That Voodoo That You Do

by Ann Yost

  “C’mon, Z. Even you can’t control the war.” Zach leaned against the chestnut tree and looked away, but Luke wasn’t finished. “You really going back?”

  Zach inhaled again. He let the smoke out in a series of fat little circles.

  “What about Francie?”

  A muscle worked in Zach’s strong jaw. He dropped the half-smoked butt and ground it out with his boot heel. “That’s over.”

  For a moment Luke couldn’t speak. Betting on Zach and Francine would have been like betting on death or taxes.

  “You wanna tell me why?”

  “Chicks change their minds. You should know that better’n anyone.”

  An old familiar pain nearly paralyzed Luke’s heart. “We’re not talking about me.”

  “I think we are.”

  Luke glared at the other man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Zach’s broad shoulders lifted and fell. “Why are you back?”

  He didn’t want to get into this. “Unfinished business.”

  “Business with Crystal.”

  “Drop it, Z.”

  But Zach wouldn’t drop it. “It’s Christmastime. Chances are one hundred percent she’ll visit her folks sometime in the next couple of weeks. She’s like a T-bone to a coon hound, and you’re the hound.”

  All of a sudden Luke was back in high school watching the new girl saunter past the bank of lockers stopping the hearts of every male in the building.

  “This is nothing to do with her.” He knew the words sounded forced.

  “She’s poison, Luke. Pure poison.”

  Zach nodded in Jessie’s direction. “Who’s the midget?”

  It took an effort to return to the present. Luke sucked in the chilly air. A storm was sure as hell coming. “Jessie Maynard. Blanche’s great-niece.”

  Zach’s thick eyebrows lifted. “She staying at the house?”

  Luke got the implication. He wasn’t amused. “She’s a kid.”

  Zach’s gaze landed on Jessie, and he squinted.

  “You’d better get your glasses checked. She might be a small package, but everything’s in the right place.”

  It was just a comment. Luke knew Zach had never looked at any woman except Francine, regardless of what their problem was at the moment. Nevertheless, he scowled at his friend.

  “Hands off, Zach. She’s Blanche’s kin.”

  “You said that already.”

  Despite the wind Luke felt sweat break out on his back. Jesus. Who knew babysitting took so much work?

  “Let Crystal go,” Zach said, quietly, “the way the rest of us did years ago.”

  Luke didn’t say what he was thinking, that it was easier for everybody else. None of them had married her. Luke picked up a sledgehammer and drove one of Mayor Foote’s flimsy spikes halfway to China.

  ****

  Letty Appleby waved her spindly arms like a demented dictator, and her voice spiraled into a pig-like squeal as she spewed out the rules. As chairperson of the now-defunct church social committee, she felt it was her obligation and responsibility to educate the masses even though most of the residents of Mystic Hollow knew exactly how to eat Molly Umphrey’s special double-chocolate, chocolate chip brownies.

  Eleanor waited for Letty to calm down. Sometimes she felt like she’d spent her whole life waiting for Letty to blow off steam or trying to repair the damage from Letty’s words. Between dealing with her neighbor and her husband, Eleanor had learned to compartmentalize, to bide her time, to have extraordinary patience.

  Finally, the harridan quieted.

  “Have a brownie, Letty?”

  The woman took only one bite before she started again.

  “Soddom and Gomorrah,” Letty muttered. “That’s where we’re headed. Right, straight toward the Apocalypse.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eleanor said, mildly.

  Letty’s back stiffened and her long, witch-like chin lifted high into the air.

  “I am talking about morality, Eleanor. And the rising crime rate. Mystic Hollow is sinking into depravity.”

  The crime rate? In Mystic Hollow? The town’s one-man police force consisted of a retired football coach who spent his summers on the golf course over in Gap. Mystic Hollow had no crime rate. Eleanor wisely didn’t comment. Instead she seized the moment after Letty’s next bite of brownie.

  “Letty, dear, you’ve worked so hard tonight. Why don’t you take a little stroll around the green?”

  Letty’s eyes lit up. Few people shared gossip with the woman, but she was able to pick up tidbits with her inveterate eavesdropping. The crone still managed to be ungracious.

