by Tegan Maher
Her green eyes lit with mischief. “He preened in front of the mirror for ten minutes this mornin’. Is it still busy out there?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “but everybody seems to be having a good time and there was still plenty of food left when I went back for my last plate.”
She nodded and wiped her brow on her forearm, displacing the blue bandana covering her hair. “Good. We’ve already gone through enough beans to power an orchestra and if I have to grate another pan of slaw, my arms are gonna drop off. Luckily, I think I’ve got enough done for today. I swear, this is the last time I’m doin’ this.”
I gave her a half-smile. “You said that last time.”
“Yeah,” she groused, “and I meant it, too. For the Fourth, I’ll hire somebody to do it so I can actually enjoy the competition and whatnot.”
I flicked my hand toward a large clear plastic tub sitting beside about five heads of cabbage. The grater floated over the tub and the cabbage rose to meet it, then began to grate itself.
Bobbie Sue grinned. “Damn, I miss havin’ you around here, girl! And not just because you do stuff like that.”
To be honest, sometimes I missed the days when I worked at the restaurant, too. Times had been hard, but in many ways, they’d been simpler. Or at least it was easy to remember it that way.
“Who’s working the booth this year?” I asked. They always set up their food truck at the carnival as sort of a way to make back a little of what they gave away for free over here.
“Louise hired a girl who works part-time as a secretary over at the construction office,” she said, waving a hand. “I didn’t meet her, but if Louise says she’s solid, that’s good enough for me.”
I smiled; that would never have flown two years ago. Becoming a mom had mellowed her. Or maybe it had just put things in perspective. Whatever the reason, I was glad to see her handing off some of the responsibility that she and Earl had shouldered alone for two decades.
“What all else is goin’ on?” she asked, giving the slaw a final couple stirs before slapping a lid on it.
In addition to the carnival, there were all sorts of spring-related activities. The ladies’ auxiliary always took over the community center to host an arts-and-crafts fair. The Chamber of Commerce took over the town square so that vendors could set up booths that featured everything from strawberry-pie-eating contests and face painting to a dunking booth that raised money for the Little League.
“Same old, same old,” I replied. “I did hear they added a bacon-eating contest. It’s goin’ on tomorrow, though.”
Bobbie Sue raised a brow. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Who’s hostin’ that? I guarantee it ain’t nobody from around here because any local’d know they’ll go bankrupt on it.”
She wasn’t wrong. Though most of the rest of the world had climbed onto the heart-healthy train at least a decade ago, most Southerners still considered bacon, biscuits, and any sort of gravy staple foods. A lot of us tried to eat well most of the time but hosting a bacon-eating contest in small-town Georgia was akin to dropping a few pieces of hamburger into a piranha tank. Somebody was gonna lose a finger for sure.
“I think it’s that pig farm over in Eagle Gap hostin’ it, but I’m not sure,” I said.
Earl grinned. “Well, whoever’s doin’ it better come armed for bear. That ain’t gonna be no joke. I might just have to take the time off to go watch that one myself. Find out for sure when it is and let me know.” His gaze turned to Bobbie Sue. “Whadaya think? You reckon this place can get by without us long enough for us to go watch? I hate to miss that level of carnage just so I can pull apart some brisket.”
Bobbie Sue’s face lit up. “I think the girls’ll manage. I wouldn’t mind seein’ it myself. You interested, Justin?”
His face lit up like the Fourth of July. “Am I interested? Shoot, I wanna enter!”
“Oh, no.” Bobbie Sue shook her head. “I am not cleanin’ up that mess once you come home with five pounds of bacon in your belly. You can watch with us, but that’s it. Find yourself a nice pie-eating contest.”
You could have blown me over with a feather. Never in all the years I’d known them had Bobbie Sue and Earl taken time off in the middle of any event, especially for something so completely frivolous as a bacon-eating contest. I wasn’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, though.
“Then I’ll find out when it is and me and Hunter will meet you here. We can go together.” I turned to Justin. “You ready, brat?”
