by Tegan Maher
"Now that's magic I could use."
Chapter Eleven
My ears popped and Addy and Belle appeared right as I was stuffing blue cheese in the last patty.
Belle floated over to Hunter and got right up in his bubble. For some reason, ghosts tended to lose their sense of personal space, or at least that was the case with those two, and Max didn’t have a problem moving an elbow or knee right though me, either. Cheri Lynn was mindful, but then she probably had been in life too, lap dances aside. "Pleased to finally meet you,” Belle told him. “I'm Belle. I own—owned—the Clip N Curl. Now I just supervise. Well, I try to. Lord knows that girl don't listen to a word I say half the time."
By now, Hunter was taking it in stride. She was the fourth ghost he'd met and it seemed he was settling into the idea.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Belle. I'm—"
"Oh, I know who you are. I actually won the bet that—"
"Okay then, ladies," I interrupted before she could finish that sentence. The old hens at the shop tend to run small wagers on the side just to keep themselves amused. Usually a twenty-dollar buy-in, and they bet on everything from when and how somebody was going to kick the bucket to when somebody was going to mow their shamefully over-grown yard.
They'd had a wager running on when Hunter and I would go on our first date, but that was information he just didn't need to have.
Belle realized she’d nearly spilled the beans and changed the subject. "We just popped in to see if y'all had any more news on Max."
By news, she did of course mean more fodder for the gossip mill. She and Addy looked so expectant that I almost made up something outrageous just to give them something to talk about, but it wasn't worth dealing with a pissed off, bossy, living-impaired aunt with no boundaries when she found out I'd pulled her leg.
I zipped my lip and concentrated on peeling the eggs and making the dressing for the macaroni salad.
"Actually," Hunter said, "I did go out and talk to his wife today. She seems to be really sweet and I feel badly for her. It seems she and Max had a slight disagreement—"
Belle snorted. "Slight disagreement? It was almost a knock-down, drag-out on the library steps, is what it was. She rained hellfire and brimstone down on him because she'd been to the bank and figured out the deposits and the books weren't matchin' up."
Addy nodded. "I saw it too. He said she must be mistaken and she proceeded to take a strip of hide off him right there in front of God and everybody. Told him to sleep at the shop until he could explain why there was a thirty-thousand-dollar discrepancy between what the books showed and what the bank showed."
"Thirty thousand bucks?" Hunter asked, eyebrows raised. "Over how long of a period?"
Addy shrugged. "Way she was talkin', a year or so."
"That's a ton of money to just go missing," he replied.
"Not really," I said as I washed the gooey hamburger mixture off my hands. "If you think about it, he made good money. I mean, I gave him six grand down when I signed the contract on the pool and deck. And I'm just one customer. He had several crews workin' all the time."
Belle lowered her brows. "How much did he bid your job at?"
I shrugged and dumped a box of elbow noodles into the boiling water, stirring so they didn't clump on the bottom. "All said and done, twelve grand."
"And how did that compare to other bids you got?"
I was starting to get a little uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going.
"Why?"
"Because Emily said that according to the books, he was way underbidding the jobs. By around ten percent. Which, when you thing about it, is a lot of money. That would be twelve hundred smackaroos on your job alone. So how did he compare to others?"
"I only got two others, and they included stuff I didn't include in my list with Max, so it's not a good comparison. I just decided to go with him because he said he could start immediately and would be done two weeks faster than anybody else," I fibbed.
I had actually broken down the bids so I could compare them to Max's. He worked out to be just a tad cheaper, but not by that much. I felt like that was information that could really be twisted into something ugly by the time it made the rounds, so I wanted to discuss it with Hunter, and Max for that matter, before I said anything.
"Girly, I know when you're lying because you raise your eyebrows." Addy narrowed her eyes and swooped over to me. "You just raised your eyebrows. What are you fibbin' about?"
I concentrated on leaving my eyebrows exactly where they belonged. "Nothing. Honest."
