by Tegan Maher
And that, my friends, is the biggest benefit of living in a small town—humanity, kindness, and courtesy are all live and well. Of course, so are cattiness and nosiness, but it's a fair trade.
I smiled and fired up the espresso machine. "Done, then. Do you want any add-ins?"
He made a face. "Nah, I'm good. Latte is fancy enough for me." He was eying the pastries in the case. "If you wanna throw in a couple of those blueberry cream-cheese turnovers, I probably wouldn't argue too much, though."
I laughed. "Whatever you want. One triple latte, hold the fancy stuff, and a side of blueberry turnovers coming right up." I smiled and turned back to the machine, making us each a latte.
Rae popped out of her office just as I kicked the frother off. "Hey guys! Did you get the tire all taken care of?" She came behind the counter and bumped me out of the way. I gave up my position at the coffee machine and instead filled a bag with a few blueberry popovers, then threw in a couple banana-nut muffins for good measure. He was wiry, but he'd had a sweet tooth since kindergarten.
"Yup," I told her when I pulled my head out of the case. "We sure did. Skeet hooked me up. He's only charging me coffee and pastries, which is a good thing, because some punk kid picked my wallet."
“What do you mean, some kid picked your wallet?” she asked.
I described what had happened and she shook her head. “Right here in Keyhole. Pickpockets today, muggings tomorrow.”
“Things sure are changin’, that’s for sure,” Skeeter said as he took the bag of pastries, his eyes widening in appreciation. "Wow, Noe, you didn't have to do that."
I waved him off. "My pleasure. It's the least I can do."
Rae handed us both a cup of coffee and Skeeter stood to leave. "As much as I'd love to hang out, ladies, I need to head home and get cleaned up. It's poker night."
He shook his head. "It's not gonna be the same without Max. He was ornery, but he had an oddball sense of humor and was an all-around good guy."
"What do you think about Larry Huffman? I heard he wasn't too pleased that Max tended to take his money and run."
Skeeter scratched his whiskers. "I'd plumb forgot about that. He was fit to be tied last week. Said Max had to be cheatin' cause nobody wins all the time." He tipped his head to the side. "It seems odd, thinkin' back, just how mad he was. Weren't no reason for him to be like that."
I sighed and decided to do what I rarely did. I was gonna spin the all-powerful gossip wheel. "I don't know this for a fact—I just heard it—but supposedly he and his wife are on the outs because she wants to move her mama in. They can't afford an old-folks home in Atlanta—"
"And the one here won't take her," Skeeter finished, shaking his head. "Whoo-ee. That poor feller."
Rae was as confused as I had been. I started to tell her the story, but Skeet cut me off. "That woman's sheer meanness stuffed in a day dress. Ain't a nice bone in her body. I used to dread when she'd bring her old Lincoln in for service. Always found fault. Grease on the door panel, the inside smelled like somebody'd been smoking in it, the seat wasn't just like she left it." He shuddered and pulled a face. "Just an ugly person all around."
"But if everybody with an evil mother-in-law up and killed somebody, we’d only have a about half as many people in this county as we do," I said.
Skeet shrugged. "Maybe, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to keep the dragon outta his castle. I'm not accusin'. Just sayin' I'd understand his motive, and Larry ain't exactly what you'd call ambitious. Was Max robbed?"
"I don't know yet. I'll have to ask Hunter. He's been slammed since all this happened. Anyway, thanks again." I gave him a hug, and he held the bag of pastries out to keep me from squishing them.
He'd been like an older brother to me all my life, so he didn't have to sacrifice a blueberry turnover in the name of being polite. He picked up his coffee and headed out the back door.
Once he was gone, I gathered my purse.
Rae put her hand out. "Not so fast, missy. I know you're tired, but I want to hear what else you found out at the salon."
“Nothing, really.” I gave her a quick run-down, then told her what Skeet had said about Joe's temper. She thought about it for a few minutes. "Too bad neither of us can get into that poker game; it sure would be interesting to hear what the boys have to say."
