Over Hexed

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She lowered her voice. ‘‘Mark my words, Sean Madigan. If you let this one get away, you’ll be sorry.’’

  ‘‘Don’t I know it.’’ He left the diner, his strides lengthening as he hurried down Fifth Street toward the refurbished Victorian on the southwest side of town. Dorcas and Ambrose had to help him.

  It wasn’t only about the property anymore. It was about Maggie. He needed her more than he needed the house. And he didn’t know how to get her.

  Chapter 22

  When Maggie tried to pay for her pancakes, Madeline wouldn’t take the money, so Maggie left a generous tip on the table. Obviously the poor woman was trying to be a matchmaker, and Maggie felt sad that all that effort would go to waste. But strong sexual attraction didn’t necessarily lead to a commitment, and besides, Sean primarily wanted to distract her from buying the property. He’d never said a word about undying love.

  She hoped he wouldn’t. That would be embarrassing when she had no intention of staying in Big Knob, no matter how much fun she’d had in bed with Sean. She’d also have to question his sincerity; pledging his undying love could be just another tactic. She didn’t fully trust him.

  Out on the street, she noticed Denise’s car parked in front of Big Knob Realty, along with Jeremy’s truck. Surely she’d get what she needed this morning so she could put an end to this roller coaster she was on. She couldn’t avoid Sean in a town this size, and every time she saw him she wanted to jump his bones.

  She also thought about him way too much, even when he wasn’t around. Like now, as she crossed the street to Denise’s office, she wondered where he’d gone in such a hurry this morning, and why his hair had started looking weird all of a sudden. She hoped he didn’t have a health condition. Although she wasn’t ready to change her whole life in order to hang out with him and have lots of sex, she wished him well. She didn’t want him to be sick or anything.

  Denise was at her desk, a laptop open in front of her and a promising expression on her face. Jeremy was on his knees on the floor, boxing up her monitor.

  When Maggie walked in, Denise glanced up. ‘‘I was just going to call you.’’

  ‘‘New laptop?’’

  ‘‘Jeremy’s.’’

  Still on his knees, Jeremy folded the flaps on the box. ‘‘I’m loaning it to her until I can figure out what’s going on with this baby.’’ He stood and hoisted the box into his arms. ‘‘See you later.’’

  ‘‘Bye, Jeremy,’’ Denise said. ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘Yes, thank you so much.’’ Maggie gave him a smile before she walked over to Denise’s desk. Anticipation churned in her gut. ‘‘Can you get on the Internet, or is the phone still out?’’

  ‘‘Phone line’s good to go. At first the server was giving me some grief and I couldn’t sign on, but I’ve got it now. Keep your fingers crossed I can access my e-mail.’’

  ‘‘I’m crossing everything that can be crossed, including my eyes.’’ Watching the screen over Denise’s shoulder, she unbelted her trench coat and took it off.

  ‘‘Get some coffee if you want it,’’ Denise said.

  ‘‘Thanks. I . . . I’ve had some.’’ Better not mention whom she’d had it with. The way gossip traveled in this town, Denise would find out soon enough. She’d probably also find out that Maggie had spent the night at Sean’s. Someone would have noticed the rental car sitting out there until morning, or else Madeline would let something slip.

  Maggie hoped to be in contact with the property owner before that information made the rounds and filtered down to Denise. Once Maggie knew how to contact the owner, she wouldn’t need Denise’s goodwill quite so much.

  ‘‘We’re in!’’ Denise scrolled through her list of e-mails. ‘‘And there it is!’’

  Maggie’s heart thumped as she stared at the screen. At last. Denise opened the e-mail, and miracle of miracles, it contained the name of the person on record as owning the property at 609 Fourth Avenue. Harold Pierpont lived in Evansville. And he had a phone number.

  Denise reached for her desk phone and punched in the number. Maggie resisted the urge to pull the receiver out of her hand so she could talk to Harold herself. But Denise was the real estate agent. She should handle this part.

  Maggie walked back around the desk and sat in one of the two chairs positioned in front of it. She would trust Denise to do her job. From the way Denise was shouting into the phone, Maggie guessed that Harold Pierpont had a hearing problem.

