Over Hexed

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  ‘‘Let me think who has one we could borrow temporarily.’’ As Denise stood tapping her finger against her mouth, the lights went out again.

  Maggie groaned. ‘‘Denise, you need an electrician.’’

  Denise glanced out the window. ‘‘It’s not just me. The Hob Knob’s lights are out, too.’’

  A quick look confirmed that Denise was right. Maggie’s tummy clenched. This was not going well. ‘‘What do you think is wrong?’’

  ‘‘There could be a line down somewhere. If the electricity’s getting squirrelly, nobody is going to want to turn on their computer and risk frying it.’’

  ‘‘So I guess you call the electric company.’’

  ‘‘I will, but if there’s a line down, it could take a while to get it fixed. We’re off the beaten path here.’’

  The lights came on again.

  Maggie glanced across the street and the lights were back on at the Hob Knob, too. ‘‘I don’t get it. How can the lights go on and off like that?’’

  ‘‘I’m no electrician, so I have no idea. Maybe the power line is making a connection only part of the time.’’

  Although Maggie tried not to panic, her insides felt like a cement mixer. ‘‘Let’s call the electric company and tell them it’s really, really important.’’

  ‘‘We can try.’’ Denise picked up her cordless phone and put it to her ear. Then she pushed the connect button a few times. ‘‘Something’s wrong with the phone, too. I’m not getting a dial tone.’’

  ‘‘Use my cell.’’ Maggie grabbed her BlackBerry out of her purse and turned it on. There was a message from H.G., but she didn’t plan to respond. He wouldn’t call again. Men like H.G. didn’t go running after people.

  Denise punched in a number and put the phone to her ear. When a receptionist answered, she detailed the problem and handed the BlackBerry back to Maggie. ‘‘They’ll look into it, but they’re backed up and may not come out until tomorrow. They’re short-staffed right now because they asked their employees to work extra hours Thanksgiving weekend, when people will be putting up Christmas lights.’’

  ‘‘We need to regroup.’’ Maggie took a deep breath. ‘‘Is there anyone who could work on your computer, so that when the electricity is stable you could be ready to use it?’’

  ‘‘Jeremy’s the guy. He’s a techno-wizard.’’

  Maggie brought out her BlackBerry again and gave it to Denise. ‘‘How long before you could get him here?’’

  ‘‘Maybe ten minutes.’’

  ‘‘That’s not long.’’ Maggie’s shoulders relaxed a little. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad. At least someone could be summoned.

  ‘‘Oh, wait. He drove to Evansville today to pick up a bunch of cups.’’

  ‘‘Cups? Drinking cups?’’ Maggie felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Any minute the Queen of Hearts would come screaming down the street yelling, ‘‘Off with her head!’’

  ‘‘He’s buying athletic protectors for the Knob Lobbers,our slow-pitch softball team. The team’s on a budget, so when somebody heard about the sale in Evansville, he volunteered to pick them up today. I’m sure he’s left by now.’’

  Naturally they’d play slow-pitch in Big Knob. Maggie sighed. Apparently nothing happened fast in this town. ‘‘And he’s the only person in town who knows computers?’’ Frustration had prompted the question. Maggie knew the answer. She was probably lucky that anyone in town was tech savvy, even if he had left to pick up a box of athletic protectors and wouldn’t be back for hours.

  ‘‘He’s the only one,’’ Denise said. ‘‘But if you want, I can call his cell and see how soon he’ll be home again.’’

  At least he has a cell phone, Maggie thought. That was something. But the call to Jeremy confirmed that he wouldn’t be back in Big Knob until late in the afternoon, because he planned to stop and see his sister and her new baby while he was in Evansville.

  Maggie was stuck with nothing to do until then. Taking another look at Denise, she evaluated her haircut. Not bad. Not bad at all. ‘‘Where do you get your hair done?’’

  ‘‘Right over at the Bob and Weave. Francine Edgerton is the owner, and she’s pretty good with a pair of scissors.’’

  ‘‘Think I could get an appointment this morning?’’

  ‘‘Shoot, yeah. The ladies who have weekly standing appointments all go in on Saturday morning, so it’s slow on weekday mornings. Of course, they might be having electrical problems, too.’’

  ‘‘I think I’ll chance it. If everything magically fixes itself somehow and you’re able to get on the Internet, you can call my cell.’’