I grinned at her sideways and picked up my phone. "We can't, but I happen to know a man who likes to play poker, or at least he’s never said he doesn’t like to play." I frowned, remembering my wallet. "And I need to call the cops to report a thief.” I pulled up Hunter’s number and hit send. “Two birds, one stone."
It turned out that he didn’t see the brilliance in the plan, and he pointed out one glaring fact that my exhausted brain had failed to consider: he was still new, plus he was a cop. They weren’t likely to talk in front of him even if he sat there all night.
Instead, we agreed to meet at my place later. I said goodbye to Raeann and headed to my truck. I had about half an hour before the latte wore off and I crashed and burned, so I was making a run for it in order to grab a quick nap before Hunter got there.
I shot a text to Skeeter asking him to keep an ear open and let me know if anything popped up at the game and he said he would, then I pointed my truck toward the farm, thankful to be out of the grind and on my way home.
I was so close, yet so far away. How silly of me to expect so much as a peaceful ride home.
Chapter Nine
As soon as I pulled away from the curb, who should pop in but my favorite scowling, crotchety, recently deceased contractor, complaining as usual.
"Numbnuts won't acknowledge me.” Max crossed his arms and glowered out the windshield. “He just stares at me like he's the village idiot. I'm startin' to worry that boy don't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his ass."
I rubbed my temple. Was this day ever going to freakin’ end? I looked skyward, wondering why the fates hated me today. "You know, I'm starting to understand why somebody went upside your head with whatever they could get their hands on. He can't talk to you in front of other people, you knot head, at least not if they're strangers. Not to point out the obvious, but you're a ghost! To most people, you're dead and gone and folks don’t tend to put much faith in a sheriff who talks to himself."
He drew his eyebrows together and all of the fight drained right out of him. "Fine. There's no need to be mean. Let's start over. I don't even know what day this is. How long's it been since you two found my body?"
We'd come to a red light, so I took a few seconds to examine him. He looked like ten miles of bad road, though I'm not sure how that was possible for a ghost. "You don't remember how long you were gone?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be askin', now would I?"
Now that he had somebody to talk to, he couldn't seem to look me in the eye. "It was just yesterday. You've only been gone a little over twenty-four hours."
"Things keep getting fuzzy, then go black until I just ... appear ... somewhere. And my memory is weird. I can remember some stuff, but not others. Did you find my safe? Was my money in it? How's Em? This is probably killin' her." His face fell.
"I honestly can't answer either of your questions, but if you concentrate, you should be able to appear wherever your wife is. About the safe, though—where is it, and how much was in it?"
He was starting to flicker again and his voice cut out. "Behind. Playin’ poker. Ten grand."
Poker? Did he mean he won it playing poker, or that somebody he played poker with knew about it? I knew he was about to poof, so I could figure that out later. "Okay, what's the combination?" It was too late, though.
He got that thousand-yard stare, looked at his watch, and uttered the same phrase that he had before: "Gotta go to meet Darlin’." The tail end of the phrase faded to a whisper as he flickered out of sight.
I'd never seen a ghost do that. Usually they were coherent and caught on to the whole post-living experience fairly quickly, but he was running a
little behind the curve. I wondered if it had something to do with having his brains scrambled.
Whatever the reason for his spectral senility, I was beat. There was nothing that was going to stand between me and my pillow, at least not if I could help it.
Chapter Ten
By the time I got home, it was all I could do to hold my eyes open. I stumbled upstairs to my room, kicked off my shoes, and fell across my comforter, clothes and all, grabbing my pillow and wadding it up under my head. I was pretty sure that at that point, nothing had ever felt better.
It seemed like no time at all had passed when Shelby woke me up, yelling like a banshee.
"Noelle! Are you dead or what? Wake up and answer the door—I just got outta the shower!"
I hadn't heard anybody knocking, but as soon as her screechy voice woke me up, somebody pounded on the door like the place was on fire.
