Over Hexed

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Maggie had the oddest feeling they were discouraging her so Sean wouldn’t lose the property he wanted. ‘‘So are jobs tough to come by in Big Knob?’’ She didn’t have to have public support for her project, but it wouldn’t hurt. And jobs were usually a hot button for people.

  ‘‘Not really,’’ Francine said. ‘‘It seems to work out. Like take Sean, for instance. He apprenticed himself to Abe, who was the only skilled carpenter in town. So when Abe retired, Sean had plenty of work, and we still had someone who could do that kind of job.’’

  ‘‘As if he needed a tool belt to make him look any sexier.’’ Sylvia snapped her fingers. ‘‘Damn, why didn’t I think of that? I need to find something for Sean to build for me, preferably in my bedroom.’’

  ‘‘Forget it.’’ Francine towel-dried Maggie’s hair. ‘‘That’s been tried. The boy has changed his ways, for some crazy reason. So, Maggie, what kind of haircut are you looking for? Just a trim, or something more drastic?’’

  Maggie looked at herself in the mirror, her hair a mass of ringlets that would turn to frizz the minute they dried. Her stylist in Houston kept urging her to keep it long, but Maggie was sick of dealing with it, especially when she traveled. She planned to get this promotion, which meant she’d be traveling even more in the future.

  ‘‘I want it short,’’ she said. ‘‘Really, really short.’’

  Dorcas left Ambrose to pay the bill and stepped outside the Hob Knob to check for Maggie’s car. It was still parked in front of the real estate office, but Dorcas couldn’t tell from here if Maggie was in the office or not.

  Ambrose came out, tying the belt on his leather jacket. ‘‘Ready to go home?’’

  ‘‘Not yet.’’ Dorcas gazed at the real estate office. ‘‘I’m worried about the communication spell. The lights and phone and stuff were only supposed to go wacko at Denise’s office, but the lights went out twice at the Hob Knob. What if we screwed up the spell? Maggie could already have the info she needs to close the deal. Denise could be on the phone with the property owner right this minute.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure the spell worked.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. We’ve never tried to bespell electricity and phones and computers before. Are you sure Mercury was the right god?’’

  ‘‘If he wasn’t, they wouldn’t put his image on the Teleflora ads, now would they? Teleflora is all about electronic communication. Her computer is out of commission, and Jeremy is in Evansville so he can’t fix it yet. Everything’s fine, so relax.’’

  ‘‘Let’s think of some excuse to go over there, so we can be sure.’’

  Ambrose sighed. ‘‘Like what? We’re not planning to sell the house. We just bought it, and besides, I don’t like anything else we saw in Big Knob except that monstrosity Sean wants, which would take way too much work to fix up.’’

  ‘‘We’ll say we want to check the market value of our house.’’ Dorcas started across the street.

  Ambrose followed her. ‘‘That’s a dumb question, Dorcas. It’s only been six weeks.’’

  ‘‘But if that computer’s working, we have to take action.’’ She stepped up on the sidewalk in front of the real estate office. ‘‘I admit to being a little worried. Sean is miles away from being ready for his soul mate. Did you hear him? I think she’s hot. Nothing about feeling a psychic connection. It was all about sex, plus he thinks Maggie’s a goddess.’’

  ‘‘At least we jump-started his libido. That was good work on your part.’’

  ‘‘Thanks, but he needs to get beyond that.’’

  ‘‘Guys don’t start out with a psychic connection. They start out wanting to get in a woman’s pants.’’

  Dorcas came to an abrupt halt. ‘‘Are you saying that’s the way you felt when you first met me?’’

  ‘‘Pretty much.’’ He gave her a cocky, purely male smile.

  She skewered him with a look designed to wipe that self-satisfied smile off his face.

  It worked. ‘‘But, hey, I felt that connection right afterward. Really soon afterward! Like almost immediately.’’

  ‘‘Liar.’’ She kissed him quickly on the mouth before taking his arm. ‘‘Let’s go check on the current market value of our house.’’

