“Want to call Paul?” I asked. “Let him know where you are?”
“Not really.”
“Oh?”
Merry’s eyes flickered in the rear view mirror. Ruth Anne removed a small notebook from her T-shirt pocket and gave Eve her full attention.
“Details,” said Ruth Anne. “I need some conflict for my next book.”
“Fine,” Eve said, putting lotion on her hands. “I found several texts from a woman on his phone today. A woman he used to date.”
“Ooh, that’s good.” Ruth Anne scribbled in her pad.
“I’m glad it’s helpful. Maybe you could follow us around with a video camera and capture all the details.”
“Sorry. Just have the pen and paper. Continue.”
“I think you’re worked up over nothing,” I said. “So what if Paul texted his ex? He’s smitten with you.”
“Maggie,” Eve said, turning her dark eyes on me. “What would you do if you found Shane texting a woman?”
“She’d lose her frickin mind,” Merry said and Ruth Anne laughed.
“Maybe,” I admitted, feeling a stab of jealousy at just the thought.
“You’d probably burn down his restaurant.” Eve lowered her lashes, her face pensive. “I’m just trying to play it cool for now.”
“Good luck with that,” I said. With the exception of our mother, Eve was the most dramatic person I’d ever known. Playing it cool was not her style.
“So,” Ruth Anne broke in. “That’s two of us for a beer. Merry?”
Merry shrugged. “I suppose I can leave June Bug with Mama for awhile longer. They’re probably both asleep, anyways. God knows I could use a bit of me time right now.” She looked at me in the mirror. “Maybe I can ask Shane to look in on them in a bit. If that’s okay with you?”
“Why would I care?” I asked, trying to play it cool myself.
“Well, maybe you’d want him to join us, instead.”
“Let’s make it a girl’s night,” I said, so that I wouldn't have to explain once again why I was avoiding Shane––especially when Ruth Anne was taking notes. “Even if I can’t drink, it will be fun.”
“Then it’s unanimous,” Ruth Anne put on her Birkenstocks as the sedan rumbled into the rocky parking lot of the only bar in Dark Root. “Ladies, let’s have ourselves a little fun.”
The bar sat on the far edge of town, out past the row of boarded-up, one-room shacks where lumberjacks and trappers had kept house in Dark Root’s pioneering days. The bar itself had once served as an old saloon, and it was rumored that a shootout had even taken place there, when two drunken miners, acting on a hunch that they might find gold in this part of the world––and subsequently being disappointed––drew pistols at each other and fired several rounds.
Luckily, both missed, but it helped fuel the bar’s reputation as a historical site and it was never torn down thereafter.
In the 1950s, a man from Los Angeles purchased it, and while he kept the original frame of the building, he had redone the interior, adding in a jukebox and a secret casino in the back room. The place had been revamped several times since by several different owners, who all learned there wasn’t a ton of money to be made in this neck of the woods, even in alcohol.
It stood like a time machine now, incorporating every generation it had devoured in its decor.
Ruth Anne told us the bar’s history as Merry parked the car.
“Do you know everything?” Eve asked, yawning.
“I make it a point to know where my beer comes from,” Ruth Anne said, running her fingers through her chin-length brown hair.
“The Watering Hole?” Merry read the sign, scratching her head.
In our teenage years it was called The Screaming Sasquatch, a ploy to draw in tourists when it was rumored that Big Foot had been spotted several miles outside of town.
“When did the name change, Miss Smarty Pants?” Merry asked.
“Beats me, but I like it.” Ruth Anne pushed open the bar door and we followed her inside.
“I wonder if Mother hung out here in her glory days,” I mused, spying a picture of Stevie Nicks right next to an old photo of Elvis serenading a love-struck teenager.
My eyes darted quickly to Eve. Paul adored Elvis.
She gritted her teeth and stormed towards the counter.
“Three light beers.” She looked at me. “And a diet ginger ale for the redhead.”
“Hey, don’t order for me. I don’t like ginger ale.” I turned to the bartender, a weathered man who had as many lines on his face as he had years. “I’ll take a root beer.”
