Shiloh (Wishes #6)

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  I must’ve looked confused because Shiloh’s explanation came at warp speed. “Melito lent me an iron.” She pressed something, making it shoot a puff of steam into the air. “I needed to sort my work clothes out.”

  None of the shirts hanging on the curtain rail above the window remotely resembled Jorge Creek uniforms. I picked up the hem of a perfectly pressed T-shirt and shot her a quizzical look. “You ironed my clothes too?”

  She suddenly looked worried. “I’ve overstepped the line, haven’t I?”

  “You sleep in my bed.” I shot her a grin. “I think the line blurred days ago.”

  Shiloh motioned at a shirt with an outstretched arm. “Want me to mess them up again?”

  I shook my head. “No, don’t take it out on the defenceless shirts. Channel your frustrations elsewhere.”

  “I have no frustrations, Mitchell,” she replied, putting her hand to her heart. “I am Zen personified.”

  That was a lie. Even on her best day, Shiloh Jenson was wound tighter than a drum.

  “You’re the most uptight person I’ve ever met,” I accused. “Even when you’re asleep.” I stiffened, doing my best impression of a rigid sleeping Shiloh.

  “Do I really look like that?” The look that crossed her face was one of sheer horror.

  “Absolutely.” I laughed. “But I like it.”

  I might’ve even loved it, but that remained to be seen.

  Shiloh bunched up a shirt and waved it at me. “You can iron your own bloody shirts from now on,” she snapped. “Ingrate.”

  “Here.” Still chuckling, I thrust Louis’ parcel at her. “I brought you something.”

  “A present?” Her brown eyes widened. “You bought me a present?”

  I felt ridiculous explaining so I stuck to the basics. “No,” I replied. “It’s from Louis Osei. A welcome gift, apparently.”

  Her excitement quickly gave way to a frown as she studied the poorly wrapped present. “What do you think he wants from me?”

  I spoke without thinking, which was a mistake. I told the truth. “I think he wants the opportunity to welcome you to town properly.”

  Poor Shiloh looked horrified. “And you’re okay with that?” she gasped. “You’re doing Louis’ bidding now?”

  I was appalled, mainly with myself. I ripped the package from her grasp and tossed it onto a nearby beanbag. “I wouldn’t do a bloody thing for Louis Osei.”

  Prettiest Goat Herder

  SHILOH

  I wanted to tell Mitchell that I didn’t give a damn about receiving a try-hard present from Louis, but I didn’t. I stuck to the script and continued pretending to feel terrorised by the unwanted attention.

  Mitchell grabbed a beer from the fridge and retreated to the front deck. I should’ve left him alone and given him space, but I couldn’t. I needed more information. I followed him outside into the warm night air, taking a few seconds at the door to glance around. I couldn’t see a thing beyond the edge of the porch light, but there was no mistaking where we were. The Atlantic Ocean was so close I could taste the salt in the air.

  Three waves crashed to shore before I managed to find my voice. “Are you upset with me?”

  “Just leave it, Shiloh.” Mitchell threw back his head and took a long sip of beer. “It’s been a long day.”

  I pulled up a chair and sat beside him. “I’m just confused,” I mumbled after a long pause. “You told me to steer clear of Louis and now you’re passing on gifts from him.”

  Mitchell let out a low, pissed off groan. “You have no idea how this place works.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  “Kaimte is not all sand and sun.” He stretched out in the deckchair, folded his arms and crossed his feet. “There are some bad people in this town.”

  My restive alter ego kicked in and asked a nervous question. “Louis is bad?”

  He grimaced as I said his name, but an explanation followed. “The only way to get goods in is by sea or by air,” he told me. “I buy stock for the Crown and Pav from a distributor in South Africa. It’s shipped up here by sea.”

  I didn’t need to hear another word to know how the story ended but kept my eyes fixed on his as he laid out the whole sorry tale. As expected, Tweedledum was holding his shipment to ransom.

  “The quickest solution was to meet his demands,” he muttered, sounding royally pissed off.