  Chapter 8

  Sean soon realized he couldn’t clean the whole house in the time he had left. Closing off the attic was a no-brainer, but he decided to close off three of the four upstairs bedrooms and leave only the master open. He put special effort into that because it had a small balcony opening off it and the balcony gave a view of Big Knob that wouldn’t quit.

  The balcony was safe to stand on. He’d kept tabs on structural details over the years. Any signs of termite damage or dry rot and he’d taken steps to correct the problem.

  No one knew he had a key to the house and he’d been careful about his timing whenever he went in, making sure no one was around. He’d found the key by accident while cleaning out his mother’s belongings after she’d died. Surprisingly enough, whoever had evicted them all those years ago hadn’t bothered to change the locks, and the key still worked.

  In the ten years since, Sean had kept the house from falling down and trapped the mice that had found their way inside, but he’d never bothered to clean. With no electricity he had to do it the old-fashioned way, with a broom and dust pan. By noon he still wasn’t done, but he had a new idea.

  Taking his phone from the pocket of his jeans, he dialed Maggie. She seemed surprised to hear from him, as if he’d worked some kind of magic to get her number. She’d probably forgotten that she’d given it out to Denise in his presence.

  ‘‘Have you had lunch?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘Not yet. I was just about to—’’

  ‘‘Don’t bother. I’ll have something here for you.’’

  There was a pause. ‘‘That’s a nice idea, but the clouds have come in again and I think it’s about to rain some more.’’

  ‘‘That’s okay.’’ He’d noticed the clouds, too. ‘‘We’ll eat in the house.’’

  ‘‘Eeuuww.’’

  ‘‘Trust me, there won’t be a single thing eeuuww about it.’’

  She didn’t sound convinced. ‘‘Why don’t I just grab a sandwich at the Hob Knob before I come over? I’ll be there such a short time, anyway.’’

  Not if I can help it. ‘‘Look, we didn’t get off to a great start this morning, and you bought my breakfast, which I didn’t mean for you to do. Let me take care of lunch.’’

  ‘‘Well . . . okay.’’ She sounded less than enthusiastic.

  ‘‘Great. See you at one.’’ As he flipped his phone closed he thought about how easy this would have been yesterday. He’d never had trouble talking a woman into a lunch date. Most times they’d asked him. As for the setting, any woman in Big Knob would have agreed to a picnic served in the middle of an anthill if that meant he’d be there.

  The timing of this transformation was disastrous. But he’d have to work with what he had, and he had this magnificent house with its high tin ceilings and the massive staircase up to the second floor. He had a master bedroom with a view of Big Knob.

  Because that rocky promontory obviously affected the women in town, he’d use that view to work on Maggie’s defenses. With less than an hour to get ready, he had to move fast. He had sandwich stuff at home, but what he really needed was a bottle of wine like the one Dorcas served last night.

  He pulled out the card Ambrose had given him. If the Lowells were billing themselves as matchmakers, they couldn’t very well turn down this request, especially because he was willing to pay for it. He dialed the number and Ambrose answered.

  Sean didn’t waste time on pleasantries. ‘‘Ambrose, this is Sean, and I need a favor. In exchange I’ll install mirrors over your bed.’’

  Maggie used the time after Sean’s call to find Madeline’s house. Her husband, Abe, a short man with a fringe of white hair wreathing his head, answered the door. A television blared in the background
, so obviously nothing was wrong with their electricity at the moment.

  ‘‘You’re Maggie,’’ Abe said.

  ‘‘I am, and I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition. I told Madeline I’d be happy to pay for my room, but she—’’

  ‘‘Of course you won’t pay.’’ Abe ushered her into the house, where the temperature was at least ninety degrees. ‘‘But you can help with my petition drive.’’

  Maggie wondered if she’d have been better off with Denise. She unbuttoned her coat. ‘‘For what?’’

  ‘‘More like against what. Here, let me take your coat.’’

  ‘‘That’s okay. I won’t be here long.’’

  ‘‘Nonsense. You can’t walk around the house with your coat on.’’

  That much was true, considering they were living in a sauna. Besides, she didn’t want to upset her host, so she took off her coat and let him hang it in the closet by the door.

