Hot on the Trail Mix

by P. D. Workman

  Reg looked over the options. Should she establish herself as someone with exacting and eclectic tastes? A connoisseur? Someone who was obviously unique and memorable?

  But she wanted the bar to be somewhere she could let her hair down, not where she had to always be playing a part.

  “Just a draft,” she sighed. “Whatever is on tap.”

  He nodded and grabbed a beer stein. He filled it and placed it neatly on a coaster in front of her, pushing a bowl of pretzels closer to her. Something nice and salty to encourage thirst.

  “So, Miss Medium, your name is…?”

  “Reg Rawlins.” She figured she was okay using the name, even though that was what she had used in Bald Eagle Falls. She didn’t think any charges would follow her all the way to Florida. It wasn’t like she was going to be filing taxes under the name.

  He gave a nod. “Bill Johnson.”

  Reg took a pull on her beer. It had been a long drive and she was glad to be able to relax and recharge her batteries. Thinking of figurative batteries, she decided she’d better check her actual battery. Reg pulled out her phone and checked the charge. Not too bad. It would last her a couple more hours, and maybe by that time, she would have settled somewhere. She launched her browser and tapped in a search for lodgings. There were plenty of hits for short-term rentals. Lots of vacationers. Finding somewhere permanent might take a bit longer, but at least she’d have a place to hang her hat. Or her headscarf. And plug in her phone.

  “You need a place to stay?” Bill asked, obviously recognizing the website.

  “Looks like there are lots of options.”

  “Sarah Bishop is looking for a tenant. She’s easy to get along with. You two would probably hit it off.”

  “Oh?”

  Bill looked around the room. “She’s not here yet. She often shows up for supper. If she doesn’t, I can give her a call and let her know you’re interested.”

  Reg raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know me from Adam. What makes you think I would hit it off with Sarah Bishop or that you can recommend me to her?”

  “Let’s just say… I’m good at reading people. And I would know you from Adam, given that Adam was of the male persuasion.”

  Reg considered pointing out that there were plenty of men who could pass as women or had transitioned from one to the other, but decided that antagonizing him wouldn’t be the wisest thing for her to do. So she took a sip of her beer and didn’t challenge him.

  “Okay. Well, I’d appreciate that. Being able to move in somewhere long-term right away would be a real plus. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He moved away to help another patron.

  Reg continued to browse through the lodging listings to get a sense of what costs to expect for rent and what her options were if she didn’t like Sarah Bishop’s place. It could be a dump. Sarah Bishop could be Bill’s sister or ex and he just wanted her off of his back. He had been pretty quick to offer his help and judge Reg worthy as a tenant for his friend.

  Someone took the stool next to Reg’s, and she looked up to see who it was. A strikingly handsome man. Thirty-something, short hair slicked back from his face to show off a widow’s peak, a stubbly beard that at first glance made it look like he had forgotten to shave for a couple of days, but on a more careful examination was painstakingly trimmed. His eyes were dark but glowed almost red in the dim lighting of the restaurant, reflecting the red furnishings and wall coverings. Add a cape, and he’d be perfect to cast as a vampire.

  He gave her an enigmatic look. Almost smiling, but not quite. A smirk. She thought he was going to greet her as Bill had, recognizing her as a stranger and asking who she was. But he merely inclined his head slightly and waited for his drink, which Bill brought over without being asked. Obviously his ‘usual.’

  “Reg Rawlins, Uriel Hawthorne,” Bill said, making a gesture from one to the other by way of introduction.

  Great choice of name. Reg was impressed. Still, Uriel said nothing, just threw back his shot and watched her.

  “Nice to meet you,” Reg said, thrusting her hand out to shake his, forcing him to acknowledge her presence.

  He left her hanging for a moment, not moving to take her hand, and then finally responded, taking her hand in his in a soft, caressing gesture that made her immediately want to pull back. But she set her teeth and gave him a warm smile. She gave him one more squeeze before letting go and pulling back again.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Uriel returned. “Are you thinking of joining our little community?”

