chatting about their day. They especially loved the hardware store. I doubt they’ve ever been inside one, judging by how awed they sound talking about it. I miss the days when plumbing supplies brought excitement. To be young again.

The doorbell rings just as we finish eating. Adam and I exchange a concerned glance before we both stand to answer it. “Stay here,” I tell the girls. Adam beats me there. He hangs by the stairs, but as I walk closer, I hear the sound of two children arguing on the other side of the door, and don’t even need to ask who it is. Tamara and her fifteen-year-old son Shawn and ten-year-old daughter Piper, in her white karate outfit, stand on the other side when I open it. My godchildren resemble their father, DeShawn, tall and good looking with light brown skin and black hair. Even in this day and age, it was a minor scandal when Tamara married an African American. He was a wonderful man, just a lousy husband. He cheated on her with at least three women, though she gave as good as she got. She married husband number two a week after the divorce. That one lasted a year. Lonnie is number three.

“Hey, guys,” I say.

The trio walk inside, and Tamara kisses my cheek. “Hey, girl.” She locks eyes on Adam, and her eyes expand to alien proportions. “Um,
hello.”

“Tamara, this is Adam.”

Adam extends his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“The feeling is definitely mutual.”

Jeez Louise, I’m gonna have to start handing out drool buckets at this rate. “Hey, there’s spaghetti on the stove. Help yourselves,” I say to the kids. “Tamara? Wine?”

“Read my mind,” Tamara says. After we get the kids situated, Tamara and I pour our wine and retreat onto the porch swing, where we’ve spent many a night talking. The evening is crisp but not cold; in other words, lovely. “You didn’t tell me he was so cute.”

“If you like that type.”

“What? Handsome and chivalrous? You gone lesbian on me?”

I sip my wine. “I have other things on my mind, Tam.”

“Fine. You’re uncomfortable talking about it, big surprise. So fill me in on the rest.”

We spend about fifteen minutes talking about my investigation. About halfway through, that frigging band saw starts again. “You hear anything yet?” I ask over the noise.

“I tried talking to Cheyenne, but she was less than receptive.”

“Well, maybe Adam will have more luck tonight. They have a date.”

Tamara wrinkles her nose. “What? Is he insane?”

“I guess,” I say with another swig. “He is a man after all. Well, most of the time.”

Tamara’s eyes narrow. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“What? No! Stop looking for romance everywhere. This isn’t a Jane Austen novel.”

“Uh huh,” she says.

“Besides, a girl shouldn’t date two men at once. It’s unladylike.”

“Shut up!” She smiles from cheek to cheek. “The doctor asked you out?”

“Sort of. He sent me roses and told me to attend the auction on Wednesday.”

“Oh my God! That is so romantic! Are you going? You
have
to go.”

“Signed up today, goddess help me. I mean, I’m not insane in thinking he’s into me, am I? Because Adam suggested he might be part of the plot to kill me.”

“Well, then Adam’s an idiot. He must be if he’s going out with Cheyenne.”

“He’s only doing it to get information out of her,” I concede.

Tamara shakes her head. “Who cares? You’ve landed yourself a gorgeous—”

“Mona Leigh!” Auntie Sara shouts, mad as a March hare, from her side window. “Will you please tell your guest to stop that horrible racket? I am trying to watch the news!”

“Yes, Auntie Sara,” I say. “Come on. Let’s go check on the kids.” Sophie, Cora, and Piper are all watching
iCarly
in the living room, stuffing their faces with contraband Twinkies. The kitchen is empty except for a clean table and running dishwasher. Huh. I could get used to having such a houseguest. My excellent lodger and Shawn are in the backyard, the teenager having a blast with the saw, judging by his smile. “We had a noise complaint,” I shout. Shawn shuts off the saw.

“Sara?” Adam asks.

“Who else?”

“What are you guys working on here?” Tamara asks.

“We’re making shelves for Miss Mona’s store,” Shawn says.

“You’re fixing up the store?” Tamara asks Adam.

“Just putting up new shelves,” Adam says.

“That’s nice of you,” Tamara says. “Aren’t you just a fine, upstanding gentleman.”