She gave me the mom look and I did everything I could to stay composed and not squirm. After several excruciating seconds, she looked away, then cut her eyes back at me once more for good measure to see if I looked relieved. She was good, but I knew that trick. It had caught me up too many times as a kid to fall for it now, and I held fast to my composure.
Rather than risk further interrogation, I figured it would be best to change directions. Maybe distract them. I picked up the plate of burgers. "Hunter, will you pour me another glass of wine? And Shel, will you grab the chicken legs from the fridge and bring them out?"
I pushed the screen door open with my butt, backed onto the porch, and set the plate down on the rack by the grill. The charcoal was perfect, so I spread it around and replaced the grate. The hiss of the juices hitting the charcoal when I put the meat on made my stomach growl.
Hunter had followed me with the barbecue utensils and a clean plate and was relaxing at the shaded patio table when I finished. "Just hang out here for one sec,” I said. “I'll be right back." I went back inside and finished up the macaroni salad and slid it in the fridge. Time to relax.
Shelby excused herself to go pick up Cody and I sat down beside Hunter at the table, the sound of the grease hissing on the charcoal making my mouth water.
They’d been talking about Hunter's visit with Emily.
"She was so upset her hands were shaking," he said. "I felt bad even asking her about him, but it's something I had to do. I mean, murdered husband, angry wife, money issues ... I would have been nuts not to look there first."
"So now that you've met her, what do you think?" I was curious to hear his take. According to Addy, Emily was all of five feet tall and maybe a buck-ten, and though she may be wicked with a rolling pin, the only way she could have brained Max with a tank lid like that would have been if he was squatting down. I suppose that could have been, since I didn't exactly know where or at what angle it hit him.
"I think there's no way she did it. Jim says from the angle and the level of damage, the killer was at least five-seven and had decent upper-body strength."
Addy tapped her chin. "That doesn't narrow it down much. Shoot, Noelle almost fits that description. She can swing a seventy-five-pound hay bale into the bed of a pickup all day long."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks. I was a suspect in the last murder. That was enough for me, so if you don't mind, I'm gonna take a pass this time around."
Hunter patted me on the leg. "You have an air-tight alibi this time, sweetie. You were on a weekend getaway with the sheriff."
Belle raised a brow. "What, you sayin' bein' sheriff takes your name outta the hat? Didn't you learn nothin' from the Hank Dolittle situation?" Hank Dolittle had been our last sheriff, and was crooked as a Virginia fence. He's directly the reason Cheri Lynn was a ghost, and she's directly the reason he's getting his comeuppance in the great down-under, and I’m not talking about Australia. I saw his sooty black welcome wagon suck him under myself.
"True story. Still, she has an alibi. I know exactly where she was at, and I'm the one that matters."
"That so? Awful big for your britches there, aren't you?" Belle had her arms crossed trying to look stern, but she couldn’t hold it. It seemed my ghostly hair advisor had a post-mortem crush on my sweetie and I bit back a smile. Speaking of holding it together, I asked if they could shed any light on why Max did the whole flicker-and-poo
f thing.
"When Max pops in, he's only good for a few minutes, then he gets all staticky and disoriented before he mutters the same phrase and disappears. Either of you know why he's doing that?"
The two looked at me, then at each other, and shrugged. "No idea, sugar," Belle said. I've been around here in this form for almost thirty years and I ain't never heard tell of nothin' like that."
Hmm. Definitely weird.
I got up to flip the burgers, but Hunter motioned me back down. "I'll get them. You've done everything else. And speaking of weird, check this out: somebody’s been putting wallets in the big blue mailbox outside the courthouse. Another one turned up there today. I hadn’t heard about it until today. It started while we were gone."
My mind flashed to the juvenile delinquent that swiped my wallet but before I could respond, the sound of loud rock music broke the quiet of the evening and Shelby's car came into view around the last bend in the driveway, a little puff of dust following in its wake.