  “You paid him?” I choked out the question, unable to suppress my disappointment, which wasn’t a fair reaction.

  “Never,” he scoffed. “I went with option two and agreed to deliver his parcel to you. The imaginary debt was quashed and the Crown and Pav lives to trade for another week.”

  Trying to keep his business afloat with obstacles like Louis Osei must’ve been exhausting. I couldn’t fathom why he was so intent on sticking it out. “Why do you do it?” My voice was barely there.

  Mitchell flashed me a weary smile. “Because he doesn’t always win, Shiloh,” he replied. “Sometimes I am the spider, and sometimes I am the fly.”

  Tonight he was the fly, and there was nothing I could do about it. My focus was on Louis’ suspected involvement in the illegal diamond trade. Corruption at the port wasn’t an AFP problem. Therefore, much as it pained me, it wasn’t my problem either.

  “I opened the parcel,” I confessed.

  “I knew you would,” he replied with a chuckle. “What was in it?”

  “I’m not sure, but it needs ironing.” I shrugged. “I’ll show you.”

  I wandered inside, returning with the mystery gift. I draped the length of flowy batik cloth over his shoulder as I passed.

  “It’s called a mulafa,” said Mitchell bunching it up in his hand. “Some of the local women wear them.”

  I flopped back onto the deck chair. “Like a sarong?”

  Mitchell leaned across and dropped it on my lap. “It’s worn a little differently.”

  More intrigued than I expected to be, I stood up and wrapped the brightly patterned fabric around my body, securing it with a tuck at my waist. “Like this?” I asked, showing it off with a swing of my hips.

  “No.” Mitchell laughed, a dark low sound that always made me smile. “Not quite.” He stood and took it from me. “It’s worn much more conservatively here.” A cool waft of air drifted over me as he fanned the fabric over my shoulders. “We’re in Africa, not Bali.”

  “You’re very well travelled, aren’t you?”

  His blue eyes locked mine – so intently that I couldn’t look away.

  “Yes,” he quietly replied. “Are you?”

  It was the first time he’d ever asked me a direct question about my past, and having to answer with a lie chipped at my heart. “No,” I mumbled. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

  Still keeping his eyes on mine, he tucked one end of the fabric underneath my right arm. “Well, Kaimte is a good place to start.”

  “You just got through telling me how this place is overrun with bad guys,” I reminded him.

  He half-smiled. “Like I told you, keep the eye on the prize.”

  I was almost certain that under different circumstances, my prize would’ve been him. Nabbing diamond thieves and living on the beach was only ever going to be the consolation prize – and it was a dangerous line of thinking that I needed to get out of my head, for both our sakes.

  Mitchell draped the remaining fabric over my head and across my shoulder. “It’s not perfect,” he said, tucking my hair under the cloth. “But you get the gist.”

  I dropped my head and fussed with the fabric. “It’s not sexy, is it?” I asked, making him laugh. “I feel like a goat herder.”

  “Prettiest goat herder I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled.

  My cheeks flushed with heat that I hoped he couldn’t see. “I bet you say that to all the herders.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed with a smile. “But you’re the only one I sleep with.”

  Fat Cat Rules

  MITCHELL

  I have two sis
ters, one of whom is my twin. They’re messy, complicated and whiny, and living with them scarred me for life.

  Shacking up with Shiloh was nowhere near as damaging. She was far from messy; if anything, she was a neat freak. For the first time since Charli left there was a fruit bowl in the kitchen – and it actually had fruit in it. Towels hung neatly in the bathroom, the curtains were open during the day and a faint whiff of perfume constantly hung in the air.

  I could’ve done without some of her quirks, but those were the ones that made me wish she’d reconsider her decision to join the fat cats on the hill in company housing.

  In the three weeks since she arrived, I’d never once brought up the subject of her moving out. In time, I hoped, she’d forget about it. As far as I was concerned, my arguments for keeping her around were solid – I liked her, and she smelled good.