  “You will have to supervise the cleanup.”

  “Of course.” It was a small price to pay for peace. Besides, Letty seldom did any real work. She was too busy cataloguing everybody else’s sins.

  ****

  The twinkle lights on the gazebo danced like marionettes as the wind picked up and the temperature dropped. As the fire truck headed back for the station, Santa flung handfuls of candy to the children lining the street.

  Jessie had been pleasantly surprised at the success of her kissing booth. Most of the young males in town, including teenagers, had flocked around egging one another to “kiss her again.” Turned out she was just fine with the art of kissing as long as no passion was involved.

  As the wind kicked up, whipping up the corners of the paper tablecloth on the fortune teller’s table and producing a dull roar, festival goers helped themselves to lemonade and brownies.

  Jessie turned to Francine. “Shouldn’t we close down before the skies open up?”

  The redhead laughed. “Mayor Foote’s the eternal optimist. He always thinks a storm will hold off. I can’t tell you how many town events have ended with everybody dashing for home in between raindrops.”

  Jessie smiled. She liked her new friend and she decided to trust her. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Francie nodded.

  “Do you think my aunt Blanche was murdered?”

  Francine looked thoughtful. “The truth? I don’t think so. She died in bed, and there was no apparent sign of foul play.”

  So the murder theory was only in the minds of the imaginative would-be witches. Jessie knew she should be relieved.

  “It’s possible, though,” Francine continued. “There’s definitely something shady going on at St. Michael’s. Blanche, as you know, wasn’t one to ignore a problem. If she discovered something, she probably confronted the reverend.”

  “But why would she do it alone?”

  Francine smiled. “I know you and your aunt stayed in touch, but you couldn’t have known her very well if you could ask that question. She wouldn’t have wanted to humiliate the ‘sinner,’ and she wouldn’t have wanted to endanger anyone else.”

  Jessie’s heart twisted. She’d lost a very special woman. She wished she’d made more of an effort to visit Blanche Maynard.

  “Do you believe the reverend could have murdered her? I mean, he took vows.”

  Francine’s eyes flashed with cynicism. “Everyone who gets married takes vows, too, and look where that’s led—to a fifty percent divorce rate.”

  She had a point.

  “So what’s going on with the locked church?”

  Francine shrugged. “There probably is a mold issue. Besides, it isn’t locked all the time. I’m sure it’s open tonight so the volunteers can return the tables and chairs.”

  The church was open tonight. Oh my god. Here was an opportunity just staring her in the face. Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. She glanced at the darkened building across the green. Francine noticed. She put her hand on Jessie’s forearm.

  “Don’t get involved with this. Blanche never would have wanted anything to happen to you.”

  Maybe not, but according to the three canasta witches, Blanche had summoned her to deal with the problem at St. Michael’s. At least indirectly.

  “I’m just here for res
t and recuperation,” she assured Francine. “Nothing will happen to me.”

  ****

  “I’ve found the perfect spot, sugar.”

  Dennis Prendergast leaned his head against the rough brick wall. Lois had cut him out of the crowd like a prize heifer and brought him to the alley behind Bexler’s Drugs. He squeezed his eyes. The distant shouts from the festival added to his anticipation as did the contrast between the chilly wind and the fire in his blood. He moaned with pleasure as she touched him.

  “Baby,” he rasped, “you always find the perfect spot.” He moved against the wall. The bricks would snag his coat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Lois’s talented fingers massaged him. Any minute now he’d be in her mouth. He felt the first flicks of her tongue, and his head bounced against the brick.

  “Jesus,” he whispered. “Mary and Joseph.”

  “Saints alive!”

  The unholy shriek caused Lois to pulverize his balls, and he yelped. Suddenly he was free, his erection bobbing like an overloaded grapevine.

  “Reverend Prendergast.”

  His eyes snapped open, and he cursed again. Miss Letty. The old witch was staring at his genitals as though she’d never seen an aroused man.

  Probably she hadn’t.