  “Well, we’ll see how it goes,” Reg said with a shrug. “I’m new in town and I’ve never been part of… this kind of community before. I’ve always just been on my own.”

  “There is something to be said for that.”

  Reg raised her eyebrows in query.

  “Setting your own rules, doing your own thing,” Uriel said. “No one with preconceptions as to how things should be done.”

  “Right.” Reg nodded. Rules, in her opinion, were made to be broken. She wasn’t about to buy into a social construct that tried to control her activities.

  “Ah, here’s Sarah,” Bill said, hovering near Reg.

  It took her a moment to remember who Sarah was and why she should care. Sarah was the landlord looking for a tenant.

  Reg turned, following Bill’s gaze. She was looking for a woman of around her age, since Bill had said that he thought she and Sarah would hit it off. But she didn’t see anyone who fit her preconception.

  Bill gave a little wave, and a woman nodded to him and corrected her course to join him at the bar.

  She was an older woman, at least in her sixties, with a round face, bottle blond hair that curved around her face, and wire frame glasses. She looked like a friendly grandmother, lips pink with freshly-applied lipstick, a flowered shirt, pink slacks, and flat white sandals. She smiled at Bill.

  “Good evening, Bill. How are you today?”

  He nodded and didn’t bother to answer the greeting. “Sarah, meet Reg Rawlins. She has just arrived in town and is looking for accommodations.”

  “Oh!” Sarah’s face lit up. “Well, my dear, isn’t that wonderful! I just happen to have a cottage that I am trying to rent out! Would you join me for dinner?” She motioned to the tables in the dining area. “I’m afraid I can’t manage bar stools these days.”

  “Sure,” Reg agreed, sliding down from hers and taking her drink with her. “That would be nice.”

  She didn’t bother saying goodbye to Uriel, irritated with his distant, disinterested manner. Sarah led her to a table which was probably her regular, as there didn’t seem to be any problem with her seating herself instead of waiting to be seated. She smiled and chatted with some of the other patrons as she made her way to her seat.

  “Sit down, sit down,” she encouraged Reg, as if Reg had somehow been holding her back. “Reg? Is that short for something? Where did you come from?”

  “Regina. I’ve lived all over.”

  “Well, that’s a pretty name. Did you pick it, or was it already yours?”

  Reg laughed at the question. “I was saddled with Regina, but I picked Reg.”

  “Very nice. I like it. And what do you do?” She made a little gesture to indicate Reg’s costume. “You read palms? Tarot?”

  “A little of everything. Mostly, I talk to the dead.”

  “Oh.” Sarah nodded wisely. “That’s a good gig. Have you been doing it for long?”

  Reg studied the woman, not sure how honest to be. She wasn’t sure whether she should be open about being a medium or a con. Both paths seemed equally treacherous.

  “I’ve always had… certain tendencies… gifts, if you like…” she said obliquely. “I’m just testing the waters now… seeing whether this is something I should pursue…”

  Sarah nodded. A waitress came over and handed them menus, introducing herself and showing off a couple of rather long canine teeth when she smiled. Sarah took no note, and barely gave the menu a g
lance. She’d obviously been there enough times to know what she wanted.

  “What’s good?” Reg asked, glancing over the offerings.

  “The seafood is fresh. Other than that… burger and fries… I wouldn’t try anything too adventurous.”

  “Good to know.”

  After placing her order, Reg leaned back in her seat, looking Sarah over.

  “How about you? Did you retire to Florida, or have you always lived here?”

  “I’ve lived lots of places, dear. Florida is good for my old bones. As for retiring… maybe someday, but not yet.”

  “What is it you do?”

  Sarah raised her brows, as if surprised that Reg didn’t know. Was she supposed to have guessed? Did Sarah think that Bill had told her?

  “Well, I’m a witch,” Sarah said, as if it should have been obvious.