“Way to show her, Maggie.” Ruth Anne sniggered and took her drink.
I sipped my root beer and found a seat. “It’s the principle.”
We sat in a line of reupholstered bar stools, quietly taking in our surroundings.
There were a few others inside, a couple arguing in a corner near the bathroom, two men playing a game of pool, and an older woman with long gray hair dancing alone by the jukebox. It was a depressing scene, made even sadder by the fact that my sisters were getting drunk while I remained miserably sober. With each sip they became more talkative, revealing details about the condition of their lives.
“June Bug’s been calling Frank, filling him in on what’s going on in our family,” Merry said, sloshing beer from her mug. “Then he calls me, screaming that he wants custody. Claims there’s not a court in the world who would side with a mother who’s a practicing witch.”
“I’d like to practice on him,” Eve said.
“We’ll testify in court on your behalf,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
“Um, thanks.” Merry’s face went a shade paler.
“Don’t worry.” I winked. “We’ll leave the black hats and brooms at home.”
“I think Paul is bored with me,” Eve said, after another drink and an appropriate pause.
“What makes you say that?” Ruth Anne asked, once again going for her notebook.
Eve gave her a threatening glare that Ruth Anne ignored. “He looks at magazines with women in bikinis.”
“So do you,” I pointed out.
“Maybe I’m bored with me.” Eve slapped her hand on the counter. “Nope. Couldn't be. I mean, look at me.” She jutted her chest out and the bartender gave her an approving, toothless smile.
“Wanna see something cool?” Ruth Anne put down her notebook and dug into the pocket of her baggy jeans, producing a little metal gadget, slightly larger than a cell phone. “This may be annoying,” she explained. “But stay with me a minute.”
Ruth Anne hopped down from her stool and tapped a button on the top of the device.
A series of beeps and whistles sounded as she waved it around. The beeps ranged from barely audible to ear splittingly loud, but they never stopped.
“What is that thing?” I asked, covering my ears.
“An electromagnetic field reader, or EMF for short. Ghost hunters use them to detect areas where there may be paranormal activity. The theory goes that spirits omit a higher level of electrical frequency, so this little baby can help you find yourself a ghost.”
She ran the device over me and it beeped so loudly and rapidly she had to shut it off. Merry and Eve pounded their fists on the bar, laughing so hard they spit out their drinks.
“Maybe Maggie’s a ghost,” Merry said, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.
“That would explain her love of wearing sacks,” Eve agreed.
“Ghosts wear sheets, not sacks,” I corrected her. “Hey…”
“It hasn’t stopped bleeping since I came to Dark Root,” Ruth Anne said, giving the device one last look before returning it to her pocket. “I keep it mostly shut off now.” She returned to her stool and summoned the bartender. After ordering another round she said, “I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in New Orleans. And that place is filled with ghoulies.”
Ruth Anne talked about some of the places she had been to and how the EMF reader react
ed to each location. Merry and Eve grew bored with the conversation and began discussing a steamy book they had both read that was being made into a movie.
“Will you write about Dark Root? In your next book?” I asked Ruth Anne, nursing what was left of my soda.
She shrugged. “Dunno. But if I do, I will call it by a different name. I kind of like keeping this place our little secret. It’s funny. I spent my early years trying to get out of here, and now I’m in no hurry to leave.”
“I understand,” I said, having had a similar revelation.
Dark Root was a part of us, whether we liked it or not.
Merry and Eve toppled from their barstools and stumbled to the nearest vacant pool table. Ruth Anne and I swiveled our stools to watch them.
“You know,” I admitted, as Ruth Anne leaned back, her arms stretched out across the counter. “I never expected to see you again.” I felt myself choke at the words so I took another sip. “I thought you were gone forever.”
“Me too,” she said, the left corner of her mouth turning up. “I shouldn’t have left you girls like that. Not when Miss Sasha was well on the road to crazy town. But I just couldn’t take it. And when I found out who my dad was, some normal guy named Burt who sold cars in the South, I had to take that chance.” She removed her glasses and wiped them on the hem of her shirt. “And until I got that call from Shane, I didn’t think I was wanted back.”