  ‘‘I have an offer on your property in Big Knob!’’ Denise said for the second time. ‘‘B-I-G K-N-O-B. That’s right. 609 Fourth Avenue.’’ Then she quoted the amount Maggie had authorized.

  In the long silence that followed, Maggie stared at Denise so hard it was a wonder the woman didn’t spontaneously combust.

  Finally Denise spoke again. ‘‘Mr. Pierpont? Are you there?’’ Then she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘‘I think he passed out. Or had a heart attack.’’

  ‘‘Don’t say that.’’

  Denise uncovered the mouthpiece and tried again. ‘‘Hello? Mr. Pierpont? Can you hear me?’’

  Maggie pictured the phone dangling by a cord and Harold Pierpont stretched out on the floor, unconsciousor worse. She chewed on her fingernail and willed him to say something, anything.

  ‘‘Oh! You are there!’’

  Maggie slumped against the chair. She couldn’t take this. Correction—she certainly could take this. She was a tough cookie.

  ‘‘I’m not sure,’’ Denise said. ‘‘Let me check with my client.’’ Denise covered the mouthpiece again. ‘‘He wants to meet with you at the property tomorrow at ten. Do you want to do that?’’

  ‘‘Is he selling it to me or not?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. I think so. But he wants this meeting. He sounds really old.’’

  ‘‘Okay. I’ll meet with him.’’ Maggie fought disappointment. She’d hoped to have this finalized today, or at least have a verbal agreement so she could complete the paperwork on Monday. Nothing about this deal was turning out to be simple.

  ‘‘Fine! Tomorrow at ten!’’ Denise hung up the phone. ‘‘I hope he has all his marbles.’’

  ‘‘Denise! You’re giving me ulcers!’’

  ‘‘Well, his voice was pretty quavery. And you’d think if someone owned a piece of property, he’d remember it. From the sound of him, I hate to think he’ll be driving on the freeway. Maybe he’ll have somebody bring him. I hope so.’’

  While Denise started checking her other e-mails, Maggie couldn’t sit still, so she left the chair and paced the office. This arrangement made her more than a little nervous.

  Finally inspiration struck. ‘‘Okay, here’s an idea. I could drive over and get him to make sure he arrives safely. Why don’t you call him back and suggest that?’’

  Denise didn’t answer right away as she scrolled through an e-mail. ‘‘Okay,’’ she said at last. She punched in the number again and cradled the phone against her shoulder. A few moments later she took the receiver away from her ear. ‘‘No answer.’’

  ‘‘Let it ring. If he’s hard of hearing or slow on his feet, answering could take a while.’’

  ‘‘Or if he’s dead, it could take forever.’’ Denise sounded amazingly cheerful about that possibility.

  ‘‘Will you stop? Whose side are you on, anyway?’’

  ‘‘Yours, of course.’’ But Denise had a strange expression on her face. ‘‘But I might ask you the same thing.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘Oh, a little e-mail birdie just told me your car was parked outside Sean’s place all night. Sleeping with the enemy, are we?’’

  Sean had to ring the doorbell three times before Ambrose answered it. He was wearing his black silk bathrobe and he looked sleepy.

  Sean didn’t care. ‘‘We have to talk.’’

  Ambrose peered at him. ‘‘You don’t look so hot.’’

  ‘‘Neither do you, but at least
you can shave and shower in order to look decent. I have no control over what I look like, and it’s driving me nuts.’’

  ‘‘Hm. I guess you’d better come in.’’ Ambrose opened the door wider and stepped back. ‘‘Dorcas! Sean’s here!’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ Dorcas came down the hall barefoot and wearing her purple silk robe.

  Sean wasn’t surprised to notice that her toenails were painted purple, too, and she wore a silver toe ring. Her hair looked mussed, as if she’d just crawled out of bed, too. Sean thought middle-aged people got up early.

  ‘‘Hello, Sean.’’ She covered a yawn with her hand. ‘‘You’re wearing your glasses again.’’

  ‘‘That’s because my eyesight went bad in the middle of breakfast at the Hob Knob. I never know when my eyesight will turn crappy or my hair will start growing in strange directions.’’

  Dorcas nodded. ‘‘That’s normal. Come on back and I’ll make us some coffee.’’ She turned and walked down the hall to the kitchen.