  ‘‘Now, then, Maggie.’’ He clasped his hands and gazed at her. ‘‘What is the single most detrimental element in our society?’’

  She considered the energy required to overheat this old house. ‘‘Our waste of fossil fuel?’’

  ‘‘Nope. I’ll give you a hint. It’s coming from that infernal box over there.’’ He pointed to the TV.

  She recognized an old episode of Friends. ‘‘Reruns?’’

  ‘‘Hell, no! Reruns are nothing compared to this. Dig deeper!’’

  She glanced at the screen. The story line had to do with Ross bleaching his teeth so much that they glowed in the dark. Okay, she had it now. ‘‘The pursuit of physical perfection?’’

  He waved a hand, dismissing her answer. ‘‘Chicken feed.’’

  ‘‘Then I give up.’’

  ‘‘Isn’t it obvious?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Canned laughter! Fake yuks! Artificial guffaws!’’ As if on cue, a blast of that very thing came from the TV. Abe shuddered, ran over to the coffee table and made a note on a yellow legal pad. ‘‘The research is killing me, but it has to be done.’’

  Then he grabbed a clipboard and shoved it at Maggie. ‘‘Sign here.’’

  She read the petition, which claimed that canned laughter was rotting the brains of everyone within range of a television signal. Underneath were two signatures, Abe’s and Madeline’s. Figuring it couldn’t hurt anything, Maggie signed.

  Abe beamed at her. ‘‘Excellent.’’ He unclipped the petition from the clipboard. ‘‘Now you can take it around.’’

  Instantly on the defensive, she raised both hands. ‘‘No, no. I’m not good at that. You should be the one. You’ll bring more passion to the effort.’’

  ‘‘I don’t have time, what with all the documentation. When I testify before Congress, I’ll need ammunition!’’ He rattled the petition. ‘‘Take it. I want two hundred signatures by Christmas. Do your best.’’

  ‘‘Okay.’’ She took the paper, figuring she didn’t have to do anything with it. In a couple of days she could give back his petition with its three lonely signatures and be on her way.

  ‘‘Good. Your room is up the stairs and to the right. I’d take you there, but— Oops!’’ He leaned down and made another notation on his pad. ‘‘Can’t leave my research.’’

  ‘‘No problem. I’ll find my own way.’’ Maggie hauled her suitcase up the stairs and into their small guest room on the second floor of their hot little house. Once there she changed into jeans, a black sweater and running shoes. A bikini would be more appropriate for the temperature, which was even more sweltering upstairs.

  As she began to sweat, she hurried back down to retrieve her coat. She still wasn’t looking forward to spending any time in that spooky old Victorian Sean loved, but it would be a relief to be out of this heat. She’d never been a sleep-in-the-nude person, but this oven of a house could drive her to it. She gave Abe a quick wave as she went out the door.

  ‘‘Get signatures!’’ he called after her.

  Rain spattered her windshield as she drove back to Sean’s house. No, not Sean’s house. Just because everyone else in town thought of it that way didn’t mean she had to. Soon it would belong to SaveALot, and within six months it would be gone, replaced by a store that would bring dozens of job opportunities to the town, whether they thought they needed that or not.

  Parking behind Sean’s battered truck, she climbed the wooden steps, which had been swept free of leaves, and walked across the wraparound porch, also swept. She wished he hadn’t done that. If he thought cleaning up this old relic would sway her, he’d wasted his time. He might be hopelessly sentimental about the place, but she wouldn’t let herself fall into that trap.

  She’d scraped for a living all her life because that’s what her parents had done. It had been the only reality she’d known until she’d finally understood that her parents’ miserable and bitter existence stemmed from bad choices, not the bad luck they constantly blamed for their problems. Maggie intended to make her own luck, starting with this piece of property.

  The brass door knocker was an elegant lion’s head, tarnished from years of neglect. In a more urban setting, the knocker would have been stolen a long time ago. Maggie had never lived in a place where you didn’t triple-lock the doors. She doubted Big Knob residents locked theirs at all.

