“I don’t know. But I’m feeling kind of nauseous and I have to pee, so whatever you want, make it snappy.” I didn’t really, but I figured it would encourage him to leave.
He looked a bit taken aback.
I cleared my throat. “What do you want, Paul?”
He shifted from one foot to the other and stared down at his hiking boots. “To apologize.”
“Really?” That was totally unexpected.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” He looked up and gave me a lopsided smile.
I opened the door wider. “Come in.”
He hesitated and nervously licked his lips. I got a sudden flash of what was going on in his head.
He was afraid.
I couldn’t blame him. Last time he had walked into my cottage, his life had been blown apart.
Apollo, the red Dobie, slid past me, out the front door, and leaned against Paul’s legs. Paul bent to pet him and I watched, fascinated, as calmness and strength flowed out of Apollo and into Paul.
That was new and different. I didn’t know the Dobes could do that.
Finally, taking a deep breath, Paul came inside, Apollo leaning against him the entire way. I led them into the living room. Paul tentatively sat down on the couch. Apollo jumped up next to him and rested his head on Paul’s leg.
I sat down in the armchair, Aramis sat next to me, and we both watched Paul relax as he continued to pet Apollo.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. I called a high-risk pregnancy O.B. in Trinity Harbor and he told me about a Center that specializes in genetic testing.”
I took a breath to protest.
He raised his hand to stop me. “Hear me out. The Center uses 3D ultrasounds to detect Down’s syndrome in fetuses. It’s non-invasive, and we’d get a clear picture of the baby. We’d actually be able to see the baby’s face.”
That sounded interesting. I really wanted to see what my baby looked like and whether or not I was right about the gender. While I didn’t think there would be any birth defects, a non-invasive way to make sure would be great. But Trinity Harbor was so far away and it sounded like a hugely expensive proposition.
“If you can see for yourself that the baby doesn’t have horns, or an extra head or hooves for feet, do you think you could not treat it like a sideshow freak when it’s born?”
Silence from him as he petted Apollo.
Then: “I’ll still want a paternity test.”
I sighed. “Of course you will. Okay, let’s say I’m on board. How much is it going to cost?”
“Insurance covers it.”
“And if you don’t have insurance?”
Paul gave me a look. “They only accept insurance. They don’t take checks.”
“That’s us out, then.”
“Are you kidding me? You don’t have health insurance?” Paul tensed up again, the veins in his neck bulging.
Apollo edged forward on top of his lap, until his front legs and chest were on Paul, effectively pinning him down.
Paul took a deep breath. “Mara. Do you have any idea what hospitals and doctors and anesthesiologists cost? How are you going to afford to have the baby?”
I shrugged. That question had been keeping me up nights. “I don’t know. I’m still working out the details.”
Paul looked completely flabbergasted. “That’s not acceptable.”
“Women used to have babies in fields.”
“They used to die in childbirth, too. But now we have modern medicine.”
“I have to work with what I’ve got,” I said, exasperated.
“This whole thing is completely unacceptable.”
“What do you want me to do? Sales in our online store have been non-existent and no one wants to hire a preggie. I’ve been looking. My options are kind of limited.”
“Are you taking prenatal vitamins at least?”
“Of course I am,” I snapped. “And I’m seeing Doc Brady for check-ups.” Thankfully, the doc was willing to trade well-visits for spellcrafting candles, incense and mojo bags, or I’d be in even worse shape.
Paul gave me an annoyed look. “Don’t get snippy with me. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to. It’s not like I don’t want health insurance.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll have to figure out a way to get you insured, won’t I?”
“Really?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
I hoped he had a good game plan up his sleeve. “You know, it’s times like this I remember why I wanted to have sex with you to begin with.” I quipped.
He moved Apollo off his lap and stood up, barely cracking a smile. “I’ll text you the info about the Center.”
As I walked him to the door, I asked how his therapy sessions were going.
“They suck.”
That surprised me. “Why?”
“Because every time I make any forward progress, you hit me with something new.”
“Oh,” I could feel my face flush. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he muttered, clearly not meaning it.
He bent and petted Apollo’s head again.
The dog was sticking to him like Velcro.
“He really likes you. Why don’t you take him home and work with him for a bit?”
Paul looked at me, quizzically. “What are you talking about?”
“I read about Dobermans being used as therapy dogs. And the two of you seem to really get along well.” I stopped, as a cloud passed across Paul’s face.
I had to tread lightly. If I made it seem like I was doing him a favor, he might nix the whole thing. But if I could turn it around…
“Taking care of two big dogs, Gus, and soon a baby… it’s just too much for me. If you could help me out, by taking Apollo for a little bit—just until I get my groove going—that would really be awesome.”
He paused and thought about it. “I do too much traveling to have a full-time dog.”
“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing. Just for a little while. I’m good with joint custody,” I said. “It’ll be good practice for when the baby gets here.”
“Let me think about it.” Apollo licked his hand and Paul cracked the first genuine smile I had seen on him, in a long time.