No sooner had she pulled up than a little slate-gray sports car came tooling up behind her. I grinned as the driver pulled up and climbed out carrying a foil-covered pan.
"Anna Mae—you made it!" I stood as the petite, pixie-faced woman came up the steps and across the porch. As soon as she set the pan down, she turned to give me a hug.
I'm not typically a hugger, but Anna Mae was just, well, huggable. You'll understand as soon as you get to know her.
"Hey, Noelle! How you doin' sugar?" She was still tanned from the cruise we took and her perfect white teeth stood out against her face as she greeted Hunter. She looked a little guilty when she pretended as usual that Belle and Addy weren't there.
"He knows about us, babydoll," Addy said.
Anna Mae heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Oh thank the stars. I always feel just awful when I have to pretend you aren't there, and even worse when you stay away because you know we can't talk to you. Makes me feel about this tall." She gestured with her fingers, leaving about an inch between her thumb and forefinger.
The kids had gone inside to get something to drink, and were now thundering across the porch, their flip-flops slapping on the wood planks.
They were being a typical teenage couple, pushing, elbowing, and laughing. That would have scared the bejeezus out of me a handful of months back, but Cody was a complete turnaround from the guys she'd been hanging around with then. He was a good kid and a stabilizing influence on Shelby.
Max was stretched out sunning himself on the back side of the porch as they barrelled around it and he grinned his scheming little donkey grin—which is more than a little creepy—and stuck a hind hoof out just far enough to trip them.
There was a plastic planter on the sill above his head that had held a vine until I'd killed it. I twitched a finger at it and sent it tumbling down onto his head. Surprised, he jerked his foot in and jumped to his feet, shaking the dirt off. He looked around to see who'd done it and I wiggled my fingers at him, smiling.
If you've never seen a donkey scowl, it's much cuter than their scheming grins. Or at least it was to me right then. I turned my attention back to Shelby, glad that she was smiling and having fun.
Learning how to live with the new family dynamic after Addy passed had come with some growing pains and our relationship, which had always been great, had grown strained to the point that we were barely speaking to each other at one point. Then the whole Hank incident had happened a few months back, she'd met Cody, and we were finally mending some fences and making some progress. There were still a few bumps in the road sometimes, but we were working on it.
Yet another good thing that came from Hank keeling over. His death was the gift that kept on giving. That may sound harsh, but trust me—if you haven't already heard the story, dropping dead was the nicest thing he ever did. Even Anna Mae, his widow, agreed with that. Shoot, especially Anna Mae.
"Aren't you on the committee for that too, Noelle?" Anna Mae's voice snapped me back to the here and now.
"The committee for what?"
"To design the veteran's memorial in the park." She was looking at me like I was simple.
"Oh. Yeah. The first meeting is tomorrow night. There are only a few of us, which is good."
Belle looked at me and cringed a little. "You may wanna rethink that. A bunch of the women at the salon today were talking about it and Olivia Anderson is blabbin’ off about being the president of the committee."
I scrunched my forehead and scoffed. "Pht. You gotta be kidding me. The only thing she's the president of is her own fan club. We haven't even had our first meeting yet. As usual, she's a hero in her own mind."
Just the thought of her being on that committee irritated. She'd been my nemesis since grade school, when I'd pushed her off the seesaw for stealing a kindergartner's juice box. I'd pushed her, smacked her, or just flat out beaten the crap out of her on too many occasions to count since then.
And it looked like there may be another one in her future, if she was getting high-handed and lippy already.
I'm not typically a violent person. In fact, I've only hit two people in my entire life in anger. Her and her high-school bestie. They're both evil creatures. The only thing that kept them from being too much trouble is that if brains were leather, they wouldn't have enough between them to saddle a June bug.
Still, a little of the shine was off the project for me now. I scowled and determined then and there that I wasn't going to let her do that. If she couldn't be civil, I'd wait for her after a meeting, detune her a little, and let her know the lay of the land. I was going to enjoy this if it killed her.