  ‘‘I’ll let you know if anything changes, but I wouldn’t bet on it.’’

  Maggie wouldn’t, either. Readjusting the clip holding her hair, she reached for her coat. ‘‘Then I might as well try to get a haircut. When it’s humid like this, the frizz drives me nuts.’’

  ‘‘Francine can help you. But be sure and ask for her. She’s good and not too weird. The other operator, Sylvia Hepplewaite, is kind of a sex fiend, and she’ll want to talk about her orgasms the whole time she’s cutting your hair.’’

  Chapter 7

  After saying good-bye to Maggie, Sean watched her walk across the street to the real estate office. The rain had stopped for a minute, and one ray of sunshine had fallen on her hair, making her look like a model in a shampoo commercial. If only she’d come to town for some other reason than to buy the property he wanted. If only she’d shown up yesterday, when he was at full power.

  Thinking of that reminded him of Dorcas and Ambrose, so he reluctantly stopped staring at Maggie through the window and returned to the table where they sat, munching happily on cinnamon rolls.

  ‘‘Okay.’’ He grabbed his chair from the other table, spun it around and straddled it. He needed something to grip so his frustration wouldn’t get the better of him, and hugging the chair back helped. ‘‘What exactly is Hot Prospects, Inc.?’’

  Ambrose beamed at him. ‘‘Our new business name. Catchy, huh?’’

  ‘‘What happened to your sabbatical?’’

  Dorcas wiped a blob of frosting from the corner of her mouth. ‘‘Handling your case made us realize how much we miss working, so we’ve decided to run a little business out of our home.’’

  Sean held up the card. ‘‘Matchmaking?’’

  ‘‘Something along those lines,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘We didn’t want to put it so baldly on the card, but that’s the general idea. With our experience in relationships, we’re fully qualified to—’’

  ‘‘Wait a minute.’’ Sean became more agitated by the minute. ‘‘You said my case inspired you to start working again. But mine is not a matchmaking case. In fact, the idea was to make me less appealing to the opposite sex. What’s up with that?’’

  Dorcas swallowed another bite of cinnamon roll. ‘‘Sometimes you need a different perspective in order to be ready for the perfect partner.’’

  Sean thought about that. ‘‘All right. I admit that I have a whole new perspective on what it feels like to not look sexy. I appreciate what I had before, and I’m ready to change back to being the way I was. ASAP.’’

  They both looked at him with compassion but said nothing.

  Sean shoved the card in front of them. ‘‘You’re claiming to be matchmakers, right?’’

  ‘‘Right,’’ Ambrose said.

  ‘‘Then I need help with a match. I want to hire you. I’ll pay actual money. We don’t have to barter with the sex bench thing.’’

  ‘‘You’re already a client,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘And we really want that bench. Now that we’re working again, the spark is back and we—’’

  ‘‘Okay, okay.’’ Sean held up a hand to stop the flow of details. ‘‘I’ll build you the bench. I might be able to get to it this afternoon. I’ll have to put off Calvin Gilmore a little longer, but once I have the plans, I’ll work it into my schedule.’’

  ‘‘I
brought the plans.’’ Dorcas took them out of her oversized purse and slid them across the table toward Sean.

  Just then the lights went out, which prompted a murmur of surprise from the customers.

  ‘‘Oh, well,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘I like candlelight better, anyway.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure this is temporary,’’ Sean said. And sure enough, as Madeline bustled around making sure everyone was okay, the lights came on again.

  Now that he could see better, Sean glanced at the so-called plans for the sex bench and barely kept from laughing. The drawing was crude, as if Ambrose had used the concept of a fold-out ironing board as his model. There were no dimensions, just the words crotch high and sturdy enough for two people lettered at the bottom. Sean would have to make all the calculations himself.

  He folded the piece of paper and put it in his back pocket. ‘‘No problem. Like I said, I’ll try for this afternoon.’’

  ‘‘That would be wonderful.’’ Dorcas squeezed Ambrose’s hand. ‘‘Wouldn’t it, darling?’’

  ‘‘Excellent.’’ Ambrose gave her a fond smile.

  The lights went out again.

  ‘‘That’s weird,’’ Sean said. ‘‘Must be a short somewhere.’’