He whipped off his apron and tossed it into the dirty linens basket. “Yes, ma’am!”
Earl stood and lumbered around the table toward us, pulling his wallet out as he did.
“Here,” he said, winking and handing me a fifty. “Don’t let him spend it all in one place. And bring us back a coupla candy apples.”
“Will do,” I said. “And for sure, you two need to take next year off. Or at least part of it. No arguments!”
He cast a glance at Justin, and I knew he wished he could go. Three years ago, he wouldn’t even have considered handing his grill over to somebody else but adopting Justin had changed him. “We may just at that.”
The batwings swung open and Hunter took one step in. My mind went back to the first fateful time he’d done that. On the day Hank had keeled over, he’d made the mistake of just walking into the kitchen. He’d been an outsider from Indianapolis, new to Keyhole, and stuck heading up a murder investigation that nobody much cared about solving. Bobbie Sue hadn’t wasted any time drawing a line in the sand. Her kitchen, her domain, her rules. Nobody was allowed back there without express permission, and he hadn’t had it.
I pressed my lips together and smiled, and he tilted his head. “What’s that for?”
“Just a little déjà vu. I was thinking back to the first time you poked your head through that door.”
He laughed. “Yeahhh, that was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Bobbie Sue threatened me with a butcher knife, and Earl was right where he is now with a meat cleaver big enough to take down an oak.”
“Pfft,” she said, huffing a breath through her nose. “I didn’t threaten you. I meant it. Somebody had to teach you some manners ’cause they sure didn’t up in the big city.”
His sea-green eyes sparkled with laughter. “Well, you convinced me. I didn’t know whether to arrest you or apologize to you. Or just turn tail and put this whole crazy town in my rearview.”
“You did the right thing,” I replied, brow raised. “Tryin’ to take her to jail when we were that busy would have been ... unfortunate. And my life would be sad if you’d left.”
“C’mon,” Justin said, practically vibrating as he took my wrist. “You all can talk about all that when we get back. I wanna go see—” he glanced at Hunter, suddenly quiet.
“He wants to go check out the chicks at the duck pond,” I finished for him, giving Bobbie Sue and Earl a wave as I turned toward the doorway.
“Then by all means,” Hunter replied, “let’s go.”
Everybody’d already filled up their teas, and I slipped my sunglasses back on as we stepped out into the bright early May sunshine. My tank top was sticking to me before we made it halfway to the carnival, and by the time we got there, I was wishing I’d taken the time to visit the little girls’ room before we left Bobbie Sue’s. While everybody else waited in line to get their wristbands for the ride, I excused myself and headed to the Porta-Potties at the end of the lot.
Even though I didn’t like the rides, I loved everything else about the fair. The flashing lights, the smell of fried fair food that hung in the air, and the excitement that buzzed on the air like electricity. As a witch, I picked up on such things more than others, maybe, and it was nice to feel all the positive energy.
The first ride on their list was the monstrosity that swung in a pendulum until it actually went upside down about five stories in the air. Hard pass. That meant I had time to look around some. After I made some room for the fresh glass o
f tea, that is.
I made it quick because Porta-Potties freak me out, so it was only a couple minutes before I was strolling back through the fairgrounds. I was happy to see that there were several new tents and one that looked familiar. It had all the sparkles and mysticism associated with carnival psychics, and I smiled.
Until the year before, I’d scoffed whenever I’d seen the fortune-teller’s tent, figuring it was just some hack conning people out of money with “miraculous” portents drawn from either things everybody wanted to hear (you’re going to find love!) or by using body language (you're anxious about something). It had always pissed me off. But then I’d met a real one. Serena, a Cajun psychic, had taught me that not all of them were phony. I was still suspicious, but I was willing to give them a shot until they proved me wrong. It didn’t usually take too long to find out one way or the other.
Hunter wasn’t big on having his fortune read, so I decided to make a quick stop just to check her out. Since it was still early in the afternoon, there was no line. In fact, when I peeled the flap to the tent back, a small blonde dressed in casual clothes was spreading a purple velvet tablecloth over a small card table. She settled a crystal ball in the middle and jumped a little when I cleared my throat.