  ‘‘There is nothing normal about this.’’ As Sean followed her, Sabrina came trotting down the stairs and pranced over to rub against his leg. He paused to pet her and noticed a broom leaning up against the wall.

  Sabrina walked over to sniff it, which was when Sean noticed it was no ordinary broom. The handle was carved into shapes of people. Sabrina batted at the broom. Then she looked up at Ambrose and meowed loudly.

  ‘‘I guess she likes that broom.’’ Sean leaned closer, trying to decipher the carvings.

  ‘‘Here, let me get that out of your way.’’ Ambrose snatched it out from under Sean’s nose, opened a closet and tossed the broom inside. After he closed the door, Sabrina scratched at it as if wanting to get at the broom.

  ‘‘She really likes that broom,’’ Sean said. Edith Mae’s words came back to him—two people riding on a broomstick. Nah. There was no such thing.

  ‘‘We picked it up in Peru,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘I swear the straw is laced with catnip.’’

  ‘‘I couldn’t help noticing the fancy handle.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, Dorcas hates the sound of a vacuum cleaner, so we use a broom. I could have bought a top-of-the-line vacuum for the price of that broom, but it makes Dorcas happy so I go along.’’

  Sean nodded. Dorcas and Ambrose were the kind of people who would buy a hand-carved broom to sweep their hardwood floors. ‘‘You’re going to laugh at this, but Edith Mae Hoogstraten swears she saw two people riding a broom last night.’’

  Sure enough, Ambrose laughed. ‘‘When was the last time she got a new prescription for her glasses?’’

  ‘‘She doesn’t wear glasses since her cataract surgery, but I think she was either sipping gin or dreaming.’’

  ‘‘Or both. Come on. I can smell coffee.’’

  As they walked into the kitchen, three mugs of coffee sat waiting on the kitchen table.

  ‘‘That was fast.’’ Sean estimated no more than two minutes had gone by since Dorcas offered to make the coffee.

  ‘‘I have this special European pot,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘You set it up the night before and then hit a remote control from the bedroom.’’

  Sean glanced around, wondering if he’d find some kind of space-age brewing system on the counter. ‘‘Where is it?’’

  ‘‘Tucked inside a cupboard. I like to keep my countertops clear. Sit anywhere you like.’’

  ‘‘Thanks.’’ Sean pulled out a chair and sat down.

  ‘‘Hey, Dorcas, you’ll never believe the latest Big Knob gossip,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘Edith Mae Hoogstraten says she saw two people riding on a broom last night.’’

  ‘‘She must have watched The Wizard of Oz one too many times,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘I’ll bet it was an owl carrying a mouse with a long tail.’’

  ‘‘Nobody believes her, anyway,’’ Sean said. ‘‘Seeing your broom in the hallway made me think of it.’’

  ‘‘Oh yes.’’ Dorcas laughed merrily as she sat across from Sean at the small marble table. ‘‘The one Ambrose didn’t want me to buy when we found it in Switzerland. But it sweeps like a champ.’’

  ‘‘It was Peru, dearest,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘We bought it in Peru, remember? From the family that raised llamas.’’

  Dorcas blinked. ‘‘Oh, right. Oh, well—the Andes, the Alps—who can keep them straight?’’

  Sean had never seen either one, but he thought he’d remember whether he’d been on one particular continent or another. Still, he didn’t care where the damned broom came from. He had more important issues to address.

  He ignored the coffee sitting in front of him. ‘‘About my appearance. If you can’t change me back the way I was, at least tell me how these herbs work, so I know what to expect.’’

  Dorcas poured cream into her coffee. ‘‘Everyone’s case is different. Cream?’’

  ‘‘No, thanks. Look, you must have some general description. You can’t go giving someone a bunch of herbs and not have some idea of how they’ll work.’’

  Dorcas stirred her coffee and glanced up at him. ‘‘You’re the first person we’ve tried this combination on.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  She took a drink and put down her mug. ‘‘Usually people want to be better-looking and sexier, not the opposite. Yours was an unusual request.’’

  ‘‘Are you saying I’m some kind of guinea pig?’’ The more he heard, the more he cursed himself for getting into this. What an idiot he’d been.

  ‘‘I wouldn’t put it that way,’’ Ambrose said.