  “Oh.” Reg sat like a lump, with no idea what to say or how to respond. Sarah had turned the tables on her. Reg was used to provoking a reaction from other people. She liked to dress up and to say extravagant things to see how people reacted to her different personas. This time she was in the hot seat. “Oh. I guess I should have guessed.” Reg threw her hands up in what was both a shrug and indicating their surroundings. “After all, we are in the Magic Cauldron.”

  Sarah blinked. “The Crystal Bowl.”

  “Whatever. This is a witch hangout, right? So of course that’s what you are.”

  “I thought you knew. You didn’t just wander in here of your own accord, did you?”

  “There was an old bum down the boardwalk… he called me a witch, and he pointed me this way. So, yes… I knew… It’s all just a bit much.” Reg looked around the restaurant. “I mean, everyone here can’t be a witch.”

  “Of course not,” Sarah agreed. “We have people of all different spiritual and paranormal persuasions. Witches, warlocks, wizards, mediums,” she gave Reg a nod, “fortune-tellers, healers… people who are gifted and people who are seekers.”

  “Okay, then.” Reg looked around at the patrons and shook her head, having a hard time believing that they were all running the same con. “And there isn’t too much competition for the same… customers?”

  “Some people think Black Sands has gotten too commercial, and some people complain it has gotten too crowded. But for the most part… people are willing to live and let live. We are peaceful people.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Sarah launched into a lyrical description of the town and its more interesting citizens. Reg tried not to sit with her mouth open as she listened. The waitress eventually came over with their meals. Reg hadn’t realized how hungry she was getting, but when the platter was placed in front of her, she suddenly realized she was famished.

  “This looks lovely,” she told the waitress, not expecting to be getting a beautifully plated fish at the offbeat witches’ diner. She dug in immediately, taking several delicious bites before looking at Sarah to ask her if she was enjoying her food.

  Sarah’s eyes were closed and her hands hovered over her plate as if she were warming them in the steam rising from the food. Reg turned to look at the waitress, but she was already gone. Reg looked uncomfortably at Sarah, wondering if she should follow suit.

  Sarah’s eyes opened, catching Reg staring at her.

  “Uh…” Reg fumbled. “Amen?”

  Sarah nodded slightly. Then she started to eat.

  “It really is good,” Reg said. “Really nice.”

  “I wouldn’t eat here all the time if it wasn’t,” Sarah agreed. She patted her stomach. “I wouldn’t have to worry so much about my waistline if I was cooking for myself!”

  She was plump, but in a grandmotherly sort of way. Reg couldn’t imagine her skinny; it just wouldn’t have fit. Adele, Erin’s witch friend back in Tennessee was tall and slender, and that worked for her, but it just wouldn’t work for Sarah.

  “So why don’t you tell me about this cottage of yours?” she asked. “Bill seemed to think that we’d be able to come to terms.”

  “He’s very empathic,” Sarah said. “He reads people.”

  “Ah. Of course.” It made sense for a bartender. Reg had known her share of good and bad barkeeps.

  “It’s just a little two-bedroom,” Sarah said, answering Reg’s question. “But it’s just you…?”

  “Yes. No dependents.”

  “So you could use one room as your bedroom and the other as an office, and still have space for entertaining in the living room.”

  “Right,” Reg agreed. She hadn’t thought about seeing clients in her home. She wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to know where she lived. If they didn’t like what she had to say, they wouldn’t know where she lived to confront her. She had thought she would go to them, do readings in their own spaces. She could read a client a lot better if surrounded by their own things. People gave a lot away by the way they lived.

  “It’s separate from the main house, so we wouldn’t be on top of each other. We can each keep our own hours. That can be a problem with night people and day people mixing. The kitchen is small, really just a prep area. You could come use the big kitchen if you needed to do any major baking or entertaining. I really don’t use it that much.”

  “I don’t expect I would either. I don’t do a lot of my own cooking.”

  “You see? You’d be perfect. You wouldn’t be complaining to me that there’s no oven. It really does have everything you really need.”