She tilted her head to me. There was no smirk on her face or any sign of her usual sarcasm.
“He’s a good guy, Maggie. The kind of guy people love to read about. Don’t screw it up.”
Too late.
Eve and Merry racked up the pool balls, debating who the better player was.
“Just because you lived in New York, doesn't mean you have game,” Merry said, grabbing a stick from a rack on the wall.
Eve measured her own stick against her height, frowned, and then tried another. “I’m warning you, I spent my weekends at the best nightclubs.” She pulled her long hair into a ponytail as she sized up the table. “How do you think I paid my rent half the time?”
“Oh, is that how?” Merry’s eyes rested on Eve’s chest.
“Were all the pool tables in Kansas made of straw?” Eve retorted.
“Yes, and hay.”
“Peas in a pod,” Ruth Anne said.
I nodded, feeling that familiar wave of jealousy I had whenever Merry and Eve seemed too cozy.
It was a fairly even match, until Eve decided to show off. “Seven ball in the far left corner,” she declared, sending the ball zooming across the table and into its called pocket.
Merry returned to us, ordered another beer, then stumbled back to the table, all the while muttering that she never should have taken up a game with a ball expert like Eve.
“You hold your liquor well,” I said to Ruth Anne, who matched my sisters, drink for drink, but hadn’t shown any signs of inebriation.
“I started drinking early.”
“Before we picked you up?”
“No. In life.”
“Oh.”
There was a lot I didn’t about Ruth Anne’s lost years, a lot I might never know. I put my head on her shoulder, content to just sit in her presence, both of us watching the game that Eve was about to win.
“Too bad Eve can’t let Merry have this one,” I said.
Merry didn’t have much, and asked for even less. But Eve was not the type who would back down from a win.
“Five bucks says you can’t make her miss,” Ruth Anne whispered as Eve lined up her next shot.
It was an easy shot that even I could make, but, with a little nudge to the left the ball would miss the hole completely and Merry might have a chance at a comeback.
“I’m not sure I can,” I said, as Eve bent over the table.
“Well, if you want Eve to win and gloat all the way home…”
I took a deep breath and straightened my back, focusing my attention on the stick in Eve’s hand as she slid it between her nimble fingers. As she aimed it towards the cue ball, I closed my eyes, imagining Eve hitting the side of the ball instead of the center.
“What the…?” Eve asked incredulously, and I opened my eyes. The cue ball spiraled towards one of Merry’s balls, knocking it in instead. Eve scratched her head as Merry did a victory whoop.
“Nice.” Ruth Anne said, slipping me the five.
“They teach you that in New York?” Merry taunted Eve, bouncing her way around the table, nailing her next shot. She followed it up by running two more, before finally missing the fourth.
“Right corner pocket,” Eve said confidently as she leaned across the table, causing a group of men who had just walked in behind her to stop and stare.
Ruth Anne grinned at me.
Eve’s ball rolled towards its destination, stopping shy of the pocket. It teetered on the edge of the hole, half in, half out. A strong breath could have sunk it. It wobbled for a moment, before pulling back, just a hair, but enough to keep it anchored on the table.
“Subtle,” Ruth Anne said. We laughed as Eve’s face reddened. She ran her hands over the table to check for “bumps” and “abnormalities.”
Merry squealed, looking so much like her younger self that I half expected to see her pirouette in a tutu. She skipped around the table, ready to take her final shot, a look of determination in her sky blue eyes.
She made it. I didn’t even help with that one.
“I won?” Merry raised her stick and threw her head back, her long, cottony hair grazing her waist. “Roar!” The men who’d been watching Eve switched their attention and clapped for Merry instead.
Eve, still looking confused, dumped her stick on the table and escorted Merry back to the bar.
“Did you see that?” Merry asked, her cheeks flushed and pretty.