* * *
After Paul left, I went to take a shower and change. Apollo trotted over to the kitchen to see about scraps, but Aramis glued himself to me so tightly, he got soaking wet from the shower. So I bathed him and clipped his nails. When Apollo came in to check on us, I bathed him as well.
Gus had propped the kitchen door open, and a delectable heat was slowly filling the cottage. By late afternoon there were so many yummy smells coming from the kitchen, I was having a foodgasm.
I checked to see if anything was ready to be carried out, but Gus was being all “you sit your pregnant butt down, little lady, and let the man do the work.”
With Apollo following him, he hiked supplies down to our little cemetery in the woods. I was hungry again, so I went into the kitchen and grabbed a plum to tide me over. I was just washing it when the doorbell rang, startling me.
The plum dropped out of my hand, into the garbage disposal. I fished it out and tossed it where the garbage can used to be. To my surprise, it dropped and rolled on the floor.
I looked around. Where the heck was the garbage can?
Unless he hid it for some reason, Gus must have taken it to the cemetery.
The doorbell rang again, insistent.
“Hold on! I’m coming!”
Geez, it was like Union Station around here. After weeks of having no visitors, I was suddenly inundated with people.
I picked up the plum and tossed it in the sink, to throw out later. Maybe I could leave it outside for woodland creatures. It would probably be okay for them, right?
I opened the door, expecting to find Paul, but instead, I found the suave older guy, with the dazzling blue eyes, from the diner.
Chapter 20
He had a large box at his side. He smiled at me and nodded, as if I should be expecting him—as if we were old friends.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, alarmed.
The wards hadn’t gone off, so the guy must not be a danger to the cottage, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a danger to me. What kind of nut tracks you down at your home address?
Aramis growled at him from behind the safety of my legs. That was unusual. Normally, he’d be in front of me, snapping his teeth in the famous Dobie smile that terrified strangers.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” the man asked, politely smiling.
“No. How did you find out where I lived, anyway?”
He shrugged. “It’s a small town.”
“It still has a police force.”
“Are you always this rude to your guests?” he asked. And he smiled again. He had perfect, almost sparkling, white teeth with sharp incisors.
“What are you talking about? You’re no guest of mine.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I think I would know. What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?”
I peeked out at the street. A bright red luxury sports car with dealer plates was parked by the curb. “Did you get lost on your way to the gas station?”
“No.”
“I give up. Are you selling Girl Scout Cookies?”
“Do I look like a Girl Scout?” he said, grinning.
“Avon?”
“No. Not Mary Kay, either. Try again.”
“Census taker?”
“Nada.”
I was starting to get exasperated. I always hated being put on the spot to cough up fill-in-the-blank answers when I was a kid, and this was feeling a lot like a fill-in-the-blank conversation.
“Are you a Jehovah’s Witness? Because I’ll tell you right now, if you are, Gus will want to talk to you. In fact, he may want to sacrifice you to Cthulu. So you should probably run while you can.”
The man laughed, a deep baritone laugh, his cheeks creasing into dimples. “I take it Gus is an H.P. Lovecraft fan?”
“On alternate Fridays. Okay… Well, it was nice talking to you. Goodbye.” I tried to close the door, but he blocked it.
“Is this an appropriate way to treat a gentleman caller?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I told you at the diner, I wasn’t entertaining any gentlemen callers.”
“I’m not here for you. I’m here for Gus. I never turn down an invite to a night of Misrule.” He held out his cell phone, so I could see Gus’s text message.
“You’re… Forrest?!” I asked, incredulous. I felt my cheeks get hot.
“Nice to officially meet you,” he said.
I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Tonight was just supposed to be me and Gus.
And then I realized that I must have looked like an idiot at the diner, assuming his interest had been in me.
“Are you going to let me in?”
“Sure. I guess so. Come on in. Welcome to Gus’s Rule. Formerly known as Misrule.” I stepped aside, so he and his box would have room to enter.
“Gus’s Rule?”
“He can explain it.”
Once Forrest was inside, Aramis calmed down and sniffed at the box.
“You don’t have any livestock in there, do you? Or more vegetables?”
“It’s a surprise for Gus.” He sniffed the dinner aromas appreciatively. “I take it he’s in the kitchen?”
“Why would you assume that?” I asked. “I know how to cook.”
“Not like that, you don’t.” He laughed. “Gus is a gourmand. I just hope he’s made enough. I know how you pregnant women get about your food. I would rather not have you gnawing on my arm.”
I rolled my eyes. At least I could hear movement in the kitchen, so Gus must have returned.
* * *
“Forrest!” Gus said, obviously thrilled. “Sexy shirt. It brings out the blue in your eyes.”
Forrest put his box down on the floor next to the kitchen counter, and Gus embraced him.
I remembered about the plum I had left in the sink and went to toss it outside, but it was gone.
When they broke their clinch, I pulled Gus aside.
“Gus? Where’s the plum?” I asked. “It was in the sink.”
Gus looked at me like I was an idiot. “I ate it.”
I gasped.
“I know. It was the last one. I’ll get you more tomorrow.”