  Miraculously, the frosted glass insets in the heavy door weren’t cracked, either. She’d been so busy noticing the peeling paint and the weeds out back that she’d missed seeing some of the nicer features. Maybe the demolition team could take this door off before bulldozing the house. The place needed to go, but that didn’t mean a few things couldn’t be salvaged.

  She used the tarnished knocker, relieved that Sean hadn’t polished it. Knowing he’d swept the steps and the porch was bad enough. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted his invitation to revisit the house.

  No, it was a good idea. H.G. would be impressed that she’d taken time to give a complete report about the structure to be demolished. She’d get points for that, and she needed all the points she could scrounge.

  No one came to the door, so she banged the knocker again, louder this time. Finally she heard Sean calling out, telling her to come on in. With mice and spiders a distinct possibility, she wasn’t all that eager, but she opened the door and cautiously stepped into the entry hall.

  A crystal chandelier hung overhead. She didn’t inspect it too carefully for fear of what might be living in it. The place smelled musty, especially on a rainy day like this, but there was no dirt on the floor as she’d expected. Nothing scurried away from her or swung down from the chandelier overhead. Sean had been a busy guy.

  ‘‘I’m upstairs,’’ he called out. ‘‘Go through the door on your left and you’ll see the staircase.’’

  The door on her left stood open, and she walked into a room with a marble fireplace on the outside wall. A fire would be nice right now. The house was chilly, although she’d rather have that than the overheated situation at Madeline’s. Here she could keep her coat on while she ate lunch.

  A staircase stood at the far end of the room. She steeled herself against falling in love with that staircase and its graceful wooden banister. The space underneath the stairs had been lined with bookshelves and would make a cozy library.

  At the top of the stairs, the railing continued along the hallway, giving her a view of the second floor. This would be where children could peer through the spindles and spy on their parents tucking presents under the Christmas tree.

  Reality-check time. All of this was going down. No children would ever again peek through the railing to the living room below. No one would fill the bookshelves or decorate a Christmas tree placed perfectly in front of the corner window. Maybe the wood from the staircase could be salvaged. She could ask H.G. about that.

  The tall windows, which would never again be decorated with tissue-paper snowflakes or reflect the lights of a Christmas tree, looked out on the front porch and the trees surrounding th
e house. The branches were bare now, but with spring and clean windows, the view would be lovely.

  Besides the grimy windowpanes, the windowsills and the mantel were covered in dust, which made her smile. Men paid attention to floors, but they usually forgot about the other surfaces.

  Sounds of banging and the scrape of metal came from over her head somewhere. ‘‘What are you doing up there?’’ If he was killing rats, she was leaving.

  ‘‘Trying to get the balcony doors open.’’

  ‘‘Sean, it’s raining.’’ She started up the steps, which creaked. Instead of being annoying, the sound sent warm memories swirling through her.

  Her parents’ old two-flat had creaky stairs, and she’d played on them as a kid. Life hadn’t been so bad then. But eventually she’d become old enough to get a part-time job and was ordered to turn her earnings over to her parents. They’d squandered the money the way they’d squandered everything else.

  The banging and scraping continued on the second floor. ‘‘I know it’s raining,’’ Sean said. ‘‘But it might stop, and the view from the balcony is great.’’

  She climbed the stairs, determined to set him straight. ‘‘Look, it’s obvious what you’re trying to do, but it’s no use.’’

  At the top of the stairs she glanced down the hall and found the only open door. The sounds of Sean working on the balcony door were coming from there, so she headed toward it. ‘‘You can clean up this house and show me views until the cows come home, but I’m still going to buy this property for SaveALot. The location is excellent and the customer base is—’’

  She reached the doorway and stared in speechless fascination at the setting he’d prepared. A quilt had been spread on the floor of what she guessed might be the master bedroom. On top of that sat a wicker chest holding two candlesticks and red tapered candles—both lit to chase away the gloom of a rainy day.

  In addition to the candlesticks, the chest held two plates complete with sandwiches and covered with wax paper, and two wineglasses. A bottle of red wine and a bowl of potato chips sat on the floor next to the quilt. In the corner of the room stood a small heater, which had to be fueled by propane since there was no electricity.