  The haze of sexual desperation couldn’t disguise the imminent disaster. Miss Letty Appleby was the town crier. He was ruined. He closed his eyes, briefly, hoping it was just a nightmare and he’d wake up. For a moment it seemed his prayers had been answered. Neither Letty nor Lois was still in the alley with him.

  His hands shaking, he jammed the still-hard flesh back into his trousers.

  “Hey, Reverend, you all right.”

  It was a new voice, high, sweet and incredibly irritating. What was this? Disneyworld? He should be charging admission. Dennis grabbed the edge of his coat and covered his open fly.

  “I’m fine.” He forced himself to smile at the boy. “Timmy.”

  “I’m Tommy. Tommy Thompson. Timmy’s my brother.”

  Timmy. Tommy. Satan. Whatever.

  “What’re you doing back here?”

  There was no good answer. Dennis stared at the boy and prayed for a miracle.

  An instant later hailstones cracked against the bricks behind him.

  “Gotta go,” the boy yelled as he raced out of the alley.

  Dennis smiled grimly. As usual, God had saved him. Now, if the Man would just strike Letty dumb.

  ****

  A few of the teenage boys reappeared but it became clear the festival was winding down and Jessie called a halt to the kissing. She glanced with satisfaction at the fishbowl of cash. She was proud to contribute to the uniform fund for the Marching Mystics. She dipped her hand in the bowl to remove the bills, but froze when warm masculine fingers circled her wrist.

  “I haven’t had my turn.”

  The voice was deep, pleasant, and unfamiliar. Jessie looked up into a pair of electric blue eyes.

  The man held her gaze as he deposited a twenty-dollar bill, then with one coordinated move, he gathered Jessie into his massive arms. She felt like the bride of King Kong.

  “Amateur hour is over,” he continued, his voice low and intimate. Firm lips feathered over hers. He’d spoken the truth. The kiss bore no resemblance to the ones she’d shared with the boys. It was crisp, clean, expert. Designed to tantalize. When he pulled back a moment later, she grinned at him.

  “Is this how you greet all visitors in Mystic Hollow?”

  “Just call me the Welcome Wagon.”

  His head lowered and bestowed another delicious kiss. It was fine. Better than any kiss she’d ever shared with Kit. His big body shielded her from the first plump drops of rain.

  And then she was spun free.

  “I told you,” another masculine voice growled, “hands off.” Luke. Jessie’s heart flew into her mouth. Her eyes darted to her housemate’s hard features. The green eyes were dark with annoyance, but they weren’t aimed at her.

  Luke was looking at Francine. Jessie tried to swallow and couldn’t. Zach had let go of her, but he didn’t sound intimidated.

  “She still owes me nineteen kisses.”

  “Eighteen,” Jessie corrected, in a hoarse voice.

  Luke’s gaze narrowed on the other man. “Get change.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. You take ’em. I dare you.”

  Raindrops began to slide down Jessie’s face like uncontrolled tears. She opened her mouth to protest.

  “Not interested.”

  For some reason his rejection infuriated her. The kissing booth was for a good cause, and what was she? Chopped liver? Everyone else seemed to enjoy kissing her.

  “Coward.” The taunt was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  The green eyes narrowed, and she felt strong fingers dig into the soft flesh of her upper arms. It hurt. She wanted to push him away, but he was a man on a mission. His hard mouth covered hers, and he bent her back into a pretzel. She wondered, briefly, if her spine would snap. There was no time for anger or humiliation. The masculine lips softened, and she felt a warm, irresistible tongue slip into her mouth.

  Holy shit.

  Desire rocketed through her. Her blood rushed, her heart drummed, and moisture pooled between her legs. Shocked and aroused, she recklessly thrust her own tongue behind his strong teeth. Her arms lifted of their own volition, and she realized she was sliding her fingers into his thick, damp hair.

  The urgency was stunning. And unique. And, of course, disastrous. She couldn’t afford a complication like this. She needed to pull away, but she knew, in her soul, she’d stay like this forever if she could.

  The choice was taken out of her hands. A harsh groan worked its way up Luke’s hard body and seemed to set off an alarm bell. He pushed her away. And then he disappeared into the dark.