And if it did, that was okay by me, too.
Chapter Twelve
The rest of the party went smoothly. We'd pigged out; the burgers were delicious even if I did say so myself. I couldn't take much credit for them because Addy had been the one to teach me how to season the meat and stuff cheese in between two layers of meat. Yum.
I did, however, have a glass of wine too many and was paying for it when I rolled out of bed the next morning. It was my turn to feed the horses because Shelby was working at the clinic with Will and Cody. Old Man Bailey's steers needed vaccinated, so they needed an extra set of hands.
I slid into my cutoffs, an old tank top, and flip-flops, stuffed my hair under a ball cap, and headed to the kitchen, squinting at the hideously happy rays of sunshine filling the room. I needed about a gallon of coffee. While it was brewing, I chugged down a huge glass of orange juice—the one thing I always craved when I was a little hungover.
As soon as the coffee was done and my ginormous 7-eleven cup was full, I shoved my sunglasses on and stumbled out the door to the barn. I pulled the bill of my hat further over my eyes and grouched as sweat trickled down my back before I even made it to the barn.
Barely eight o'clock and it was already a steam bath. I yawned and scratched my neck, then took a huge swig of coffee. Truth be told, I was used to the heat; I was just crabby and would have groused even had Ed McMahon pulled up in the yard to deliver my giant, ten-million-dollar cardboard check.
Just FYI and a total rabbit trail, but technically, those are legal tender as long as the checking info is on it.
As I trudged into the barn, a sharp crack—a broom hitting the floor to be exact—startled me. I looked in that direction and halted mid-stride. Something was wrong. Where there should have been eager nickers and impatient door kicks, there was only silence. The horses were gone.
All trace of grogginess evaporated as adrenaline flooded my body.
I ran back out of the barn, my heart racing. Mindy, a paint mare that belonged to one of my boarders, was standing at the gate nickering at me. I went over and patted her neck, and she nuzzled my shoulder, but didn’t act like she was waiting for a meal. We had three separate pastures, and while I scratched her ears, I did a head count. Everybody accounted for.
I went back into the barn, smiling at my sister's unexpected act of niceness. I say it that way because
kindness from her isn't unexpected; she's usually kind. But always nice? Not so much recently. She was still a cocky teenager, and though I was starting to see light at the end of the tunnel with her, this was nice on a much larger scale that I was used to from her.
All I had left to do was clean the stalls and sweep. Since I had only been half-alive when I'd ventured into the barn and on the edge of a heart attack when I'd left, I hadn't noticed somebody had swept most of the aisle. That was weird because sweeping was the last chore we did after cleaning stalls, and surely she hadn't had time to do that, too. Unless Cody'd helped her.
I glanced over a stall door, and sure enough, there was fresh sawdust spread evenly over the floor of the stall. All but the very end of the aisle was swept; we usually just sweep it right out the back end of the barn because that area tends to get mucky when it rains. I could see the pile where she'd stopped.
I made my way down, looking in each stall as I did. Not only had she done them, she hadn't half-assed them like she sometimes does. The barn opened on both ends, and we had eight stalls on each side with an exit aisle halfway down that opened on either side. The broom lay on the floor in front of the last stall, and there was a boot print in the dust. A big boot print.
Could have been Cody's, but I didn't think his feet were that big.
I picked up the broom and my heart stuttered again before I realized how stupid I was being. Never once, not in my entire life, had I ever seen a newspaper heading that read, "Serial killer hacks woman into little pieces after feeding her horses and cleaning her stalls."
Take it from somebody who's busted her butt cleaning stalls nearly every day for fifteen years—ain't nobody gonna do that. Not happening. You wouldn't be able to hide that level of crazy.
Before you say, "But Noelle, you're a witch. Why don't you just magic them clean?" let me tell you what a mess it is to try to work a stall fork with magic. You get sawdust everywhere, and you just can't get the stall clean because there's inevitably a pile of poop or a pee spot hidden somewhere.