  Madeline passed by. ‘‘It’s not just here,’’ she said. ‘‘The lights are off over in the real estate office, too.’’

  Sean stood and looked out the window. Sure enough, they were. ‘‘I wonder if there’s a line down somewhere.’’

  ‘‘I wouldn’t mind that,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘I think it would be fun to operate with candles and woodstoves for a while.’’

  Sean had a sudden image of sharing that cozy situation with Maggie. He wondered if he’d dare use the fireplace in the old house. But as he considered that, the lights came on again.

  He sat down and glanced over at Dorcas and Ambrose. ‘‘So what do you say? How about my matchmaking situation?’’

  They both stared at him. Ambrose was the first to respond. ‘‘You want us to find someone for you?’’

  ‘‘Nope. I’ve done that. I want you to change me back to the way I was so I can seal the deal with her. That’s what I was trying to tell you on the phone this morning. The clincher is that if I can get her interested in me, I’m sure she’ll give up the idea of buying the property I’m after.’’

  Dorcas frowned. ‘‘You’re talking about Maggie, right?’’

  ‘‘Sure am.’’

  ‘‘You’re in love with her?’’ Ambrose asked.

  ‘‘Well . . . it’s a little soon for that, but I think she’s really hot. I could love her, I’ll bet. She’s beautiful and smart. I think we’d get along great.’’

  ‘‘That’s a long way from thinking she’s your soul mate,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘We’re in the business of soul mates.’’

  ‘‘Okay, then, I think she could be my soul mate. Can you change me back?’’

  Dorcas shrugged. ‘‘Can’t. I don’t have the necessary herbs and it would take days, maybe weeks to get them. But even if I could, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.’’

  ‘‘Are you kidding?’’ Sean thought of how sweet it would be to have Maggie eager to spend time with him. And there was the added bonus of protecting his property from SaveALot. ‘‘Do you realize what’s at stake?’’

  ‘‘Your whole future?’’ Ambrose suggested.

  ‘‘More than my future! If SaveALot goes in, Big Knob will be changed forever. Maybe some people would be happy about that, but I’m betting most would rather keep it like it is.’’

  Ambrose nodded. ‘‘Probably so. Good luck with that.’’

  Disgusted with both of them, but mostly with himselffor getting into something without checking it out first, Sean left the Hob Knob to pick up cleaning supplies. If he couldn’t make Maggie fall for him, maybe she’d fall for the house.

  Through the glass window of the Bob and Weave, Maggie assessed the situation. More beauty parlor than hair salon, the Bob and Weave was straight out of the fifties. Maggie guessed that was the vintage of the three hair dryers standing against the left wall, their cracked vinyl seats and chrome hoods looking well used.

  On the opposite wall each of the two styling stations had its own shampoo sink. No shampoo alcove separate from the stylist’s chair. Once you plopped yourself in the chair, you were there for the duration, unless you needed one of the hair dryers to complete the process.

  A woman with long tawny hair was getting an updo at the far station from a blonde dressed in a tight black skirt, a revealing black blouse and stilettos. Maggie guessed that was the stylist named Sylvia who liked to talk about her orgasms. A woman with multihued stripes in her hair stood at the front counter, rearranging a display of costume jewelry hanging on a revolving plastic rack.

  She looked up when Maggie came through the door. ‘‘Can I help you?’’

  ‘‘Are you Francine?’’

  ‘‘That’s me.’’

  Maggie heard murmured conversation from the other stylist and her customer, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. ‘‘Have you had trouble with your electricity this morning?’’

  ‘‘No. Why?’’

  ‘‘The lights have been going on and off at the real estate office and the Hob Knob.’’

  Francine shrugged. ‘‘The wiring in some of these old buildings is unpredictable, but so far today we’ve been okay.’’

  ‘‘Do you happen to have a computer?’’

  ‘‘Nope. Don’t have any use for the things. All that Internet and stuff—you can have it.’’

  Maggie finally surrendered to the inevitable delay. ‘‘Then, if you have time, I’d love for you to cut my hair.’’

  Francine gestured to the front chair. ‘‘Take off your coat and have a seat. My next appointment won’t be here for another forty-five minutes, so I have time.’’

  The other stylist laughed at something her customer said. ‘‘Oh yeah. Once with him and three times with the vibrator.’’