“Oh,” she said, her dainty hand fluttering to her chest. “You scared the daylights out of me, sugar. I mean ... erm ...” she straightened her spine and slipped into her role. “Madame Mercei isn’t ready to receive visitors. Her third eye remains cloudy. Perhaps come back in another half-hour.”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled, then sent out a tendril of magic to get the lay of the land. The woman had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even realized I’d opened the tent, and I wondered what had her so distracted. Not that I’d read her mind, but I was curious if somebody magical was that out of tune with her environment.
She scowled at me and I felt a little magical push back. “Excuse you,” she said, drawing her brows down and dropping all mystical pretense. “Rude!”
I lifted a shoulder because she wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t inclined to apologize, though, because I felt an obligation to keep hacks from separating innocent Keyhole Lake folks from their hard-earned money. “I was just checkin’. I didn’t mean to offend you. You know as well as I do that there are a lot of frauds.”
She tilted her head and examined me, her heavily shadowed eyes narrowed. Her appearance was a little startling because even though her lids were streaked with vibrant greens, purples, and golds and heavily lined with kohl, she was wearing jeans and a Hard Rock Café tee shirt with flip-flops.
“What are you?” she asked. “You have some serious mojo there.”
I shrugged again and stuck out my hand. “Just a witch. Noelle Flynn. Welcome to Keyhole.”
She raised a penciled-in brow as she took my hand. “Not just a witch, but okay. I’m Mercy McDermitt. Nice town you have here. I’ve never been somewhere that puts out a spread like your barbecue place does, especially for free. That Bobbie Sue must be good people.”
“She is,” I said. “One of the best. So, how’d you end up doing this?”
“I don’t mind chatting,” she said, pulling silver candlesticks from a trunk, “but I’ve gotta get this tent set up while we talk. I’m runnin’ behind because I had to go back for a second helpin’ of that bread pudding. Whoever made that is truly magical.”
I smiled. “I’ll let Ms. Marple know you said that. It’s one of her specialties. I won’t keep you. I thought maybe you were Madame Zarena. I met her a while back and was hopin’ to say hi.”
“Oh,” she said, pulling a long, gauzy black Bohemian dress and purple-and-gold turban from the trunk. “Serena’s a hoot. I’m actually runnin’ this for her. She wanted to take a month off to take that young’un of hers to Disney and the beach.” She shuddered. “Not my idea of a good time, but whatever floats their boat. I was thankful for the escape.”
Justin would be disappointed to hear that. He and Billy, Serena’s son, were the same age and had hit it off. Then her words sunk in. “Escape?”
A shadow crossed over her face and she waved a hand. “Just an expression. Anyway, I really do need to get dressed. It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” I said, sensing that it was way more than just an expression. It was none of my business though, so I backed out of the tent.
The bright sunlight and raucous sounds were so different from the cool, dark confines of the tent that it threw me off for a minute. Then a woman rushed by chasing two young kids and reality snapped back into place. Rides whirled, lights flashed, and somewhere nearby, somebody was whistling an odd but sort of pleasant tune. It was a beautiful day to be at the fair.
Chapter 3
“There you are,” Hunter said, his dark hair mussed from being whipped around upside down like some mentally defunct rag doll for ten minutes. I’d timed it right because he was just stepping off of the ride. “Where’d you go? I looked for you from the top.”
I smiled and leaned up on my tiptoes to give him a quick kiss as he came through the exit gate. “No way you had time to look at anything other than your life flashing before your eyes. I stopped in to see if Serena was running the fortune-teller tent.”
“Oh,” he said, his eyes lighting. “Was she? Justin would probably like to see Billy.”
“Nah,” I said, taking his hand as we waited for the kid in question to get off the ride and meet us. “According to Madame Mercei, the girl who’s running it, they went to Disney.”
“So, was she a fraud?” He knew how much that irritated me.
“Nope, she’s the real deal. Or at least she’s magical.”