  “Well, maybe we could go see it after dinner, and talk business.”

  “You’re going to like it just fine. I can tell.”

  As Reg wasn’t that picky, Sarah was probably right. If Reg didn’t like it after a month or two, she’d have a good idea by that point of where to look for somewhere better. It wasn’t a long-term commitment.

  Which was good, because Reg Rawlins didn’t like long commitments.

  Chapter 2

  Cold, clammy fingers traced across Reg’s face, awakening her in the wee hours of the morning.

  She sat bolt upright, her heart racing. She looked quickly around her, trying to remember where she was and who was there with her. A chaotic childhood had conditioned her to be instantly awake and ready to fight. Strike fast to protect herself and escape to somewhere safe. But there was no one else in the room. Maybe the roof leaked and a drop of cold water had traced its way across her cheek.

  She touched it, but it was dry, with only the memory of those icy fingers lingering behind.

  Reg listened for a long time, hearing the lap of the waves in the distance. It was a restful, peaceful noise, and gradually the slamming of her heart slowed to its normal rate, though it was still pounding too hard to get back to sleep.

  “There’s no one here,” Reg said aloud, very quietly. “You’re perfectly safe, Reg. No one is going to hurt you.”

  It was comforting to hear those words.

  When she was a kid, therapists had told her social worker and foster parents she had PTSD, and that was the reason for much of her unwanted behavior. It was nonsense, of course. Reg had never been in a war or terrorist attack. She’d never been kidnapped. Sure, she’d grown up rough, but a lot of kids had. And Reg was good at adapting. You couldn’t call a few nightmares PTSD just because it was the fashion.

  She listened to the waves for a long time. It was growing light as she drifted off to sleep again, still not sure what had awakened her in the night.

  When she got up in the morning, it was with the clear plan to get a cat. She needed a cat. It would be a good prop. Witches had cats or other familiars. People instinctively felt that people who owned pets were kinder and more trustworthy than those who didn’t. And it would give her a little company, without having to resort to having another person around the house. Reg liked company, but she liked having her own space.

  A cat was the perfect idea.

  Reg giggled to herself at the pun. A purrfect idea.

  She checked addresses on her phone, thinking about what else she would
need to buy in order to settle into her new living space. The fact that it came furnished was a bonus. She packed and traveled light and was used to operating on a shoestring. A fully-furnished cottage was a level of luxury she wasn’t used to.

  She picked up groceries and the basics she would need to care for a cat before going to the pound, patting herself on the back for thinking ahead and realizing that she wouldn’t be able to do the other shopping once she had the cat in the car. She’d have to go straight home, and she wouldn’t want to just abandon the poor critter there to go run errands.

  At the animal shelter, self-styled as a pet sanctuary, before she was even allowed to look at the animals, Reg had to fill in a bunch of paperwork indicating her willingness to take care of a pet for the rest of its natural life and to follow all of the rules that the shelter set forth, such as not declawing a cat.

  The place was noisy and smelly. Every effort had been made to make it a nice place, comfortable and humane for the animals, but it still stank. Reg thought about Erin. She probably would have run out of there puking, she was so sensitive to bad smells. Reg wasn’t sure how she even managed to keep pets of her own, what with having to change litter and clean up after any accidents. They hadn’t been allowed pets when they had lived with the Harrises, but Reg had seen enough examples of Erin reacting to human smells and accidents that she had no doubt she’d have difficulty cleaning up after animals.

  There were old cats and tiny kittens and everything in between. Orange cats and tabbies and calicos. Short hair and long. Unlike the dogs, most of the cats didn’t interact with the people walking by their cages, but simply slept, curled up in the corners of the cages. Occasionally, one of them would open its eyes or lift its head for a moment, but mostly they just continued to sleep.

  She had thought she would be tempted by the playful younger kitties, but she thought of them keeping her up all night and wasn’t sure that was what she wanted.

  Maybe getting a cat had just been an impulse. Buying a pet was one of those things you were never supposed to do on impulse.