  Yep. Definitely Sylvia.

  ‘‘How did he like that?’’ asked the customer.

  ‘‘Not much,’’ Sylvia said in a throaty voice. ‘‘Can I help it if I’m multiorgasmic and he’s not?’’

  Francine acted as if she hadn’t heard a thing, so Maggie followed her lead and hung her coat on a row of pegs by the door. Then she sat in a chair molded by hundreds of fannies.

  ‘‘So what’s your name?’’ Francine fastened a towel around Maggie’s neck and snapped a vinyl cape over it.

  ‘‘Maggie. Maggie Grady.’’

  ‘‘Just passing through, Maggie?’’

  ‘‘Actually, I’m here on business.’’

  ‘‘Oh yeah? What sort of business?’’

  Maggie had a devil of a time concentrating on Francine’s conversation with Sylvia detailing the difference between clitoral and vaginal orgasms. ‘‘I’m, um, looking at property.’’

  Sylvia continued with her review of orgasm types. ‘‘Clitoral is like chocolate mousse and vaginal is like hot fudge,’’ she said. ‘‘Depends what you’re in the mood for, you know?’’

  ‘‘Property, huh?’’ Francine took out Maggie’s hair clip and combed her fingers through Maggie’s hair with practiced efficiency. ‘‘Whereabouts?’’

  Sylvia picked up a can of hair spray. ‘‘I’m mostly a hot fudge fan, though.’’ She whisked the spray over the finished hairdo.

  Maggie had never thought which kind of orgasm she preferred, but she hadn’t had either in quite a while. Belatedly she realized Francine was waiting for a reply to her question about where Maggie was looking for property. ‘‘Oh, possibly that abandoned place at the end of town, the one with the old house on it.’’

  ‘‘Huh.’’ Francine twirled her around and tilted the chair back so Maggie’s head was hanging in the shampoo bowl. ‘‘Sylvia, isn’t that old house at the end of town the place Sean’s after?’’

  ‘‘That’s the one,’’ Sylvia said. ‘‘Back in high school, me
and Sean used to have some hot times on a mattress out behind that house. One of my clients said kids still go there to have sex.’’

  ‘‘Sean Madigan,’’ said the tawny-haired client as Sylvia unsnapped the cape around her shoulders and ushered her out of the chair. ‘‘What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on that boy again. What a hunk.’’

  ‘‘I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’’ Francine ran warm water over Maggie’s hair. ‘‘I’ve never had the pleasure, but I do have my Sean fantasies.’’

  ‘‘The reality is ten times better,’’ said the client as she walked over to the counter to pay. ‘‘I’m sure Sylvia would agree.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Angie, you don’t know the half of it. The last time Sean and I got it on was two years and six days ago.’’ Sylvia wiggled her hips as she walked past Francine’s station. ‘‘I could come just thinking about his naked butt.’’

  ‘‘It was a year, two months and ten days for me,’’ Angie said. ‘‘I’ve tried to get him interested since then, but no dice. Unless he’s doing somebody who’s not talking, he’s taken himself off the market.’’

  ‘‘I doubt he’s shagging anybody in town.’’ Sylvia opened the old-fashioned cash register with a clang. ‘‘Word would get out if he was. And he doesn’t take many trips, so I think he’s on hiatus for some reason.’’

  ‘‘What a loss to womankind.’’ Francine massaged shampoo into Maggie’s hair. ‘‘An Adonis like Sean needs to be sharing his gifts.’’

  Maggie listened in amazement. Didn’t they see the bad haircut and weird glasses? Sean wasn’t ugly, but he was no Adonis.

  Sylvia bid her client good-bye and came back to straighten up her station. ‘‘Are you thinking of moving here, Maggie?’’

  ‘‘Uh, no.’’

  ‘‘Just thought I’d ask, because I’m not sure Big Knob is the place to invest.’’ Sylvia threw towels in a hamper and came back to sit in the vacated chair. ‘‘I know that’s popular, to find land in some town that’s about to boom, but I can’t see Big Knob ever booming.’’

  ‘‘Me, either.’’ Francine rinsed conditioner out of Maggie’s hair, wrapped a towel around her head and levered the chair upright again. ‘‘I’d try closer to Indianapolis or Evansville. We’re really out of the way here.’’