Justin rushed toward us, his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed. “That was awesome! Can we do it again?”
Hunter laughed. “We have a lot more to ride. Maybe after we hit them all once, we can come back for a repeat.”
“Where’d Anna Mae and Matt go?” I asked, looking around.
“They want to ride the Ferris Wheel,” Hunter replied, “and Justin’s not quite down with that just yet. I told them I’d throw myself on the sword and ride the drop tower.”
My gaze drifted toward the tall ride and I shuddered. At least with that one, I could understand the rush. After all, it was the same concept as a whoopty-doo as we called it as kids—that stomach rush you got when you drove over a hump in the road fast enough. The height was what got me, though.
“Y’all knock yourselves out,” I said, laughing.
I had a good time people-watching while they rode, and it was nice to see them having a good time. We’d been doing a lot of work around his house so he could rent it out, and it was nice to take a day off. We’d moved in together a few months ago, and he’d taken some time to decide what to do with his place. I think part of him had put it off just to make sure things stuck, but that was okay with me.
To be honest, it would have probably freaked me out a little if he’d rented or sold it right off the bat. It had been a big step for me, especially considering it felt like my life had been nothing but change for the last few months.
My sister had gone to college, then I’d found out she’d been inducted into some sort of super-secret magical society that spent their time putting out supernatural fires that threatened the world at various levels. It made the worries I’d had about her living on junk food and flunking chemistry pale in comparison.
It had been good that Hunter had moved in, though. If I’d been left to rattle around the house on my own, I’d have lost my mind. It had also been nice having him around. I had somebody to watch TV with and to help me with the chores, but we hadn’t gotten on each other’s nerves. Much, anyway. He was the sheriff and I had my shop, so it wasn’t like we spent all day together.
“Wait,” I said, “what about the duck pond and Brittani?”
Justin stopped in his tracks, nearly causing a woman pushing a stroller to crash into us. I pulled him off to the side just in time to avoid the collision an
d gave her an apologetic smile. Justin glanced with indecision between the Tower of Death and the area where the kiddie rides and activities were. He was getting to that age, and I wondered which would win out: the girl or the ride.
His brow furrowed, but then he shrugged. “Meh, I can see her any time. The carnival’s only here for the week. Besides, she’ll prolly be there all day.”
And the ride won. I was glad because I wasn’t ready to lose him to the broody days of teenage angst when it probably wouldn’t be cool to hang with us anymore.
“Then let’s go put your life in the hands of a perfect stranger,” I said, and they both rolled their eyes at me.
“You’re a big chicken, you know that?” Justin said.
“I’m aware that you think I am,” I said, reaching out and ruffling his hair. “I prefer to think I’m being responsible. After all, somebody has to stay behind to peel you off the asphalt when that sucker doesn’t stop at the bottom.”
“Whatever,” he said, shooting me a sideways glance and a smile. “I’m still glad you came. We haven’t hung out much lately. Can I come stay at the farm next week?”
School wasn’t out yet, and he’d been spending a lot of time building another airboat with Earl. When he wasn’t doing that, he was at one friend’s house or another. I was glad he’d settled in and made friends, but I did miss him.
“Sure thing, brat. We’ll go riding and hang out by the pool. You can help me put the volleyball net up.”
Hunter smiled and winked at me as the carnie dropped the rope so they could get on the ride.
I held my breath when the ride started up. The climb to the top was slow, and the platform holding the seats crested and paused while the guy controlling it waited a few seconds for the anticipation to build. I sorta wished at that point that I would have ridden it with them. After a solid ten seconds, the carnie dropped the lever and the platform came plummeting back down the tower.
A chorus of screaming erupted, and I thought for a minute that it was from people on the ride. I’d been so absorbed watching it that it took a second for me to realize that most of it was coming from the direction of the Porta-Potties rather than from the people rushing toward the ground. I spun to see a middle-aged woman in faded jeans and a flowered blouse tugging on JP—Hunter’s second in command—as he stood guard near the ticket booth.