  ‘‘Oh yeah? Then how would you put it?’’

  ‘‘I would call it a learning experience for all of us.’’ Dorcas sipped her coffee. ‘‘How are you coming along on the sex bench?’’

  Sean gritted his teeth. ‘‘I have no time to work on the blasted sex bench because I’m busy fighting for my life. I’m sure Maggie has the information on the property by now. She may even be in touch with the owner and making an offer.’’

  ‘‘What will you do about that?’’ Ambrose asked.

  ‘‘There’s nothing I can do. I don’t have the money to make a counteroffer. I don’t have the looks to charm her out of buying the place. Worse than that, I can’t figure out any way to make her fall in love with me.’’

  Dorcas cradled her warm mug in both hands. ‘‘You want her to do that?’’

  ‘‘Hell, yes, I want her to do that! She’s everything I need, but I’m not what she needs, so I’m dead in the water. If I had my looks and sexiness back for good, I could convince her to give up her job and move here so we could get married.’’

  Ambrose cleared his throat. ‘‘You haven’t said anything about being in love with her.’’

  ‘‘Well, I . . .’’ Sean thought about that. ‘‘I think I am.’’

  ‘‘Thinking you are and actually being in love are two different things,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘Personally, I’m glad you don’t have your old self to work with. You might trap that poor girl into loving you when you only think you love her. That would be cruel. You have to know without a shadow of a doubt that you’re crazy in love with her.’’

  Sean gazed at her. ‘‘How will I know that for sure?’’

  ‘‘Trust me.’’ Dorcas smiled at him. ‘‘When it happens, you will know.’’

  Sean’s cell phone rang. ‘‘Excuse me a minute.’’ He checked the display and discovered it was Clem Loudermilk, probably calling because Clara was bugging him about the skunks. He could answer it later.

  ‘‘I think you should take that call,’’ Ambrose said.

  ‘‘It can wait. I still want to know if you can help me predict when I’ll change from looking good to looking bad.’’

  ‘‘Take the call,’’ Dorcas said. ‘‘Then we’ll talk.’’

  ‘‘I can’t get good reception in this house.’’

  Ambrose waved a hand in the air. ‘‘That may have changed. You know how those transmissions vary.’’

  With a sigh, Sean
answered his phone, expecting static and breaks in the conversation. To his surprise, Clem came through loud and clear.

  ‘‘Sean, Clara took a notion that she wants a sunroom. A big sunroom. I want you to build it, and because of my tax picture this year, I want to pay you now, before you do the work.’’ Then he named a figure that made Sean gasp. ‘‘Can we make a deal?’’

  ‘‘Uh, sure, Clem. I’d be happy to do that work for you.’’

  ‘‘Can you come up here this morning and talk to Clara about it? She’s real anxious to start the planning.’’

  ‘‘All right. I’ll be there.’’

  ‘‘And don’t park by your place. Come up the main road to the big house. I just went down to the cottage, looking for you, and the place is crawling with women. I guess the word’s out about your doings last night.’’

  Sean groaned. ‘‘Thanks for the warning.’’

  ‘‘No problem. See you soon.’’

  ‘‘Right.’’ Sean closed the phone and stared at it, still not quite believing the offer Clem had made. The women converging on his little place would be a hassle, but it might not be his place much longer, anyway, if he bought the house.

  ‘‘Good news?’’ Dorcas asked.

  Feeling a little dazed, Sean glanced at them. ‘‘I guess you could say that. Clem Loudermilk is about to give me a chunk of money. I might even be able to make a counteroffer on the property Maggie wants.’’

  Chapter 23

  Maggie should have known that her night with Sean would be all over town first thing this morning. She’d done the crime, so she’d have to do the time, or, in this case, brave the embarrassment.

  Her cheeks felt hot, but she made herself look Denise in the eye. ‘‘He’s not the enemy. He’s just a guy who wants to buy his childhood home.’’

  ‘‘And he’s using sex to try to get it?’’

  ‘‘Maybe, but as you can see, I’m still planning to buy the property for SaveALot. If that was his plan, it failed.’’

  ‘‘If he was his old self, it wouldn’t have failed. I don’t know what’s happened to him, but he’s lost that extreme sexiness he used to have.’’