Like every other female today, she devours him, giving him a full-body scan with a glint in her eyes. He gives her a humble smile as I suppress an eye roll. This is getting more than a little annoying. The guy’s not a model or anything, for goddess’s sake, but there is that tool belt …

“Hey, I gotta get the girls ready for bed,” I say, maintaining my calm. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh, right,” Tamara says. “We better boogie. School night and all. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Adam says.

Tamara takes my arm and drags me inside. “I want one,” she whispers as we walk. “Can I borrow yours for the night?”

“Um, he can hear you,” I say. “Werewolf, remember?”

“What?” We turn around and see Adam give a little wave. Tamara chuckles nervously. “Kidding.”

“I charge by the hour,” Adam calls. “Plus tips.”

“And I am more than sure you are worth every penny,” Tamara says.

“Gross, Mom,” Shawn says. I second that.

I escort them out of the house to Tamara’s Malibu. Her kids, who haven’t stopped bickering since they could talk, squabble as they get into the car. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Tamara says, moving to the trunk. She pops it open and pulls out a pump action shotgun and cartridges. “Lonnie said you can keep this as long as you need it.”

“I don’t want that thing,” I say.

She thrusts it into my arms. “Tough. Put it under your bed for when Mr. Fix-It isn’t in there.”

“What? He’s not coming anywhere near my bed,” I whisper.

“Oh, Mona, what am I going to do with you?” She kisses my cheek. “Have a nice, cozy night with the hunk sworn to protect your body.”

“Bye, Tam,” I say with a little wave.

The car pulls away as I slowly stroll back to the house. Why is it that everyone assumes when a man and a woman inhabit the same space for a period of time they’ll fall into bed with one another? I’ve known Adam for eighteen damn years; if he had any designs on me, he would have acted on them by now. Or at least given me a damn sign. Instead he went out of his way to avoid me until now. I recall at least three instances off the top of my head where he saw me approaching his group and walked away. If I’m honest, it kind of hurt my feelings. I wasn’t even worth a stupid conversation to him. Which makes this whole thing so strange. There is something that I am not seeing. Why—

My train of thought is derailed when a silver Lexus parks right in front of my house. My breath catches when the driver gets out.

Guy Sutcliffe. Here. At my house. Looking edible in a white dress shirt with the sleeves pushed up and black slacks. “Hi,” he says as his eyes narrow. “Um … ”

I follow his gaze to the shotgun slung over my shoulder. Oh goddess. “Oh,” I say with a chuckle, “I was just taking my shotgun for a walk. It gets fussy if I don’t.”

“Oh,” he says, shutting the car door. “Wait, what?”

“I’m joking. It was a joke? Apparently a bad one.”

“No, right,” he says. “Sorry. I’m a little slow today. Twelve-hour shift.”

And he came here! I suppress my giddy jumping. “Well, would you like to come in for some tea? Might perk you up.”

“I’d love some tea,” he says, walking up to the house. He follows me inside, both of us glancing at the other and awkwardly smiling. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by like this. It was on my way home.”

“No, I’m just surprised you knew where I lived.”

“I, uh, got the address off Cora’s chart.”

The girls are still in front of the TV when we step in. I don’t want them to see the shotgun. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

I take the steps two at a time and sprint into my bedroom. He’s in my house. The man of my dreams is in my house! I jump up and down squealing for a few seconds before regaining my composure. I stash the gun into my closet with the cartridges going in my dresser. With that done, I rush into the bathroom to brush my hair, add lipstick, and gargle with mouthwash just in case. Of kissing!

When I swan back downstairs, Guy is wedged between the girls on the couch examining Cora’s hand. “Are you keeping it dry?” he asks.

“I hold it up in the bath like this,” she says, demonstrating.

“Excellent,” he says.

“Girls, don’t bother the doctor,” I say. “He’s had a long day.” I grin at him. “Come on. Let’s get you that tea.” Guy follows me into the kitchen. Thank the goddess Adam isn’t in the backyard anymore. “Hot or cold, sweet or unsweetened?”

“Sweetened iced, if you have it.”

I pull out a pitcher of just that. “Dr. Sutcliffe, you are south of the Mason-Dixon. I dare you to find a home without cold sweet tea in the fridge.”

“Well, I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he says, trying to copy my accent.