  My neighbours were also of the opinion that it should be a permanent arrangement, and they’d obviously put some thought into how to make that happen. Vincent and Melito were on their veranda when I returned from my morning surf, lying in wait to ambush me with misguided words of wisdom.

  “You should be wooing Shiloh,” called Vincent out of the blue. “Make her happy and you’ll be happy.”

  I slung my wetsuit over the railing and grabbed the garden hose to rinse it off. “I am happy,” I insisted.

  “You need a good woman,” Melito argued. “No man is an island.”

  I frowned at them. “What does that even mean?”

  The blank looks on their faces led me to think they had no idea either. Vincent quickly moved on. “Eros is the Greek god of love,” he said. “Matchmaking is in our blood.”

  Despite the fact that it was nine in the morning, ouzo was also in their blood, which meant there was no reasoning with them. I made them both promise to stay out of my non-existent love life and followed up with a not-so menacing wave of the trickling garden hose. “I don’t need drama.”

  I’d spent my whole life avoiding it, and after twenty-seven years I almost had the skill mastered.

  “All women are drama,” complained Melito. “It’s part of their charm.”

  Shiloh had plenty of charm, and I wasn’t immune to it. She’d rocked up on my doorstep with a wicked sense of humour, legs that went on for days, and no aversion to killing spiders. I liked her. Common sense told me there was no need to ruin that by falling in love with her.

  ***

  The Crown and Pav usually did a roaring trade on Fridays. On nights when I was feeling brave enough, I’d call on Mimi to help out behind the bar.

  “It should be double pay tonight, Mitchell.” That was her greeting as she stormed through the side door. “I have extra cleansing to do.”

  Mimi wasn’t talking about washing glasses and dusting shelves. Her cleansing routine involved burning sage and any other weird acts of hocus pocus she deemed necessary to keep demons out of my pub. I’d been roped into being her assistant enough times to know that if I didn’t make a quick retreat, I’d be stuck waving bunches of smoking sage through the air until opening time. “I’ll leave you to it,” I said, heading for the door.

  Setting up the outside tables was my plan, but I got distracted by the sunset. Dusk in Kaimte is spectacular. After long hot days, the bright sun sinks below the line of the ocean, casting an eerie yellow glow that lingers until darkness sets in. It’s pure magic, and I never got tired of seeing it.

  “Those umbrellas aren’t going to put themselves up you know, slacker.”

  I didn’t need to turn around. “Shiloh Jenson.” I breathed her name. “There’s no escaping you, is there?”

  “It’s Friday night,” she replied, sidling up beside me. “I figured the pub would be the place to be.”

  “You figured right.” I speared the last umbrella through the table. “Did you walk here?”

  “No,” she replied, pulling a face. “Glen dropped me off on the way home. I caught him at a weak moment.”

  “You wore that to work?” I looked her up and down. “Doesn’t looking like a girl break fat cat rules?”

  It was a fair question. Her work uniform was a hideous combination of tradie’s pants and steel capped boots. She glanced down and fanned out the bottom of her skirt. “I got changed at work.”

  It was a change that suited her. The blue dress was a huge improvement, and almost as distracting as the sunset, so I changed the subject. “I’m glad you’re here, actually.” I took her hand and began leading her to the bar. “I have something for you.”

  “No offence, Mitchell, but your presents usually suck.”

  I thought back to the mulafa debacle. “Not this one,” I assured her. “This one’s actually from me.”

  I had momentarily forgotten about the madwoman smoking out the joint with burning herbs when I ushered her through the door. Shiloh flapped her hand in a bid to clear the choking fog, which was a rookie mistake.

  “Never hurry the process,” barked Mimi from somewhere in the haze.

  “I’m sorry,” Shiloh apologised. “I didn’t know.”

  With a huff, Mimi brushed past and tossed the burning posy onto the sand outside. “The candles will have to finish the job.”

  My eyes drifted to four candles lined along the bar. I wanted to chide her for dripping wax but thought better of it. “Are you nearly done?” I asked, remarkably calm. “We’re opening in a few minutes.”