“It’s not that.” I said.
I looked over at Forrest. He was busy opening the box and ignoring us.
I turned back to Gus and lowered my voice. “That plum fell in the garbage disposal.”
“Ewww. I thought it tasted weird. Why didn’t you throw it out?”
“Because you vanished the garbage can!”
“I didn’t vanish it, I relocated it.”
“Why would you eat something that’s sitting in the sink, anyway? It’s not like I had left it on the counter.”
“I was craving the firm, tart sweetness that only a plum can supply. And it was the last one.”
“Fruit addiction is an ugly thing.” I snapped, using his own accusation against him. “Do you know what kind of nasty, moldy, bacteria-laden stuff gets tossed down the disposal?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I rinsed it first.”
I looked at him, darkly. “Right. Tell me if your insides feel like they’re going to explode.”
Forrest cleared his throat, interrupting us. “Ta-da!”
He stepped aside, doing the big reveal, and I yelped in surprise. There, sitting on the counter, was a lit-up aquarium that contained small trees, a miniature pond and a Grundleshanks replica.
As I got closer, I realized it wasn’t a replica. It was actually Grundleshanks, stuffed and motionless. “What the hell?”
Gus was pleased as punch. “Grundleshanks lives!” he said, cackling an evil witch laugh. “That’s totally brilliant.”
“Disturbing is more like it.” I looked over at Grundleshanks’s spirit, who was curiously checking out his body double in the tank.
“I tried to get the rest of the remains, but the taxidermist said he didn’t have them.” Forrest frowned.
“Of course not. You think I’d let those bones out of my sight? He just needed the skin. I have the rest safely tucked away.”
I quickly looked around the kitchen, in case anything caught my attention. The last time Gus had safely tucked away any remains, it was in my freezer back in Los Angeles. But nothing jumped out at me.
I sat down on the kitchen chair and Aramis jumped on my lap. I petted him while Apollo kept trying to jump up on the counter to check out the aquarium. Thankfully, he was still too little to quite manage it.
With a croak, the spirit of Grundleshanks drifted through the tank and settled into the body. Then he sighed and seemed to drift off to sleep. Or whatever it is dead toads do when they want to tune out the world.
Forrest looked around. “Do you hear something?”
Gus listened. “Mara, I think your radio is playing.”
“What? No way. It’s not plugged in. That would just be weird.”
“Can’t you hear it?” Gus said.
I tried to listen.
Very faintly, I thought I caught a few notes.
* * *
As I took the steps upstairs, the song got louder. By the time I walked into the bedroom, the radio was rocking Devil Went Down To Georgia at full blast.
I could have sworn I unplugged it. I turned the radio off, then followed the cord to the wall socket. Ha! I had unplugged it. I knew it.
“Well, that’s just odd.” I wondered if Aunt Tillie had been running the radio, but Charlie Daniels Band was not her cup of tea. Maybe if it had been classical music…
I looked at the plug. Was it possible that I had left it half-in and half-out of the socke
t and when I followed the cord just now, was when I’d actually unplugged it? Or maybe Gus had plugged it back in when he came upstairs? I curled the plug up on the dresser, so there’d be no doubt. Just in case it happened again.
On my bed was a neatly-placed pair of trousers with suspenders, a vest, an old-fashioned suit jacket, a derby bowler hat with a feather in the band, and instructions on how to use fake hair, glue and an eyebrow pencil, courtesy of Gus.
Since Gus and Forrest were putting the finishing touches on dinner, I put on the outfit, complete with makeup and ritual jewelry—especially my pentacle. I wanted to be prepared and warded since we were going to spend the evening in the cemetery.
* * *
I returned downstairs, just as Forrest was saying, “Come on, show me. You know you want to.”
“No way. Mara will freak. Trust me, you don’t want to see her in full freak-out mode. It’s Stephen King-style mayhem.”
“Are you talking about your penis again? Been there, seen it, got the postcard. I’m pretty sure it’s internationally famous by now.” I said, stepping into the kitchen. “What am I going to freak about?
Gus snorted as he drizzled olive oil on a Greek salad (cut-up tomatoes, feta cheese and cucumber slices seasoned with oregano). “We’re talking about Grundleshanks’s remains.”
My face must have turned green, because Gus smacked Forrest’s arm and pointed at me.
“See? That’s what I mean. Right there. Her head’s going to start spinning at any moment.”
“Shut it,” I glared at him, pressing down on my wrist, until the wave of nausea ceased.
Chapter 21
“I like the new look,” Gus said, winking at me.
“You would,” I replied, still concentrating on getting my nausea under control.
Since it was Misrule, everything had to be turned on its head, including gender. So I currently looked like some middle-aged man out of the last century, sporting a beer belly.
Once my stomach settled down, I took the platters of Greek salad and warm pita bread from Gus and headed out with the Dobes. I’d rather be outdoors at the cemetery, than in a kitchen that seemed to be growing smaller by the second, with Gus and Forrest talking about stuff I didn’t want to think about.
Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) Page 8