"I'm coming!" I jumped out of bed, disoriented, and nearly fell as my socked feet hit the slick hardwood floor. I righted myself and took a second to clear the sleep from my eyes and orient myself before navigating the stairs. There was a reason the fates didn't encourage my mama to name me Grace.
I pulled the door open to find Hunter standing on the other side, a six-pack of Big Wave, his favorite beer, in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. That was one of the many reasons I loved the man.
I paused. Loved? I shoved that to the back of my mind to examine another time, when my brain wasn't fogged by sleep and a rush of dopamine and oxytocin.
"Hey! C'mon in. I just woke up."
He was biting his lip to hide a smile and trying desperately not to look at something on top my head. I jerked my hand up to see what he was not staring at and groaned when I felt what must have looked like a bird's nest up there. The curse of the curly-haired.
"Please tell me it's not as bad as it feels."
"It's not as bad as it feels," he said, but the way his eyes were shining told me he was lying. I pulled the door open, figuring it was bad manners to leave him standing there considering he was trying to be a gentleman. And because he had wine.
He followed me in and I motioned toward the kitchen. When he bent down to give me a kiss, I turned my cheek and held up a finger. I felt like I had hair growing on my tongue.
"Gimme three minutes. I'm going to go up and tame the beast on top of my head and brush my teeth."
"I'll wait in the kitchen."
"Awesome. A glass of the wine wouldn't be a horrible thing to come back to." He had excellent taste in wine even though he rarely drank it, preferring micro-brews instead.
I rushed upstairs and when I saw myself, I gave him extra points for not dropping the wine and running the other direction.
My eyeliner and mascara were smeared under my eyes. Well, at least under my right eye. Most of what had been on my left eye was gone. My hair was flat on the right side and standing straight up on top. I looked sort of like a hungover pencil troll.
Combing through the rat's nest on my head would just enhance the troll look—when I brushed it, it tended to turn into a ’70s disco fro—so I yanked it back into a messy twist, cleaned up my eyeliner, and brushed my teeth. Satisfied that I looked like a semi-normal person again, I headed back downstairs.
Shelby and Hunter were sitting at the table eating cookies and looking at cars for sale in the local trader. She'd been looking at Mustangs, but the thought of her behind the wheel of anything peppier than her VW Bug gave me hives.
If I were honest, that had a lot to do with how I'd driven when I was her age, but still. I was kind of in that over my dead body stage, though I was beginning to see it as a potential bargaining chip.
Hunter looked up, then glanced at my hair and grinned. "Look—it's Noelle. I was afraid when that other person opened the door that you guys had failed to mention the existence of zombies last night."
I gave him my fakest smile. "Hardy har. You're a real commodian. You might wanna remember I'm the one cooking your supper."
He held up a hand, still grinning. "I'll be good. Just ... are you making those stuffed cheeseburgers? Please say you're making the stuffed cheeseburgers."
I sniffed. "I don't know if you deserve them after that comment."
Shelby kicked him under the table. "Dude, if you lose us the stuffed burgers, you're gonna have more to worry about than a homicide." She looked at me. “If you’re gonna punish him, just make his taste like Raeann’s meatloaf or something. Don’t take it out on the rest of us.” Raeann could cook up a potion or elixir for just about any ailment you could imagine, but when it came to cooking, she fell a little short.
He handed me a glass of wine. "Peace offering."
"Offer accepted. You're lucky I like you." I took a sip of the red, cringing a bit as it mixed with the flavor of toothpaste in my mouth. Nice and deep, fairly dry, with a fruity top note. Just like I liked it. Well, minus the cool peppermint.
He was looking at me, waiting for my response. I took another sip, then smiled. "Okay, fine. The wine earned you a pass on the zombie comment. Plus, you were just calling it like you saw it, so I can't really hold it against you."
I set the glass down on the farm-style oak table and turned to dig the ingredients for the burgers out of the fridge. I pulled out the egg carton, but there were only five eggs in it. I needed two for the burgers and four for the macaroni salad.
"Did you not gather the eggs again this morning?" I asked Shelby. She'd been slacking off a bit on her chores in favor of spending time at the lake.