“Yes, we did,” I answered.
“I have no idea how I did it!”
I felt a little sorry for Eve and I gave her an apologetic look. Her eyes widened with understanding.
“Yep, you won fair and square,” Eve said, putting an arm around Merry, more generous now that she realized it wasn’t her own lack of skill that had cost her the game. “And, winner buys the next round.”
“Ah, I wish. You’re the one with the job.” Merry plopped herself onto her stool, her legs not quite reaching the floor. “I’m just Mama’s caretaker. I get paid in canned goods and copies of old National Geographics.”
“That’s more than I make,” Eve said. “Every cent that comes in, goes right out as soon as I get it. How we’ll get through this year is beyond me.”
They looked at me. “Maggie?”
“I have exactly three hundred and twelve dollars left to my name.” I had counted it out that very morning. “I don’t know the price of baby food and diapers, but something tells me it won’t last long. Plus…”
I didn’t finish the sentence.
But plus the fact that Eve, Aunt Dora, the baby, and myself would be forced to move in with them at Sister House if we couldn’t pay the property taxes on Harvest Home.
We stared at the empty glasses in our hands.
“You guys are bumming me out,” Ruth Anne said, pulling out a wallet. “Barkeep, another round.”
I marveled at the wad of money in her hand. “It’s good to know that someone in our family is doing well,” I said, as I was handed my fourth root beer of the evening.
“Novel writing doesn’t pay much, especially when you have writer’s block. But it keeps me in beer.”
We raised our drinks in a toast to poverty, then giggled ourselves silly as we brainstormed ways to make money––selling Merry’s hair, renting Eve out as a parade balloon, ebaying Ruth Anne’s eggs that she swore she’d never use anyways––when a sight on the other side of the bar caught my eye.
Two men finished up their game of pool. The shorter man peeled five bills from a money clip and handed them to his acquaintance.
My heart raced with excitement. I re
ached for Eve and squeezed her hand.
“Ouch,” she said, pulling away from me. “What was that for?”
I nudged my chin at the scene. She nodded slowly.
Maybe there was a way to make money in a small town like Dark Root, after all.
Eight
BUILDING A MYSTERY
“Gather close girls. Hurry!”
Aunt Dora stood on the back porch wearing nothing but her nightdress and house slippers to guard against the cruel November winds. Her cotton dress flapped about her like a broken-winged bird but she paid it no heed as she wrestled with a mason jar, working the lid like an expert safe cracker.
She sniffed the air and with flaring nostrils announced, “I can smell Larinda on the wind. Like sour milk.”
“But the moon isn’t right,” I said.
The protection spell Aunt Dora intended to invoke, a spell meant to keep Larinda off of our property, was meant to be cast during a waxing moon, which was still days away.
“Fer someone who doesn’t work the craft, ya sure seem ta know a lot.” She looked up, watching the twilight sun disappear behind the western tree line. “The spell won’t be as strong, but it will put a dent in her powers, that's fer sure.”
Merry wiped her hands on her teal wool sweater, and pushed her hair out of her face. Her lips were full and red, the result of wind and dirt that lashed at our faces. Her eyes were intent as she took mental notes, her head cocked as she strained to listen to Aunt Dora’s directions muddled by the howling gales. “Show us how to do it, Aunt Dora, and we will take care of Sister House next.”
“Aye,” Aunt Dora pulled a bitter smelling powder from the mason jar. “Put this on yer wands.”
My sisters slathered their wands. June Bug held up a pretend wand she had crafted herself and Aunt Dora added a bit of salve to it, as well. Seeing me empty-handed, Eve tried to kick a stick in my direction, but not before being caught by my all-seeing aunt.
“Still haven’t chosen yers, I see.”
“No,” I said, looking down.
“Magic flows through ya more easily than the rest. But, if someone were ta ask me who the most promising o’ the bunch was now, I wouldn’t say ya. I’d say Merry. Ya could take a lesson from her.” Merry’s face flushed and she lowered her eyes, pretending not to hear.
The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) Page 9