  “You should be thanking me, dumb boy,” Mimi grumbled. “As long as those flames burn, you’re protected.”

  “Fine,” I yielded, throwing up my hands. “Just let us get past so we can get to the store room.”

  Mimi squashed herself against the bar, but it didn’t make much difference. A shipping container was never going to be big enough for three people. We squeezed past and headed for the tiny storeroom, leaving her muttering under her breath.

  “I don’t think she likes me,” whispered Shiloh.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “Mimi doesn’t like anybody.”

  Except Charli, I silently added.

  Charli had never had a problem taming Mimi. I suspect that was because they both lived on the same cosmic cloud. Mimi was devastated when she left, and never really recovered. In her eyes, no one would ever measure up to Charli Blake. Poor Shiloh never stood a chance.

  The tiny storeroom was a cluttered pile of boxes, but I found what I was looking for. I grabbed the bottle of red wine and handed it to Shiloh. She looked so genuinely excited by it that I thought she might cry. She turned the bottle, studying the label. “Tate Estate,” she read aloud. “You have your own wine?”

  My smile felt awkward. “My family own a vineyard in Tassie.”

  “Impressive.”

  “There’s nothing impressive about picking grapes.”

  She waved the bottle at me. “There is when they’re squashed into a bottle of Shiraz.”

  I directed my laugh at the floor. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it,” she clarified. “Thank you.”

  A weird moment of awkwardness set in, made doubly worse by the fact we were standing in the close confines of the storeroom. I motioned to the bottle in her hand. “Do you want a glass or a straw?”

  “I’m going to save it,” she replied. “It could be a while between drinks.”

  I didn’t confess that I had another half dozen bottles stashed away for a rainy day. “Let’s get out of here,” I suggested. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Mimi was standing at the open door when we walked out of the storeroom, graciously giving us space to escape the container without having to squeeze past. Shiloh went first, slowly heading for the door. Neither of us could’ve anticipated what was about to happen, or what Mimi’s reaction would be.

  One by one, the candles on the bar extinguished as Shiloh passed.

  I couldn’t explain why, but Mimi could – with wild eyes and wilder shrieks. It was like a horror movie. “Get out!” she screamed at her. “Heks! Heks! Heks!”
<
br />   Shiloh froze, probably due to a mix of terror and confusion. I pushed in front of her, putting a barrier between her and the raving woman. “Stop it, Mimi,” I demanded. “Right now.”

  “What’s going on?” Shiloh whispered the question to me, but her eyes never left Mimi.

  “You are a witch,” Mimi accused. “You will get nothing from us.”

  I turned to the wannabe witch hunter and ordered her outside. For once Mimi did as she was told, but the denigration continued. “Heks girl must go!” she yelled.

  Ignoring her as best I could, I turned back to Shiloh.

  “What does heks mean?” Her voice shook. “What does she think I’ve done?”

  Explaining it to her probably wasn’t a good idea but I did it anyway. “It’s Afrikaans,” I mumbled. “It means witch.”

  Shiloh’s eyes followed mine as I glanced at Mimi’s wax spook detectors on the bar. “The candles went out when you walked past them,” I explained. “It’s supposedly a sign that evil spirits are nearby.”

  Her eyes widened. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I know.” I gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  Expecting Mimi to keep her mouth shut was beyond ambitious. We stepped outside and the production began. Mimi picked up a handful of beach sand and threw it into the air, chanting to herself in Afrikaans.

  “Will you shut up?” I growled.

  “If you keep the witch girl around, she will be the death of you,” she warned. “No one escapes the devil alive.”

  I shook my head, incredulous. The woman couldn’t even get her story straight. “Is she the devil or a witch?” Shiloh’s grip on my hand tightened. “Make up your mind.”

  Mimi took a step forward, her eyes fixed on Shiloh. “She is all things evil,” she purred in a creepy voice. “And I won’t let her kill you.”

  Perhaps I should’ve thanked her. Instead I told her to get on with the job she was being paid to do and hold the fort until I got back.