"I gathered the eggs,” she said. “There just weren't many of them. There haven't been for the last few days, actually. Maybe the hens are getting ready to molt."
I furrowed my brow. "They shouldn't be. It's too early."
She shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know what to tell you. They've been eating and drinking the same as always."
"Well go and see if there are new ones out there or if you missed any. I need a couple more for supper."
She heaved a put-upon sigh but shoved up from the table. "Fine. But I didn't miss any. You may not believe it, but I'm perfectly capable of gathering eggs, seeing as I've been doin' it for oh, ten or twelve years. I pretty much mastered it when I was six."
After the screen door slapped shut behind her, I dumped the hamburger in a bowl and added the eggs, french-onion soup mix, and other seasonings.
I shook my head and blew the one stupid curl that always managed to escape my ponytail out of my face. "I'm not sure what to do with her. She's so insistent on being an adult, but I can't even get her to do the same chores she's been doing all of her life."
“She’s a teenager and it’s the end of summer. That’s pretty normal.”
“I reckon. But it’s still aggravating.” The discussion had distracted me and I'd forgotten to put the water on to boil for eggs or the macaroni before I started the dirty work. My hands were already covered in raw meat, eggs, and chunks of seasonings, so I wiggled one slimy finger to move a couple of pots to the sink and filled them, one at a time with water.
Hunter raised a brow. "I could have done that for you, you know."
"Oh, I know. But you look comfortable there and it's not like it was any extra work for me." He was still a little uncomfortable with my magic, but he need to get used to it. I was trying to break him in slowly by incorporating witchy stuff a little at a time, because that was part of our normal. I could mostly conform in public because I had no choice, but my house was my home.
I'm not lazy. Most of the time, I like doing things without magic. Well, at least kitchen tasks. Cleaning was another matter. I figured if ever there was a time to take advantage of being a witch, it was when it was time to make my bed or dust.
He quirked one side of his mouth up. "I'm trying. To be honest, I think it's cool, but it still startles me when pots start moving around by themselves."
Fair enough. I guess it would me too if I hadn't grown up with it. "Heads up, then. They’re going to the stove."
; He motioned that direction. "Proceed at will, ma'am."
I did, then Shelby came back in carrying two eggs. "That's all there was." She started to hand them to me, but I held up my gooey hands and asked her to wash them and put them and the others in the small pot of water on the stove.
"Oh, and thanks for fixing the gate, by the way," she said. "I tried to do it the other day but couldn't find any nails big enough."
Putting a broken plate or window back together was easy because all the pieces were there. The gate needed new nails and hinges, which weren’t already there. Therefore, no amount of finger-wiggling would mend it.
It had broken a couple of weeks or so ago and it was one of those things I forgot about until it was time to use it. You had to lift it up and manually move it back and forth. Not hard, but inconvenient.
I tilted my head, confused.
"What are you talking about? I didn't fix the gate."
I turned to Hunter, who shook his head as he grabbed another beer from the fridge. "Wasn't me. I'd have fixed it if you'd told me it was broken, but I had no idea."
I glanced back at Shelby. "Did Cody maybe do it?"
"Nope. He's the one who noticed it was fixed because he turned the horses out this morning while I was cleaning stalls."
I frowned. Not that I was complaining, but in my experience, gates don't magically mend themselves even on a witch's farm. That was an odd situation I'd examine later. I'd rather catch a murderer than track down somebody going around fixing things.
"Well, we'll thank the farm fairies then,” I said. “Will one of y’all please start the charcoal?"
At the term fairies, Hunter glanced up, then around. Shelby swatted him on the arm and grinned. "No, there are no such things as fairies, at least that I know of. Stop looking around like one's going to dive-bomb you."
He scowled. "It's not like you can blame me for being a little gullible right now."
"Fair enough. Just don't get mad if I mess with you. It's one of my greatest sources of amusement right now," she said as she popped the top off of his beer with a snap of her fingers before going to get the grill going.