  ****

  He should never have kissed the elf. It was a mid-air collision; a spinout on the Indy 500; a tsunami.

  He’d been a fool. He should’ve recognized those protective feelings. Hadn’t felt them since Crystal. He swore silently as he heaved tables and chairs into the pickup. He knew what it was. Chemistry. God damn chemistry. Had Blanche known? Had she planned this?

  He rejected that idea. This was just one of the universe’s nasty little tricks. He sucked in a breath of rain soaked wind and tried to slow his heart rate. He could deal with it. All he had to do was keep the chemistry from turning into biology. A piece of cake. He could babysit the damn woman without touching her.

  God, she’d felt good. Soft and warm, surprised but responsive. He felt the blood rush to his groin. His zipper tightened. Shit.

  Lightning seared the sky, thunder cracked, and rain slashed across his face. He didn’t mind. Nature’s holocaust matched the shrapnel in his gut.

  Chapter Four

  Thunder bellowed, and rain pasted Eleanor’s polyester slacks against her legs. Even her waterproof rain jacket was no help against the driving storm. There was chaos on the green as parents grabbed their children in a hopeless attempt to get home without getting soaked. Mayor Foote’s shelter blew away.

  Eleanor continued to pick up soggy paper products and stuff them into a green plastic bag, blinking her eyes against the onslaught. With the storm in her ears and her eyes on the ground, she didn’t hear anyone approach, so when claws clamped onto her wrist she jumped in pain. “Letty! For heaven’s sake!”

  “I have to speak to you at once, Eleanor. There isn’t a moment to lose.”

  The woman was as reliable as the post office. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night could keep her from spreading gossip. Eleanor wondered whose head was on the block now.

  “You should get on home,” she told Letty. “You’ll catch pneumonia.”

  Letty’s grip tightened. Her long sallow face was flushed with fury; her pale eyes were crystals of anticipation. She already looked ill. Eleanor softened her voice. “Seriously, Letty. You need to get out of the rain.”

 
“This will not wait.” God, the woman was stubborn.

  “All right.” Eleanor decided to abandon the rest of the un-biodegradable trash. “Let’s go back to the duplex and have a cup of tea.”

  Moments later, Letty had shed her voluminous black raincoat. Her feet, still clad with galoshes, rested under Eleanor’s Formica topped kitchen table. The old woman’s soaked yellow-gray hair looked like seaweed plastered against a rock.

  “Green tea or Oolong?”

  “This is more important than tea, Eleanor.

  You’d better sit down.”

  “I will. Just let me boil the water.”

  Letty apparently gave up the effort to control the pastor’s wife. She let out an exasperated puff of breath. “Sin, Eleanor. I’m talking about the devil’s work. I am sorry to have to tell you, but this is not something a God-fearing Christian can ignore. Evil waits for no man.”

  Eleanor stifled a sigh. Someone was about to get skewered. She left the kettle to boil on the pristine avocado stove top and she took a seat.

  May the bloodletting begin.

  “I saw them behind Bexler’s.”

  Eleanor strove for patience. “Saw who, Letty?”

  “Him. He was having carnal relations with that hussy!”

  Eleanor’s jaw dropped. “How upsetting.”

  It obviously wasn’t the response Letty wanted. She blinked several times.

  “Very upsetting,” she clarified. “Especially since he is a man of the cloth.”

  A stillness came over Eleanor Prendergast. Years of practice gave her the control she knew she needed at that moment. She refused to make this easier for the Gossip.

  “Not just carnal relations, either, Eleanor. It was, it was…” Letty searched for the right word. “It was bestiality!”

  Oh Lord. She stared at the over bright eyes of the woman across the table.

  “Don’t you understand? It was the reverend!

  Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife!”

  Eleanor put up a token resistance.

  “You mean Denny? You must be mistaken,

  Letty.”

  Letty’s thin gray eyebrows arrowed toward her long nose.

  “My eyesight is perfect. I know what I saw.”

  Eleanor tried again. “Why would someone carry on in that dank alley behind the pharmacy? There’s no place even to sit down.”